Only My Love

by Jo Goodman

  "Much too obvious," he said. "But very nice."

  "Thank you."

  Detra came out from her office in time to hear the last exchange. "Let's go, girls. There's plenty of work for you to do. Carmen, you can start with the floor in here. Kitty, the spittoons. The brass rail needs polishing and the mirror needs wiping." She held up one hand when they started to protest that they needed more rehearsal time. "You've been doing those songs for two weeks now. You know them as well as you need to."

  "But Michael needs—" Josie's objection was met with one of Dee's most frosty stares. "Well, I hope she doesn't embarrass the rest of us," she mumbled, getting to her feet.

  "I don't see how she could," Houston said as Michael returned to the stage. "She wasn't the one who caused that fall. It seemed to me that Susan couldn't keep the pace."

  Susan huffed a little while Dee glared at Houston. After a moment Detra turned on her heel and marched into her office.

  Houston grinned, completely unrepentant. He took off his hat, dropped it on the counter, and ran his fingers through his light hair. "Go on, girls. You heard, Dee. She has work for you to do."

  Michael spied the broom leaning against the upright piano. "I'll sweep," she said. She gave Carmen a wary glance. "Unless you want to."

  "Be my guest. I want to talk to Houston anyway."

  Houston pushed away from the bar and shook his head. "No, Michael. I want to talk to you. Carmen can sweep." His brows came up as the door to Dee's office was slammed. He looked once in that direction but his thoughts were masked. When he returned his attention to the stage Carmen was already getting the broom and Michael was alone. "Down here, Michael. We can sit at one of the tables."

  Michael ignored the hand he offered to help her down from the stage and took the short ramp instead. It was more difficult to pretend she hadn't seen that Houston was amused by her gesture. To spare herself more of his smug ridicule, Michael accepted the chair he pulled out for her.

  "Do you want a drink?" he asked.

  "No, thank you. I don't drink."

  "I was thinking of coffee. Lottie will bring it from the kitchen."

  "No, nothing," she said hurriedly. The last thing she wanted was one of the girls waiting on her. She needed to join them, not be set apart. "If you want something, I'll get it."

  Houston placed a hand over Michael's forearm, stopping her from rising. He sat down and removed his hand only when he was certain she wasn't going to bolt. "That's better. I don't want anything either."

  Michael's eyes strayed to the star on Houston's shirt. She tried not to show her disdain. "Is this official business, Sheriff?"

  He chuckled. "There's not much in the way of official business in this town. Nothing ever happens here." He stared at her hard for a moment. "At least not officially."

  "I'm beginning to realize that."

  "Good."

  "Then what is it you want?"

  Houston shrugged. "Just some conversation."

  "You didn't have to single me out for that."

  "Yes, I did."

  She heard sincerity in his tone and saw something earnest and warm in his coal black eyes. He had strong, even bold features. His dark eyes and brows were a startling, even arresting contrast to the light, pale ash color of his hair. He was not nearly as handsome as he was compelling, and Nathaniel Houston, Michael admitted reluctantly, was very, very handsome.

  And like everyone who worked for him, he was also a murderer.

  Michael had the oddest sensation that he knew precisely what she was thinking. She recalled Ethan's warning to stay away from Houston and Detra's animosity. She met Houston's direct gaze and saw the warmth had been replaced by a cold, fathomless, and implacable stare that communicated both a warning and a threat. Here, then, was the killer. Here was the man she meant to see hang.

  "Ethan's not in favor of you dancing," he said.

  "That's not what Kitty told me this morning."

  Houston thought that over. "You're still Ethan's wife."

  "That was a long time ago."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning it was a long time ago. Nothing more, nothing less." She lowered her voice so none of the girls engaged in tasks around them would hear. "I think for myself, Mr. Houston."

  "Houston. Just Houston. Or Nate. I don't fancy being a mister anybody." He leaned forward in his chair and placed his forearms on the tabletop. "Tell me something, when Ethan walked out on you, were you in love with him?"

