Devon put his hat on and leaned to give her a quick kiss. She reached out to touch his arm as he turned to leave. “Dev? You’re not angry with me, are you?”
“Oh, Brandi-girl.” He swept her into a tight embrace, the answer she needed, the only answer she was to get for now.
“What’s going on here?” bellowed a stern voice from down the hall. Brandi could see over Devon’s shoulder that Ed was glaring at her. “The house of convenience is across the street.”
Devon stiffened. Brandi felt his fists curl before he turned to glare back at the man, who immediately took a step backwards. “This is my wife,” Devon said firmly.
“Well ... I ... the show starts soon, mister. Perhaps if you take a seat so the lady can get ready.” Ed bowed off and disappeared.
“I like the sound of that. The wife part, I mean,” Brandi said, tugging at Devon to renew his attention.
“I mean to make it true. If you’ll have me,” he added, lowering his gaze. “I can’t imagine a future without you in it. There’s no life fer me unless yer there.”
“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” Brandi’s breast warmed with a glowing heat. These were the exact promises she wanted to hear.
He nodded, shyly stealing a quick kiss on her hair. “It’s still complicated, but yes.”
“We’ll work it out, darling. I know we can. It’s you and me now.”
Lila, who had been eavesdropping from a cracked door, giggled. “You must be Mr. Brandi,” she said, seeing she had been discovered. She stretched her gloved hand to greet Devon. “Nothing me and girls like more than a real romance. But right now we got to get ready.”
“All right,” Devon grinned. “You can have her fer tonight only.” He tipped his hat and backed away. “Behave,” he teased.
“You got a real looker there, Miss Brandi,” Lila said, watching Devon leave. “If you decide not to take him let me know. I’ll give him a try.”
“Not a chance,” Brandi smiled, brimming with adoration. “That one’s all mine.”
* * * *
To say the gathering crowd was rowdy would be a mammoth understatement. Made up mostly of men, they heehawed and hollered, moving chairs and tables to suit themselves. Drink flowed aplenty, adding to their jocular mood. Brandi peeked from the side of the heavy velvet curtain and shuddered. “What have I done?” she muttered. It promised to be an audience not easily sated. And she still hadn’t quite decided on which song to warble.
Scanning the balcony, she spotted Devon. Sheriff Holland and his wife were sitting on one side, the brother Nicolas and his date the other. Poor Devon, she thought. He looked so uncomfortable, yet he smiled occasionally, his lips moving with conversation. She slipped back behind the curtain, vowing to make him proud.
“Nervous?” Lila was at her side, dressed like the others in mid-length skirts puffed with layers of ruffles. Faces brightly painted, they buzzed with excitement. The first dance belonged to them.
“A little,” Brandi confessed. “How long before I’m on?”
“About twenty minutes.”
Ed brushed past them without comment, striding onto the stage, coat tails flapping behind. Once centered on the stage he motioned for the curtain to go up. It did so, slowly, and the crowd settled, taking their seats. The heckling continued however. A bottle whizzed past Ed’s head, crashing onto the floorboards. “We want women,” someone shouted.
The master of ceremonies never even flinched. He lifted his walking stick and with a voice any Shakespearean actor would envy, began to introduce the show. “Ladies and gentleman, may I present to you the marvelous…”
“Get off the stage you ugly buzzard.” A roar of laughter followed.
“Without further ado,” Ed continued, a smile plastered across a waxed face. He spun on one heel and tromped past the waiting dancers. “Imbeciles,” he complained.
The music started. Upbeat and peppy, violins joined with the thumping piano. The girls grabbed the flounces on their skirts, lifting them to reveal the laced bloomers beneath, and jigged onto the stage.
The crowd went wild. Caterwauling was mixed with the occasional lewd suggestion of what each girl needed to make her sexual life complete. Brandi chuckled. Men never changed, she thought. A hundred years of civilization hadn’t done much to soothe the beasts otherwise known as the male species.
