Cimarron Rose

by Nicole Foster

  “We’ll see, Becky,” he murmured impatiently. “But if she doesn’t get here soon, we may never find out if she can even carry a tune.”

  Or rescue a hotel, Case added silently, wondering with growing cynicism just how impressive a woman this St. Louis Songbird really was.

  Katlyn smoothed sweaty palms down her mother’s yellow satin skirts as she stood in front of the St. Martin Hotel.

  The plain two-story beige frame building didn’t look like much, even compared with the more ruggedly built storefronts and saloons. In fact, rather dusty and neglected-looking, it would be easy to ignore.

  Katlyn wished she felt the same. Instead, she felt ridiculous. All this face paint and these fancy frilled clothes felt as foreign to her as her sister’s Mexican food had tasted when she’d first come out West.

  All this pretense was her mother, not her.

  Catching a glimpse of herself in the hotel window, she adjusted her hat with its jaunty yellow plume and scolded herself. “Well, Katie, my girl, like it or not, it had better be you if you’re going to pull this off. You’ve promised her and you can’t turn back now.”

  Straightening her shoulders, she hitched up her flagging courage along with her petticoats and shoved open the hotel door.

  The door barely had time to close when Katlyn froze in utter surprise. Nothing her mother had told her had prepared her for this!

  “She’s here!” someone shouted, and the room swelled with sudden applause and cheers of welcome. A little brass band launched into playing some festive tune she couldn’t quite make out, nearly unnerving her. At one boy’s prompting she gazed up to a balcony and saw a sweeping banner painted especially for her mother. Loud clapping and smiling faces filled the lobby with welcome. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the sad irony of it all. Everyone there seemed truly delighted she’d come.

  Everyone except for him.

  Off to the side of the little gathering, a dark imposing figure of a man towered above the others. He stood still and in silence, as though merely an observer, not part of the celebration.

  Katlyn’s eyes met his razor-sharp green gaze, and the look he gave her made her nervous heart skip a beat.

  This she hadn’t counted on. The patrician nose, the arrogant lift of his chin, the expensive cheroot at his lips, the tailored cut of his clothes told her he must be Case Durham, the hotel owner.

  He might be just a little demanding, darling, her mother had said.

  But one look told Katlyn he was far more than that. Impossibly tall, his angled face and stern glare stripped her of her remaining bravado. She instinctively wanted to run.

  In the same instant an image of her mother, desperately pale and weak, intruded. And Katlyn heard her own voice, vowing she would do anything to help Penelope. Anything. Even face Case Durham.

  The object of her fear quieted the fanfare with a single sweep of his palm. His staff took a step back and waited while, in a leisurely ritual, he doused his cheroot and buried it in a tray.

  Watching him, Katlyn’s heart beat faster and harder, whether purely from nerves or from a growing sense of annoyance with the arrogance radiating from the man, she wasn’t sure.

  He made his way to her in a few long-legged strides, offering her a curt nod of his head and a cool handshake in welcome. “I’m Case Durham. I own the St. Martin. We’ve corresponded several times.”

  Katlyn nodded in reply. This close to him, she could see he wasn’t as dark as the shadows had painted him, with the exception of his expression. His hair was more the color of polished oak, his eyes a deep, mesmerizing green, sharp and hard as gemstones.

  As hard as Case Durham seemed to be. An image of the many dashing gamblers and fancy gentlemen who, upon first meeting her mother, had swept Penelope’s hand in theirs, bowing deeply into it with gentle kisses, made this first introduction sorely lacking by comparison.

  Mister Durham, it seemed, wasn’t impressed by reputation.

  “We’re glad you’ve finally arrived. It’s so late, I was beginning to worry for your safety.”

  Katlyn bristled, but bit back her temper. How dare he make a comment about being late after all she and her mother had gone through to come to his wretched hotel?

  “I’m late, Mr. Durham, because my stagecoach was attacked and robbed before I reached Cimarron. I suppose you could have found that out if you had bothered to inquire.”

  A wry smile almost teased at one corner of his mouth, but in the next instant it vanished. His eyes riveted on her and he laid the palm of his large hand on her arm, commanding her full attention. “Tell me. Were you hurt in any way?”

