J.T. let out a low whistle. “Pretty nice.”
“Nothing but the best.” Roy led the way to a double door and opened it wide. “This is the stage.”
With Fancy next to him, J.T. walked into the heart of the theater. At least fifty rows of upholstered seats fanned out from the stage, and a curtain the size of a barn hung from the ceiling. Five chandeliers formed the points of a star, and two balconies jutted from the wall. The last time J.T. had seen Roy, he’d been a two-bit gambler. How had he ended up among the Denver upper crust? And what did he want from Mary? He signaled Fancy Girl to sit, then surveyed the theater again. “This place is huge.”
“It’s the biggest opera house in town.” Roy put his hands in his pockets. “Things are going well, but I’ve got a bit of a problem.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I manage this place for a group of investors.” Roy’s jaw twitched. J.T. had played cards with him and knew his mannerisms. The tic signaled a bluff. “Those men are expecting a solid return on what we’ve put into this place.”
“Like sold-out shows?”
“Yes.” His jaw twitched again. “There are two ways to make money in this business. Bawdy shows draw big crowds, but like I said, I’ve gone legitimate. Denver has money now. Big money, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know.” Denver was full of millionaires who’d made their fortunes from mining and the railroad. These folks wanted classy entertainment, not cheap burlesque.
Roy wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief. “My investors have high expectations, so I’m putting on an opera. That’s where you come in.”
“Me?” J.T. pretended to misunderstand. “I can’t sing a lick.”
Roy chuckled. “No, but Mary Larue can. Rumor has it you two were quite a pair in Abilene.”
How did Roy know about Kansas? Was Mary already involved with him? J.T. fought to sound casual. “Who told you that?”
“I was in Abilene during the O’Day trail.” Roy shook his head. “What a shame. It ruined her career. That woman sings like a nightingale.”
J.T. hadn’t pressed Mary for details about the scandal, but he didn’t mind quizzing Roy. “What happened?”
“You don’t know?”
“I left on business.”
The theater manager propped his hips on the back of a seat. “The whole town was buzzing about the two of you. After you left, O’Day figured she was up for grabs. He followed her out of the theater and tried to—” Roy let his implication stand. “She shot him.”
J.T. knew all that. “What happened after the trial?”
“She left town.” Roy shook his head. “That’s when the gossip got really bad, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Roy laughed. “You dodged a bullet, Quinn. Be thankful.”
The remark struck J.T. as odd, but Roy was known for talking in circles. Even so, J.T. wondered…what bullet? Thinking about it, he decided Roy meant marriage. For once J.T. had to agree with him. He felt bad about leaving Mary, but he wasn’t the marrying kind.
Roy’s eyes glinted. “Mary and I have gotten to be friends. I asked her to star in my opera, but she turned me down. I’m hoping you’ll help me change her mind.”
J.T. looked around the theater with its chandeliers and velvet seats. The hall held the stuff of Mary’s dreams, but she’d turned Roy down to keep the Abilene scandal a secret. He felt bad about the reason, but he liked her refusal. He looked Roy in the eye. “Mary said no. It’s her choice. Not mine.”
“I thought you might have some influence. From what I hear, you had her wrapped around your little finger.”
No man wrapped Mary around his finger. She’d been good to him because she’d cared about him, and he’d taken advantage. The memory shamed him. “Mary’s her own woman.”
Roy’s eyes gleamed like black stones. “So you don’t have a claim on her?”
“What are you getting at?”
“If you’re done with her, I’ll take her for myself.”
J.T. gripped Roy by the collar, squeezing until the man’s jugular pressed against his knuckles. “You touch Mary and you’re dead.” Fancy stood silent at his feet, ready to attack if he gave the word.
Roy held up his hands. “Hold on, Quinn! I was thinking about Mary, what I could give her.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“I swear it.” Sweat beaded on Roy’s brow. “I could make her famous. Rich, too. That’s all. Okay?”