  Michael's eyes dropped away. She stared at her hands for a moment trying to formulate the best answer. "That's very personal," she said.

  "Were you?"

  "Yes." She hoped she sounded as if she had given the answer reluctantly.

  "Are you still?"

  It came quite naturally to look at Houston as if he were mad.

  He laughed at her. "Guess not. You forgiven him yet?"

  "For walking out on me? I forgave him for that years ago. For bringing me to this forsaken place? Never."

  "But you intend to stay with him."

  "Do I have any choice?"

  Houston didn't say anything for a moment. His look was considering as his eyes drifted over Michael's face. He made a slight nod of approval as he saw her flush under his thoughtful scrutiny. "You may have another choice," he said, pushing away from the table and standing up. "I do find your modesty refreshing." And more than a little intriguing, he thought. "If you'll excuse me, I have to see Dee."

  Michael watched his retreating back, frowning. Had he meant she may have a choice to leave or a choice to change partners? The former was appealing and unlikely. The latter was something she didn't want to think about.

  She came out of her reverie as she was tapped on the shoulder. Carmen thrust a broom in her hands. "As long as you're done jawin'," Carmen said, "there's your share of the work to be done. Customers start driftin' in just before noon."

  Michael was glad to take the broom, relieved for something to do. It gave her the opportunity to become familiar with the saloon and later, when she swept the dust onto the wooden sidewalk and then onto the street, it gave her her first breath of real freedom.

  She counted sixteen tables in the saloon, each with three, four, or five chairs. The mahogany bar with its brass footrail and cuspidors went nearly the length of the room. A large mirror had been mounted on the wall behind it and there were shelves of liquor on either side. Glasses, towels, and aprons were kept below the bar. A roulette wheel took up one corner of the saloon and a pool table took up another. The cues were hanging in a rack beside the largest elk's head Michael had ever seen. The wallpaper was a sumptuous red and gold in a richly detailed print. Milk-white glass globes hid the burning gaslights and the clock above the entrance to the dining room ticked off the minutes quietly.

  Sweeping off the sidewalk, Michael observed the location of the livery and the mercantile. Horses and guns. Knowing where to find each was absolutely essential.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Dee asked from the doorway to the saloon. Houston was directly behind her.

  "Sweeping." Michael knew a moment's triumph when she glimpsed the last vestige of panic in their faces.

  "Get inside," Dee snapped. "And don't leave the saloon again for any reason." She pushed Houston out of the way and went back to her office.

  "Don't give me any reason to think you've left again," Houston said. His voice was as hard as his eyes. "Detra will be the least of your worries."

  Michael's sense of triumph disappeared. Even though they had found her easily and she had given no indication she was doing anything but her chore, she realized her action had made them more wary, not more trusting. Discouraged, she followed Houston back into the saloon.

  * * *

  She wasn't able to see her entire reflection in the mirror above the bureau. In a way it was a relief. What she could see made her want to scream in frustration. Kitty had come to her room after dinner to assist her with rouge and powder and hairpins. Michael didn't r
ecognize herself when Kitty was finished. Her lips were painted bright red, her cheeks rouged just a shade less so. Kitty arranged her hair more loosely than was Michael's preference, letting the curls spill freely where they would. Michael was successful in convincing Kitty the pink taffeta bow was too much, but as a victory it was hardly satisfying. Not when Michael still had to contend with the gown.

  It was every bit as tight as she thought it would be and the stiff whalebone corset constricted her breathing. Putting her hands on her waist, Michael decided it was too small to contain the organs inside it, which led her to the conclusion that it was indeed her heart that was in her mouth. Against her better judgment Michael pulled a chair over to the chest of drawers and stood on it. The view of what she would be presenting below stairs did not give her any confidence.

  Her breasts were too exposed by the low curved neckline, her arms and shoulders too bare without benefit of gloves or a shawl. The hem of the skirt fell just below her knees and the white stockings and high-heeled boots, from what she could see, made her legs seem impossibly long.

