Colorado Captive

by Charlotte Hubbard

  The pianist grinned. “That’s ragtime, Miss Eliza. It’s a piece I heard Scott Joplin play at the Columbian Exposition in Chicago. Ooh—would you looky there!”

  Josh swept the keyboard with a showy flourish as Victoria Chatterly entered the ballroom. With her snowy hair swirled around a jeweled tiara, a peacock silk gown flowing gracefully over her generous figure, and the glitter of rings and pendants, she would’ve turned heads even if she hadn’t been Cripple Creek’s most illustrious Madame. With a dainty wave to Clancy, she approached the piano.

  “Happy birthday, Miss Victoria,” Josh said with a wide smile. “And many happy returns.”

  “Thank you, dear. And isn’t the ballroom lovely?” Her aqua eyes sparkled as she gazed at bouquets of fresh yellow roses accented with lace and gold ribbons—flowers rushed in on Wells Fargo from the coast. “The girls have done themselves proud tonight. Are the musicians ready?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Got a couple horns and a banjo comin’, too. Just like you wanted.”

  Victoria’s face lit up with girlish delight, and she took Emily’s elbow. “Let’s have one last look at the refreshments,” she said as she swayed toward the tables. “Be sure to keep the punch bowls filled, and the sandwich and meat trays fresh—but you know all that. You look very pretty tonight, Eliza.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. So do you,” Emily murmured. She caught a scent of rose perfume as the woman plucked at her sleeves with motherly care, to make them puff more prettily around her shoulders.

  “Is your uncle coming?” Miss Chatterly asked with a sly lift of her eyebrows.

  “I think so. He asked Idaho to air out his best coat and trousers.”

  “Good. Silas needs to socialize more—and here come our first guests.”

  Emily watched Miss Victoria greet two local bankers with open arms. Sam Langston and Conrad Stokes kissed her plump cheeks and complimented her on staging such a lavish birthday celebration. There would be a sea of wealthy, smiling faces here tonight—men she’d heard Papa and Silas speak of, but who certainly wouldn’t qualify as the killer she was looking for. The band struck up a graceful song, and it was time to go to work. Emily ladled up cups of the sparkling punch for Darla and Lucy, two of the Rose’s more flamboyant residents, and then began to fill more.

  When she glanced up from the table, Miss Victoria’s arm was linked through Matt McClanahan’s. He looked extremely elegant in a dove-gray suit with a cravate of powder blue.

  “Congratulations on your promotion, Mr. McClanahan,” the Madame was saying with a flirtatious smile. “I’m glad Silas decided someone should be hired to look after Elliott’s affairs—and I understand you interviewed with Miss Burnham herself. How is the poor dear?”

  Considering his reply carefully, Matt wondered whether it was Silas or Clancy who’d informed the curvaceous Madame about his meeting with Emily. “She’s pale—a mere shadow of herself, as I understand it,” he said. When he caught sight of Emily, who looked exquisitely vibrant in her pink satin gown, he had to nip back a grin.

  Emily concentrated on ladling punch as Matt and Miss Chatterly came toward the refreshment table. “I really should go to the ranch and offer my condolences,” Victoria continued, “but I feel a bit awkward, since her father and I were…well, we were very close. When Silas offered to escort me to the funeral, I stayed here in Cripple rather than embarrass Elliott’s daughter. He was very protective of her, you know.” The Madame reached for a cup of punch, her smile brightening. “And I’m sure you remember this young lady.”

  “How could I forget her?” Matt kissed Emily’s knuckles, his eyes flirting with hers. “You look absolutely angelic in pink, Miss Eliza”

  Emily felt her cheeks redden as Victoria laughed. “Much more of a lady than when she ran through the parlor with your clothes, soaking wet,” the Madame said in a lilting voice. “That little incident has several of our gentlemen asking for her company—”

  “I’m sure they are.”

  “—but of course Silas would never allow such a thing. And there he is!” Miss Chatterly’s gaze traveled up and down the mine manager’s imperially-slender figure. “Wouldn’t it be nice if Elliott were with him, like old

  times?” she said with a slight sigh. “Excuse me, Mr. McClanahan. Please, make yourself at home.”