J.T. set Roy down, but he didn’t believe a word the man said. Lust showed in his eyes. So did greed. J.T. forgot all about buying whiskey. He forgot about leaving Denver. He had to warn Mary about Roy. The man said he had investors, but J.T. sensed a lie. Had Roy’s so-called investors given him money, or had he cheated them out of it? If he’d cheated them, what kind of payback did they want? J.T. saw a lot of self-proclaimed justice in his line of work. People paid him to administer it. Looking at Roy, he saw the familiar look of a man without shame. He matched the theater manager’s stare. “Stay away from Mary Larue.”
“Sure,” he said too easily. “She’s all yours.”
She wasn’t, but J.T. didn’t mind Roy thinking along those lines. He paced out of the opera house with Fancy Girl at his heels and rode straight to Mary’s café. There he slid out of the saddle and pounded on the door. When she didn’t answer, he peered through the window and saw the table where he’d eaten pot roast. It was already re-laid with silverware and a clean plate. It looked as if he’d never been there, as if she’d erased him from her life. Maybe she had, but no way would he leave her a second time to deal alone with someone like Sam O’Day or Roy Desmond.
J.T. figured she’d left for the Sunday supper she’d mentioned at a place called Swan’s Nest. Mary didn’t want him around her friends, but he had to warn her about Roy. Annoyed, he looked at his reflection in a dark window. Mary was right about that bath. He’d clean up, then he’d track her down. He’d do his best not to embarrass her, but he couldn’t leave until she promised to keep away from Roy Desmond.
Chapter Four
By the time Mary reached the iron gate marking Swan’s Nest, she’d pushed J.T. out of her mind. At least that’s what she told herself until the hinges creaked and she jumped. Walking up the manicured path, she looked at the stained-glass window above the covered porch. Pure and white, a swan glistened on a pond of turquoise glass. It didn’t have a care in the world, but Mary did. She’d gone from nearly a soiled dove to a swan when she’d become a Christian, but she couldn’t erase the past. If the scandal found her in Denver, gossip would start and men would hound her. Worst of all, she could lose Gertie’s respect. Things could get ugly fast, and then where would she be? Silently she prayed that no one had seen J.T. leave.
As she climbed the porch steps, the door opened and she saw Adie. Her friend beckoned her inside. “We have to talk.”
Mary worried about her sister. “Is it Gertie?”
“She’s fine.”
“Then what—”
“It’s about you and that man I saw.”
Mary’s cheeks turned cherry-red. “You saw us?”
“I sure saw him.” As Adie lifted the basket of bread, Mary wondered if she’d been impressed by J.T.’s good looks or his black duster and guns. She scolded herself for not being prepared for questions. She should have realized someone would look out the window. She wouldn’t lie to Adie, but neither would she confide in her friend completely. Secrets were a burden, not a gift. “I knew him in Abilene.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact. “It was a long time ago.”
“You looked worried,” Adie spoke in a hush. “That wasn’t Sam O’Day’s brother, was it?”
Mary had told Adie about the murder trial, but she’d never mentioned her relationship with J.T. “There’s no connection.”
“Then who was he?”
“No one special. He liked my singing.”
Adie’s brows rose. “The man I just saw—the one in black with
guns on both hips—he tracked you down because he likes music?”
Mary felt chagrined. “Well, he liked me, too.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t more than like?”
“It wasn’t.” If he’d loved her, he would have stayed. He might even have married her.
Adie touched her arm. “Just so you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.” She had no desire to have this conversation, not with a crowd in the garden, so she lifted the basket. “We better get supper ready.”
“Sure.”
Relieved that Adie didn’t press, Mary carried the bread to the kitchen. Caroline, a brunette with a heart-shaped face, greeted her from the stove. Bessie, her sister and older by several years, was frying potatoes and teasing her sister about baking too many pies.
The routine of cooking helped Mary relax. As she tied an apron, Adie told her Augustus and Gertie were in the garden with the other guests. Mary felt a familiar lump of worry. Her brother avoided people because of his stammering, and Gertie had taken to putting on airs. “I wish they’d make friends,” she said as she sliced the bread.
Caroline stirred the gravy. “Gertie’s with Bonnie Reynolds. Last I saw, they were looking at a Godey’s Lady’s Book.”