  Michael jumped down from the chair and pushed it back against the wall. "I can't do this," she said to the empty room. "I can't go downstairs like this. I can't dance in these shoes. I can't kick in this dress. My God, they'll see everything." Michael had brought her partially smoked cigarette from the morning to her room and squirreled it away. She got it out now and went to the window and opened it wide. Sitting on the sill, she lit it and drew the smoke in deeply. She simply didn't care who observed her from below. Exhaling slowly, Michael stared down at the street without really seeing any of the activity. She imagined herself on stage. "Those miners are going to see everything even if I don't kick."

  She wished Dee had allowed her to serve drinks in the afternoon with all the other girls. After Houston left Detra decided it would be better if Michael spent the afternoon and early evening in her room, just as much to get her out of the way as to offer her up as a surprise for the miners later. Michael had been happy to retreat earlier. Now she wished she hadn't. She could have gotten used to the stares gradually, used to the pinching and poking. Now she would have to face it all at once, along with the whistling and hooting and name-calling, and she would have to be pleasant, even pretend to enjoy some of it.

  "Another minute," she told herself, waving smoke outside so it wouldn't cling to her dress or the room, "and I'll probably just wake up and laugh about this nightmare." She waited. A minute passed and she had to admit there would be no waking up because there was no dream.

  Kitty poked her head in the door. "You look grand!" She saw the cigarette. "Get rid of that! Dee will have a fit! C'mon, we'll take the backstairs so no one sees you before time. What a sight you are! They're about goin' to pop themselves when they see what Dee's ordered up for them from the East. Listen." She cocked her head to one side. "You can hear 'em downstairs askin' for us to get started. Kind of warms you, don't it? And won't Ethan like how you cleaned up so well!"

  Michael's head snapped up. "Ethan's back? He's here?"

  Kitty nodded. "Mm-hmm. Downstairs sittin' at a table with Houston. Just came in a few minutes ago from the mines. Are you comin' or not?"

  Putting out her cigarette, Michael came to her feet slowly. "I'm coming."

  * * *

  Ethan's eyes wandered around the saloon as he nursed his beer. He was dog-tired and had little patience for the rowdy crowd that filled Kelly's. He glanced at Houston. "You here as the owner this evening or as the sheriff?"

  "Both. In either capacity I figure Jake and I will throw out half a dozen men tonight." Houston reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a leather notepad and two pencils. He laid them on the table and pushed them toward Ethan. "You know anything about this? Lottie found them when she was washing Michael's things."

  Masking his concern with indifference, Ethan picked up the notepad and began leafing through it. Though he examined the book casually he was looking for any reference to the Chronicle, Michael's position there, or her real name. He saw nothing that could serve to endanger her. "It's a diary of her trip," he said. "Michael's always kept a diary."

  Houston nodded. "See that she doesn't keep a diary of this little side excursion. I don't want her writing down anything that could cause us trouble later."

  Ethan offered up the notepad. "Do you want to keep it?"

  "No. But I want to look at it from time to time. Michael doesn't have to know. I find her observations interesting." He leaned forward, turning his shot glass slowly between his thumb and forefinger. "I'm going to give you a chance, Ethan, that I don't usually give other men when I see something I want. I'm going to tell you about it before I have it safely in hand."

  Ethan finished the last of his beer and set down his glass. "I appreciate the gesture, but you're not going to tell me anything I don't already know. Your interest in Michael is pretty evident. Detra sees it, too."

  "I'm not concerned with Dee. I'm wondering about you. Do you really still think of Michael as your wife? Even after four years?"

  "Would it stop you if I did?"

  "I don't know."

  "And I don't know either," Ethan said. "But, you see, it doesn't matter, because she is my wife."

  "She was going to marry that reporter."

  "She thought I was dead."

  "You still could be."

  Ethan considered Houston's threat a moment. He had come to know his man well in the last five months and he believed Houston was bluffing. "Where would be the challenge for you then? You want her, but so do I. I'm not going to warn you off her, Houston. You've seen enough of Michael to know she makes up her own mind." He raised his glass for a refill, closing the subject. When no one came to take his order he realized all the girls were getting ready for the entertainment. "As long as I can't get another quick beer," he said, "I'm going up. Michael must be half out of her mind from being trapped in the room all day."