  Matt sipped a cup of punch until Miss Victoria was out of earshot, then he leaned toward Emily. “Has she said anything else about E.R.’s daughter?”

  “She asked Clancy about me once, when he first came here from the ranch,” she replied in a low voice. “But that’s the only time, that I know of.”

  “Was it Donahue who mentioned our interview, or Silas?”

  Emily glanced around to be sure no one could hear them. “Silas did. He thought Victoria Would be less likely to stumble onto my identity if she knew you were handling the businesses now,” she said quietly. “But she thinks you talked to me at the ranch rather than at Silas’s house.”

  Nodding, Matt noticed how the young woman’s smile had faded somewhat. “I’m sorry if what she said about your father bothered you, honey. You did a helluva job pretending she wasn’t talking about you.”

  Emily rearranged the sandwiches on a tray. “I figured out that she was his mistress long before he hired her away from a bordello in Denver,” she said with a tiny smile. “He would never have married her—he was in love with Mama to the end—but I knew all his trips to Denver and Cripple didn’t involve real estate and gold mining.”

  McClanahan smiled when pink spots appeared in her cheeks; Elliott Burnham had probably been so protective that he never realized his daughter had inherited his passionate nature—and that was a subject Matt knew he’d better not think about right now. “Does she suspect you and Donahue knew each other before you started working here?”

  “No. So far, she’s under the impression that Silas was doing us both a favor by recommending us for these jobs. If business weren’t good enough to warrant more help, Victoria wouldn’t have hired Clancy—and had Hughes not said I was an excellent bookkeeper, I wouldn’t have access to her ledgers.” Emily flashed him a warning glance, then ladled punch for a handful of guests. When she and Matt were alone again, she lowered her voice. “Most of these men know Papa had a daughter, too, but Silas is the only one who ever saw me before.”

  “Even so, we’ll have to find the murderer before your father’s friends start trying to buy you out…among other things.” McClanahan let his gaze wander over her delicate pink gown. Emily’s innocent beauty made her stand out like a dew-kissed bud on a bush full of faded roses, and it was only a matter of time before the locals started asking for her company. “Is there a chance you’ll be recognized tonight? You look a bit like Elliott, and in that dress you could certainly be his daughter rather than a chambermaid.”

  Emily glanced at other guests as they arrived, answering their smiles with Eliza’s shy grin. “I doubt they’ll notice the resemblance. Papa left me at the ranch when he came here—said a boomtown was no place for a young lady.”

  “He was right, you know.” Matt drained his cup and gave her a quick wink. “I’d better mingle. Your favorite bartender’s watching us.”

  She sighed, noting how suavely McClanahan greeted henna-haired Darla and a few of the other ladies before he slipped his arm around Princess Cherry Blossom. Emily didn’t have to look—she could feel Clancy’s gaze from the bar across the room—so she fetched another pitcher of punch from the kitchen. She’d been eager for Victoria’s party all week, yet now she felt as flat as day-old beer. It was going to be a long evening if Matt ignored her for the sake of her identity.

  On her way back from the kitchen, Emily paused in the curtained alcove between the back hall and the ballroom. The Golden Rose was alive with light and loveliness, a gaiety she hadn’t felt since the last Christmas party at the ranch. The band’s spritely music had all the ladies dancing with debonair partners—except for the Indian Princess, who had apparently spiri
ted Matt away. Miss Victoria was smiling up at Silas as he led her deftly around the room in a two-step.

  Champagne and whiskey were flowing freely, and Emily found the excitement contagious despite the fact that she was acting as the Rose’s serving girl rather than its owner. Papa would’ve been proud to entertain his friends here—his employees’ morals might be questionable, but they provided the best decadence in town—and she found herself smiling in spite of the way her heart still ached every time she thought of him.

  As the evening passed, she sliced birthday cake onto plates and made polite conversation with men she’d often seen here. Emily found her foot tapping under the table as she watched Miss Victoria and the ladies flirt and giggle in the arms of wealthy men who adored them for it, and when a large hand gently gripped her ladle, she looked up into a tanned, masculine face.