Bonnie was a year older than Gertie and had a good head on her shoulders. Mary liked her. She didn’t feel the same way about the other girl Gertie had met. Katrina Lowe was older by five years and had traveled alone from Chicago. She worked in a dress shop and dreamed of designing theater costumes. She’d been raised in a well-to-do family and had excellent manners, but she also had a defiant way about her.
Mary worried about Gertie because of her ambition. She worried about her brother because his shyness. “What about Augustus?”
Caroline kept stirring the gravy. “I haven’t seen him.”
Bessie chimed in. “I sent him outside with a bowl of apples.”
“Maybe he’s with the other boys,” Adie said hopefully.
Doubting it, Mary untied her apron. “I’d better check on him.”
As she headed for the door, Caroline spoke over her shoulder. “You might wander by the rose garden.”
“Why?”
She grinned. “I saw a new man at church this morning. He’s single and handsome.”
Ever since she’d caught Pearl Oliver’s wedding bouquet, Mary’s friends had been conspiring to find her a husband. She wished Caroline had caught the bouquet. She wanted a husband. Mary didn’t. All men weren’t as untrustworthy as J.T., but she’d never take that chance. She tried to sound lighthearted. “I don’t care about a husband. I’ve got Gertie and Augustus.”
“You did catch the flowers,” Bessie reminded her.
“And I wish I hadn’t!” she laughed. “You’re all impossible!”
Closing the door behind her, Mary stepped into the yard. Her friends didn’t realize it, but the teasing stirred up memories of J.T. and the miscarriage. She needed to shake off the upset, so she put on a smile as she approached the visitors in the garden. She saw a group of boys playing tag, but Augustus hadn’t joined them. Disappointed, she approached Gertie and Bonnie, who were seated on a bench under a crab apple tree. “Have you seen Augustus?”
“He left,” Gertie replied.
Worry shivered up Mary’s spine. “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.” Gertie indicated the street. “The last I saw him, he had some apples and was walking that way.”
Mary saw horses hitched to the fence. Maybe Augustus had gone to give them treats. “Thanks, Gertie.”
As Mary headed for the street, Bonnie called to her. “Miss Larue?”
“Yes?”
“I saw some boys with him about twenty minutes ago. One of them was Todd Roman. He’s older, and he’s not very nice.”
“You saw him talking to Augustus?”
“Sort of.” Bonnie knew the boy stammered. “I don’t know why, but Augustus went with them.”
“Where did they go?”
“I didn’t see.”
“Thank you, Bonnie.” Mary hurried to the gate and worked the latch. Her brother would never leave without telling her, nor would he have willingly gone with a group of boys he didn’t know. Determined to find him, she stepped out to the street and called his name.
With his hat pulled low, J.T. guided his horse down the road that led to Swan’s Nest. After leaving Roy, he’d returned his pack horse to the livery and gotten directions to the mansion, bought fresh clothes and gone to a bath house for a good scrubbing. Bay rum wafted off him, and he’d never had a closer shave. If he looked respectable, maybe Mary would believe him about Roy.
“What do you think, girl?” he said to the dog trotting at his side. “Is Mary in as much trouble as I think?”
Fancy Girl looked at him with a doggy grin, a reaction that gave J.T. comfort. For a while he’d been worried the mutt was going to trade him for Mary.
“S-s-stop it!”
The cry came from behind a wall. High-pitched and quavering, it sent J.T. back to a filthy alley in New York and his brother beating him for losing four pennies. Judging by the tone of the voice and the way it cracked, it belonged to a boy nearing adolescence…a terrified boy who needed help.
“Come on, Fancy.”
J.T. turned the buckskin and dug in his heels. The horse wheeled and broke into a run. At the end of the wall, he reined the animal to a halt and leaped out of the saddle. Fancy Girl arrived at his side, growling and ready to attack if he gave the word. At the sight of a boy up against a brick wall, his nose bloody and tears staining his cheeks, J.T. wanted to rip into the attackers himself. The boy being beaten had blond hair and no muscle on his bones. The ones doing the hitting were older, heavier and mean enough to laugh at the boy’s whimpering. Two of them were holding him spread-eagle against the wall, while a third threw a punch hard enough to crack a rib.