  "She wasn't in there all day."

  Ethan had started to rise but Houston's words brought him back to the table. "What do you mean?" He put Michael's notepad and pencils in his coat pocket. "I told Dee that I wanted Michael locked in. I even gave her the key."

  "You settle it with Dee, but I was still here this morning when Dee sent Kitty up to Michael with clothes and instructions to come down for breakfast and rehearsal."

  "That bitch," he swore softly. "She knows I didn't want Michael dancing."

  "Dee can defend herself, but she had a point about getting Michael involved. Michael's supposed to work for her."

  "She can serve drinks. I told Dee that. Just not yet."

  "You don't trust Michael, do you?"

  "I'd be a fool to."

  Houston nodded. "She swept her way right out of here after rehearsal this morning."

  "She was outside? Without Dee?" Ethan looked down at his empty beer glass and wished there were another swallow in it. He lowered his voice so that Houston had to pull in closer to hear him. "She only needs a few minutes head start to leave Madison. Less than that to tell someone a story about No. 349. No one might believe her at first but she'd plant a seed in their mind. Sooner or later they'd realize the truth."

  Houston's reply was cut off by the piano. Lottie was banging out the introduction to When the Sun Shines. The crowd hushed almost immediately in anticipation.

  "I'm going to strangle her," Ethan said softly.

  "Who? Detra?"

  "Her first, then Michael."

  Houston brushed aside his concern. "Let the men enjoy looking at her. You can afford to be generous. After all, you get to bed down with her."

  Ethan didn't comment. His blue-gray eyes were fixed on the raised platform where the dancers would appear in another moment. There was a roar from the crowd as Susan shuffled on stage, twirling her parasol and blowing kisses to the miners. She was followed by Carmen and Josie and Kitty and finally by Michael. The steady roar erupted into wild applause as the men became aware of the new face and figure on
the stage.

  "Oh God," Ethan sighed, shaking his head. "Would you look at her?"

  "I am." Houston glanced at the other tables. "So is everyone else. Quite a change from the priggish schoolmarm I first laid eyes on."

  Ethan's thoughts were along the same lines but he kept them to himself. Even at the distance he was from the stage, Michael looked as if she had applied her face paints with a heavy hand. He had never thought the other women looked garish with their bright lips and rosy cheeks, but seeing the same effect on Michael made him revise his opinion.

  His eyes strayed from her face to her gown. She was showing more leg than any of the other dancers and no less of her breasts. He winced as she linked arms with Josie and Kitty and raised her legs in a high stepping kick. Her petticoats flew up and seemed to stay there a moment after her legs came down. It was a movement repeated over and over again as Lottie pounded out the ditty on the piano. He tried to single out her voice among the dancers and couldn't, then the miners joined in as the chorus was repeated and the task became impossible. It occurred to him that she was probably simply mouthing the words, though why she thought she had to was beyond him. Above the caterwauling of the miners, the sour notes that Lottie hit from time to time, and the shrill pitch of the dancers, it didn't matter if Michael was tone deaf.

  The dance seemed to last longer than he remembered, but then Ethan had always been able to enjoy it before. Watching Michael, knowing she was burning with embarrassment and rage, made it torture for him as well. Her smile was fixed, her eyes vacant, and as near as he could tell from the enthusiasm of the crowd, he was the only one who realized it. He amended his thinking a moment later. Houston seemed to realize it as well. Ethan saw he was no longer smiling as Lottie played the final chorus and the saloon fairly vibrated with sustained applause and whistling.

  "Where are you going?" Houston asked as Ethan got to his feet.

  "To get her off that stage."

  Houston laid his hand over Ethan's forearm and shook his head. "Let her be. The worst's over. You said she could serve drinks." He released Ethan's arm and pointed to his empty glass. "You look like you could use another beer."