  Marshal Barry Thompson smiled down at her, looking extremely handsome in his frock coat and white shirt. “Your uncle’s given me permission for this dance, if you’ll give me the pleasure,” he said smoothly. “You’re too pretty to be a wallflower all night, Eliza.”

  Emily hesitated. “But Miss Victoria wants me to—”

  “She expects her help to enjoy themselves, too, honey. It keeps the customers happy.”

  She smiled and came around the table as Josh began to play a ragtime waltz. Barry was surprisingly graceful for a tall man, and she had no trouble following his lead as they began to glide in time with the other dancers.

  “How’s it going at the mine?” he asked. “Do the men tease you about the trick you pulled on McClanahan the other night?”

  “They know better, because I’d report them!” she replied with a chuckle. The marshal’s question was merely conversational, yet she knew people were beginning to notice Eliza’s presence around town. Did they realize that Clancy’s arrival, and then McClanahan’s, were more than mere coincidence, too? As the waltz ended, she thanked Barry with a curtsy, glad to return to the safety of the refreshment table.

  But as the opening chords of a polka rang out, another large hand was grasping hers. Clancy wheeled her toward him, grinning rakishy. “Come on, little girl. I need to stretch my legs.”

  Emily looked frantically around the ballroom. “But there’s Maria—and Lucy—”

  “I can dance with them any day of the week. It’s you I want.”

  She despised being bullied, but she was powerless in his burly arms. Donahue clutched her close, and as he took her across the floor at an ungainly gallop, Emily smelled whiskey on his breath. When she tripped over his boots a second time, he gripped her harder.

  “Stop it. You’re crushing me,” she snapped.

  “It’ll feel better when we’re alone.” Clancy lifted her from the floor, pressing her against his broad stomach. “I’ll give you a ride home, and then—”

  “I’m going with Silas,” Emily hissed.

  The bartender snorted and whirled her around so unevenly she thought they would crash into the wall. “No sense wasting this dress on him,” the red-bearded Irishman muttered.

  Emily shrieked when he raised her above his head as though she were a rag doll. The couples around them chuckled and tried to stay out of Clancy’s path, while McClanahan sent her an infuriating little grin. He was standing in the doorway with the Indian Princess, obviously enjoying her embarrassment.

  “Clancy, you’re drunk,” she said with clenched teeth. “Put me down!”

  “Not till you say you’ll see me tonight.”

  The song ended and Emily scrambled out of the bartender’s arms, toward McClanahan. “Matt, please—help me,” she pleaded in a loud whisper.

  He glanced at the Goliath behind her and shrugged. “Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t dance.”

  “What a shame,” Clancy jeered.

  As the band began another waltz, Donahue pulled her toward the center of the room again. The swaying beat

  seemed to soothe him, but Emily was still petrified as she struggled to avoid his clumsy feet. It was past midnight, and the men around them had also had their share of liquor. None of them—not even Silas—would challenge Clancy Donahue unless he was causing her bodily harm, so all she could do was wish for the end of the song.

  Without warning, the huge man scooped her up and kissed her wetly on the mouth.

  Emily struggled, kicking and pounding on him until he set her down. “You big—”

  He clamped his hand behind her head and kissed her again. His boozy slobber nauseated her, and she jerked away, raising her hand to strike him. Then someone stepped under her uplifted arm and waltzed her toward the center of the ballroom in perfect time to the music.

  “Good thing you’re left-handed,” McClanahan teased as he slipped his arm farther around her waist.

  Emily glared up at him. “Why didn’t you just wait until he tore my dress off?”

  “In a place like this? I didn’t want the other ladies feeling inferior.” Matt chuckled at the sparks he saw in her amber eyes. “Ignore him, Emily. He’s drunk enough to call you by your real name, out of spite.”

  McClanahan was right. He was also a good dancer, so she relaxed and enjoyed matching her steps to his. “This is getting complicated,” she murmured. “I wish I could just be myself. The Princess wouldn’t stand a chance with you if I weren’t playing this charade.”

  “She’s only a friend, honey. I can’t pay much attention to you in public…but I want to. I was mad as hell when Donahue gave you that sloppy kiss.”