Brandi decided to play up to this primitive mind. Her act would contain a lurid combination of Mae West and Marilyn Monroe. She shrugged the dress off each shoulder and unbuttoned the front to show more cleavage. Grabbing a small tub of lipstick she dabbed the bright red over her lips, and on each cheek, checking out the transformation in the mirror. Not quite either celebrity, but who would know? As long as she got their attention....
The music slowed and the dancers retreated, followed by a little fat man who attempted a juggling act. It wasn’t appreciated. Calls went out to get him off. He wasn’t as lucky as Ed; a bottle smacked him in the chest. He dropped his pins, swore and left.
Ed admonished the little man as he passed but was ignored. “I guess you’re next,” he said to Brandi, eyeing her bare shoulders. He disapproved which made her all the more determined to flaunt her stuff. She’d get the crowd’s interest. There’d be no bottles thrown once she was ensconced in plain view.
Snatching a feathered shawl she flung it over one arm and sashayed onto the stage. The whistles pumped up her courage. She threw her arms out as if embracing the audience, pursed her lips to throw a mock kiss in what she hoped was vintage Marilyn Monroe. “How are you all doing in Funky Town tonight?” she called. Without waiting for a response she belted out a rendition of I Shot the Sheriff. When expressions at the front tables dropped and then grinned with appreciation she sang the first verse.
All around in my hometown they’ve tried to track me down. They say they want to bring me in guilty, for the killing of a deputy.
Taking a deep breath and winking at the leering men who indeed were giving her their full attention, she finished with I shot the sheriff but I swear it was in self-defense.
A cheer rippled throughout the room. Brandi struck a cord with most of these men. They laughed, pounded tables, held drinks in salutations. All except the sheriff, of course, who sported a mortified expression as he peered down from the balcony.
The half dozen musicians blinked, waiting for their cue to start playing something familiar to them, a cue Brandi wasn’t about to give. Her next thought was to sing a little something by The Beatles, a repertoire she knew off by heart.
“My name is Brandi Glass,” she shouted with as sultry a voice as possible. “And I’m now gonna sing you a song written by the famous poet George Paul John Ringo.”
“I knowed a Johnny Ringo,” came a shout from one of the nastier looking cowboy sitting up front. “But he weren’t no poet.”
“Bet you could think of something to rhyme with Glass, Joey,” came a lurid answer. “Turn around sweetheart. Show us yer glass.”
More whistles and laughter erupted while Brandi waved a finger. “Shame on you, big boy. No one can do me no harm,” she quoted. “Cause happiness is a warm gun, and I see you got your finger on the trigger.”
It seemed the appropriate Beatle song to quote from, especially seeing that her audience was all well armed. And she didn’t doubt they all prided the weapons between their legs as much as their holstered ones. The comparison wasn’t lost to the audience.
Joey got to his feet and moved towards the stage. “I’d rather yer finger on my trigger,” he said with volume so all his friends could hear. “And it’s more than a little warm. Fact, it’s damn right hot.”
Silly as it was, Brandi hadn’t imagined she’d put herself in harms way by flirting with such a rowdy group. She had simply wanted everyone’s attention so she could sing a love ballad for Devon and then leave. But she had managed to get swept up with instant celebrity. It was obvious she had more attention than she wanted, and it had become daunting. As the trigger-happy
cowboy leaned on the stage she lifted her skirt slightly to maneuver a kick directly in his forehead. He staggered back, much to the amusement of his buddies.
It wasn’t a hard kick, but it was enough to throw him into an angry frenzy. His friends weren’t helping. They mocked his masculinity, adding to his ire. “Bitch,” he leered, squinting at her with silver eyes.
“Can’t take rejection, Joey?” the fellow next to him laughed. “God almighty, you should be used to it by now, you ugly bastard.”
Maybe singing Red River Valley wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Brandi cleared her throat, trying to keep her composure. If they sensed she had grown nervous they’d go for the kill. Her plan to have fun was backfiring. She glanced to the balcony, hoping to see Devon and throw him an apology, but the seat where he had been was empty. The sheriff was standing, watching the unfolding altercation with disdain.