“Hey!” J.T. shouted.
The boys doing the attacking glared at him, but they didn’t release the blond kid. The kid tried to pull away, but he didn’t have the strength.
“L-l-l-let me go,” he whimpered. “P-p-p-lease. I—I—I—”
The stuttering made J.T.’s throat hurt. The boy doing the hitting laughed. “Wh-wh-what d-d-did you say, Au-au—”
“I heard him just fine,” J.T. dragged the words into a growl. “He said to leave him alone.”
The boys holding the kid’s arms watched him nervously but didn’t budge. The third one—the leader, J.T. surmised—held his ground. With his small, dark eyes and lank hair the color of coffee, he had the look of a buzzard determined to pick the boy’s bones—or his pockets—clean. He stared at J.T., then lowered his chin. “This ain’t your fight, mister.”
“It is now.”
The boy’s eyes gleamed with a compulsion to fight. J.T. would be glad to oblige, but not in the way the boy expected. He paced toward the two holding the blond kid spread-eagle, letting them see his knotted fists and cold stare. In unison they stepped back and raised their hands in surrender. The boy who’d been beaten groaned and slid into a heap.
“Get outta here!” J.T. shouted at them.
The two sprinted for their lives. J.T. turned to the third one. He looked closer to manhood than the others, maybe sixteen or so, and he’d stood his ground. He spat, then glared at J.T. “Get lost, mister.”
With his duster loose and his gun belt tight on his hips, J.T. walked straight at him.
The boy didn’t budge.
J.T. kept coming. When he got within a foot, he saw sweat on the boy’s brow. “You want to fight?” he said in a singsong tone.
The kid said nothing.
He had no intention of using his fists, but this boy-man didn’t know that. J.T. smirked, tempting the kid to take the first punch. It would be unwise and they both knew it. J.T. was faster, stronger and meaner. He didn’t twitch, didn’t blink. He simply waited.
The boy swallowed once, then again. When he blinked, fear showed in his gaze. The boy knew J.T
. outmatched him, just as he’d outmatched the blond kid.
“How does it feel?” J.T. said in an oily voice.
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“N-now who’s afraid?”
“Look, mister—”
“Shut your mouth.” He grabbed the kid by the collar. “I could have you on the ground in two seconds and you’d be dead in three.” He shoved him back and out of reach. “You leave my friend alone.”
The boy answered by glaring.
J.T. strode toward him as if he were going to kick him. Instead he kicked up a cloud of empty dust. “Come on,” he shouted. “Take a swing at me.”
Just as he expected, the boy scrambled to his feet and ran. He got twenty feet away and turned. “I don’t know who you are, mister! But you’ll be sorry.” He jerked a finger at the boy slumped against the wall. “So will you, Au-au-gustus!
The stutter mocked the boy who’d been beaten, but it was J.T. who felt punched in the gut. Mary’s brother was called Augustus. How many boys in Denver would go by that awful name? Looking at the kid again, he saw Mary’s wheat-colored hair and distinct cheek bones. He watched to be sure the boy who’d done the bullying kept running, then he turned back to Augustus. The resemblance couldn’t be denied. “Do you know Mary Larue?”
“Sh-she’s my s-s—” The kid sealed his lips.
J.T. took the stammering for yes. “I knew her in Kansas.”
Augustus wiped the blood from his nose with the sleeve of his white shirt, probably his Sunday best. He sniffed, then looked at J.T. again. “Th-th—” Thank you.
“No problem, kid.” The stammering hurt in ways J.T. had never experienced. He held out his hand to shake. “I’m J. T. Quinn.”
The boy leveraged to his feet, then fell to the ground unconscious. Crouching at his side, J.T. rolled him to his back. The boy had probably fainted from shock, but he couldn’t be sure. A blow to the head could cause bleeding in his brain. A busted rib could puncture a lung. He shook the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, kid.”
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