  Emily leaned back against his arm, wanting this dance to last forever. Matt lowered his lashes seductively, and as he held her closer to guide her through a series of pirouettes, his leathery cologne reminded her how utterly male he was. When her head stopped spinning from their quick turns, she realized they were in the dim, curtained alcove between the ballroom and the hall. The music went on, but Matt stopped dancing. His face was shadowed and handsome as he leaned her against the wall.

  “Who are you?” she murmured.

  McClanahan chuckled. “I’m the man who rescued you from that bartending baboon. And all I get are questions in return?”

  Emily raised her face for the kiss she knew was coming. Matt pressed into her, his lips seeking out her secret desires and revealing a few of his own. His mouth lingered on her cheek and behind her ear, and then returned to her eager lips.

  He moaned and eased away from her. “That’s how a lady should be kissed,” he whispered. “Now go straighten your hair. You look like you’ve been ravished.”

  After correcting her appearance in the hallway mirror, Emily returned to the ballroom and saw that the crowd was thinning out. Princess Cherry Blossom was escorting Barry Thompson toward the parlor. Other guests were either pairing off with one of the ladies or giving Miss Victoria a birthday kiss goodnight.

  Silas drained his whiskey tumbler and set it on the sideboard. “I’ve been looking for you,” he commented. “Ready to call it a night?”

  Emily nodded and walked toward the door ahead of him. “Goodnight, Miss Chatterly,” she said quietly.

  “Goodnight, dear. And thanks for all your help.” The Madame leaned closer, surrounding her with the scents of champagne and rose perfume. “Shall I speak to Clancy? The other girls are used to his advances, but—”

  “I’ll try to stay out of his way.” Emily walked past the bar, where Donahue was glowering as he poured McClanahan a whiskey. Matt reached out for her hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Goodnight, Miss…Eliza,” he murmured. “Sweet dreams.”

  But Emily’s recollections of Clancy’s behavior were certainly not sweet. And as she sat at a table in the Rose’s pantry the next morning, updating the ledgers, her frown deepened. The house had been packed for the party, yet the receipts were less than an ordinary weeknight’s. On a busy evening, Clancy sometimes stashed money here in the pantry to keep his cash drawer from being a temptation. But the safe was empty.

  Walking slowly down the hall, she considered her next move caref
ully. Donahue probably had a hangover on top of the grudge he’d be nursing—and there was a chance that he’d stuck the money someplace else. Emily glanced around the parlor. The Sunday crowd hadn’t started arriving yet, and Bob was ready to work his shift at the bar, so now was the best time to straighten this out.

  “Clancy, may I see you?” she asked quietly.

  The bartender threw her a sour look. He tossed his polishing rag on the back counter and followed her down the hall, his steps heavy behind hers. “About time you apologized,” he mumbled. “You had no call to be on such a high horse last night.”

  Emily slipped behind the pantry table, ignoring his scowl. “Did you forget to give Victoria some of the cash from the bar? We’re short by a couple hundred dollars at least.”

  Donahue stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I put it in the safe, like always.”

  “Are you sure? You would’ve been away from the bar for several minutes, and you’re not usually that careless.” Emily watched the thoughts play across the former ranch hand’s face: she was giving him rope enough to either pull himself out of a lie or tie a noose, and he considered her suggestion before he answered.

  “Now that I think about it,” he began stiffly, “I recall stashing money in a glass and hiding it behind some bottles on the bottom shelf, there in the ballroom.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “When I was cleaning up, I couldn’t find it. Hard to believe one of those millionaires would pocket such a penny-ante amount, but that must be what happened.”

  “And you didn’t report it to Victoria?” Emily crossed her arms, knowing damn well who’d pocketed the cash.

  Clancy’s green eyes glimmered as he returned her gaze. “Victoria was busy. Sam Langston, I think.”

  Slamming the ledger shut, Emily glared coldly at the red-haired bear before her. “From here on out, Mr. Donahue, you’re to stay behind the bar and you’re to stay sober. Papa wouldn’t have tolerated your behavior, and neither will I.”