To Brandi’s horror she saw Devon smashing past tables, fists clenched, his icy glare fixated on the perpetrator. Joey was too insulted to notice; he had lunged to grab at her ankle, and she fell, with no more grace than a thrown sack of potatoes being hurled into the back of a wagon. Her head hit the stage first; a flash of pain cracked her skull, and sparkling light flittered everywhere, melding into a shiny fog. Through the haze she tried to crawl away from the dirty hands still pawing at her. Joey’s friends, regardless of ridicule, jumped up to protect him from Devon’s onslaught. Pandemonium broke out. Tables tipped, fists flew.
Despite being grossly outnumbered Devon had dropped one and was successfully working his way to get to Joey who had turned to face his attacker a mere foot away. Happiness might be a warm gun, yet when Joey unleashed his and clicked the hammer, Brandi felt anything but happy.
“Devon!” she screamed. Lights brightened as she shrieked and the pain sunk to her stomach. Automatically she thrust with her foot, knocking another blow into the back of the cowboy’s head. It was solid enough to throw him off balance, securing a chance for Devon to pounce.
The gun went off. Brandi stiffened, wildly searching the confusion of bodies to see if anyone had been hit. It was difficult for her to focus, yet she saw several in the audience had decided to join in, making the volatile situation worse. In the end it worked to Devon’s advantage. Unharmed, he bolted from the fray, snatched Brandi into his arms and dashed with her to the back of the stage.
He was breathing heavily and blood trickled from a cracked nose, but otherwise he was fine. Another shot rang out behind them. She heard the sheriff demand order. But she was trembling, fighting her own battle to remain conscious. She didn’t care what happened outside.
Devon stopped in his tracks when his name was issued. It was Nicolas Holland. “Devon Fault,” he shouted from somewhere beyond the confusion. “I knew I recognized that face! That’s the outlaw Devon Fault. Get him.”
Devon swore. Sweat was trickling down his temple. His body shivered against Brandi. She wanted to cry but she was too frightened to utter any noise. Her stomach lifted, a sour taste filling her mouth.
“Quick,” Lila’s frantic whisper came from behind the curtain. “Follow me.”
Brandi had the distinct sensation of movement and although her eyes were wide open the haze had turned to a dulling twilight. The conversation around her was distant.
“She’s hit her head bad.”
“I have to get her out of here. They know who I am.”
“No, she’s too hurt to travel. You got to go. I’ll hide her in my room.”
“I ain’t leavin’ without her. I can’t.”
“You got to. Look, it’ll be okay. We leave tomorrow. You can catch up with us once the danger has past. She’ll be safe with me.”
“What if…”
“There’s no time to argue. Just go!”
“Devon,” Brandi murmured. “I’m so sorry.”
“Stay awake, honey,” Lila soothed. “Don’t go to sleep. Everything will be fine.”
“Where’s Devon? Devon ... oh God. I’m so sorry.”
“He’s gone.”
Hopelessness slapped into Brandi’s soul. Gone. The dark grew even blacker. “What have I done?” she cried before the darkness took it all away.
Chapter Three
Every time the wagon wheel hit a bump, which was too often for Brandi’s liking, her skull felt like it was being pounded with a mallet from the inside out. A ride in a covered wagon across the countryside was meant to be a treat, not a necessity for survival. Surrounded by costumes, crunched in a large trunk, she shifted to get comfortable, but whatever position she found her head reminded her that comfort was an elusive creature.
Then there was the pain in her heart to contend with. Being separated from Devon was far more torturous than the incessant bouncing about in the wagon. And not knowing where he had gone or if he was safe was a heavy weight on her mind. She had cried in an attempt to relieve the internal pressures, but that only left her eyes swollen and her headache worse.
She did know that the search for Devon went on into the night. Lila had locked her in a trunk in her hotel room. Brandi came to in the muffled stillness and comfort of silk and satin dresses. And when a voice at Lila’s door demanded she open, Brandi heard her shriek. “Why sir,” her annoyed voice scolded. “This is my private room and I am getting undressed.” The ploy worked. Her room was left unmolested.
“You okay in there?” Lila had asked, tapping lightly on the trunk’s lid.
Brandi tapped back. Her faint hadn’t lasted long. The rest of the evening she had stayed wide awake, keenly aware of every small sound, listening to excited calls from the street, the thumping of boots as rooms were searched, and eventually the roar of horse hooves. If Devon had been captured this excitement wouldn’t still be going on. He had eluded arrest again, thanks to Lila’s quick thinking.
Brandi sobbed, using a silk petticoat to dab the tears. This was all her fault. She should never have agreed to go on stage and she should never have flirted with the audience. Of course Devon would make an attempt to defend her honor from some leering, obnoxious cowboy. And then in her fright she had screamed out his real name. Stupid. She was simply a stupid girl. Devon would be wise to just abandon her. Her stupidity was a one-way ticket to a noose for the both of them. Why did she think she was invincible? This was a violent world and repercussions were swift and merciless. The guilt for endangering Devon wasn’t helping her headache.
In the early hours of the morning Lila opened the trunk and smiled in at Brandi. “It’s safe now,” she whispered.
Brandi thought twice about getting out of the trunk. It’d be better if she just stayed in here. The damage had already been done, however, and she did need to stretch. She also needed to relieve herself.
“Why did you do it?” Brandi asked, tenderly rubbing the small lump on her head. “Why did you help us?” It had been a risky thing to do. Lila had gone out on a limb.
“I recognized him,” Lila had answered. “When I saw you with him in the hall, I knew right away who he was from the posters. And I also saw how much he loves you.”
“Aiding and abetting,” Brandi sighed. “This could get you in a lot of trouble.”
“I had a love like that once,” Lila said, sadness softening her pretty features. “I lost him and it broke my heart. I couldn’t bear to see such loss happen again.” She went to the window, alone with her memories. She looked so pretty standing there, her hand lifted to hold the curtain, the white of her long dress glowing in the shadows. Even her face seemed to disappear in the silhouette. A ghost. A beautiful, brokenhearted ghost waiting for a love who could never return.
The sentiment overwhelmed Brandi and in total frustration she had covered her face and wept. Lila wrapped a shawl round her shoulders. “Don’t you fret, honey. That man of yours is a survivor, and he’ll ride through the depths of hell to get you back again.”
“He might have to.”
Then they spent the rest of the night sitting together on the floor, listening to me
aningless sounds that wafted in occasionally from the street outside. Lila softly whispered her tale of woe ... a young actor she was engaged to ... how he found himself caught up with a group of cattle rustlers. It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The rustlers were lynched and regardless of his pleas of innocence, her fiancé was lynched with them. Love lost to meaningless horror. The night dragged on. Once the roosters began to crow the boards beneath them vibrated to moving feet. Lila took Brandi’s hand and squeezed it with assurance. “They didn’t catch him.” She sounded so confident it was as though she were watching him ride off that very instant. Grinning at Brandi she winked. “And they ain’t gonna catch you either.”
Brandi had been stuffed into the trunk again and loaded with the other boxes into the troop’s wagon. From inside she heard Ed issuing his orders, agreeing with the care he demanded so that boxes wouldn’t be dropped. She held her breath when she heard the sheriff. If she breathed he might hear her hiding in this secret place.
“Well, Mr. Taylor. I should think that would teach you not to invite strangers to be a part of your act. Although I must admit she showed promise. If it weren’t for Joe and his boys then the performance would have been more a success. Sure you won’t stay tonight and try again? I’ll make sure the troublemakers stay locked up.”
“No, thank you. We have a schedule.”
“I understand. We all have our agendas.”
“How is that Joe, anyway? Is he going to live?”
Brandi clasped her palm over her mouth. Not another reason to hunt Devon down.
“He’ll be fine. Just a graze. Sure would have liked to catch that damn outlaw though. Who’d have thought, pretending to be a businessman? Sly. He’s a sly one, that’s for sure. Had me believing every word and I’m not one who falls easily to such scams.”
“Don’t forget the wife,” Ed puffed with annoyance. “He’s likely pimping her.”
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