  Surprised, Katlyn shied back. “Thank you for your concern,” she said, not quite sure whether to believe in his sincerity or not. “I was shaken, naturally. And many of my belongings—and all of my money—were stolen or destroyed. But, I feel lucky. From what I’ve heard, it could have been far worse.”

  Katlyn glanced past Case to the openmouthed stares from several of those in the welcome party that told her her fears were justified.

  Case released her arm. “I’m sorry. This can be dangerous country.”

  “So I gather.”

  “Well, then,” he said, resuming his cool distance, “we’ll have to see to a new wardrobe, won’t we?” He turned to Becky, hovering close by. “You help her get what she needs right away. She’ll have to look her best.” With that he turned back to Katlyn, appraising her from the feather on her hat down to her kid boots.

  She looked much different than he expected. He’d imagined a red-haired siren, brassy and bold. She had the red hair, an abundance of it, defying her attempt to bunch it into a tame roll. Case couldn’t see any signs of a siren in her, though. The paint stood out boldly on skin as pale as milk, and blue eyes so dark they were nearly violet, looked back at him with an odd mixture of defiance and apprehension he didn’t understand.

  “Do I pass inspection, Mr. Durham?”

  Case snapped his thoughts back to the job at hand and focused on her face. “You’re every bit as lovely as I’ve heard, Miss Rose. Though, I have to say, you’re younger than I’d expected. You’ve accomplished quite a lot for your age.”

  As she felt heat rise to her cheeks, Katlyn was glad for all the makeup to hide it. “I started singing as a child, Mr. Durham.” That part was true at least. “And I’ve never stopped.”

  Something unnerving—was it disbelief?—flashed across his face, settling in a single arched brow. “We’re all extremely anxious to hear you. I know you won’t disappoint us.”

  Katlyn resisted the urge to fidget with something. “Of course, I’ll need to rehearse before I perform.”

  Case looked at her speculatively. “Naturally. Take the entire weekend to rehearse, if you’d like. I’ve scheduled your first performance for Monday night.”

  “Monday?” This time Katlyn couldn’t hide the panic. That was only three days away!

  “Is there a problem?”

  “I—of course not.”

  “You must realize, Miss Rose—is that your name by the way?”

  “No!” Katlyn blurted before she could stop the word. She forced herself to meet Case’s intimidating gaze. “Penelope Rose is the name I use as a singer. My name is Katlyn. Katlyn McLain.”

  “I see,” Case said, sounding as if he didn’t. “Well, as I said when I wrote to you, Miss—McLain, the salary we finally agreed on is based on your ability to draw in new customers. I was completely honest with you in my letters regarding the status of my hotel.” He stepped inches closer. His deep bass voice seemed to resonate through the whole room. “All I ask of you is that you give me the same honesty. Then, Miss McLain, we’ll get along fine.”

  Honesty! Katlyn nearly let go a hysterical laugh.

  She struggled over a murmured reply, at the same time thinking that of course she could manage to get along just fine with Case Durham. It wouldn’t be difficult at all.

  If she stayed as far away from him as possible.<
br />
  Chapter Two

  Case broke the awkward silence between them, summoning Becky with a sharp gesture.

  “Show Miss McLain to her rooms, please.” He turned back to Katlyn. “I’m sure you’re exhausted from your ordeal. Becky can bring dinner to your suite tonight, if you’d like.”

  “M-my suite?”

  “Of course.” Case narrowed his probing gaze. “It was one of your requirements for taking the job.”

  Katlyn avoided his eyes and busied herself pulling off her white kid gloves. She waved them in a little flirtatious gesture she’d seen her mother use hundreds of times to avoid awkward situations. “Yes. Indeed it was. I must be comfortable if I’m to survive this wild country any length of time at all, mustn’t I?” she said, managing an uncomfortable laugh.

  “By all means. We want you to feel at home here.”

  The edge of sarcasm in his voice told her he didn’t appreciate her weak attempt at levity.

  Glad to escape his unnerving presence, Katlyn eagerly fell in behind Becky as the girl motioned toward the stairs. Katlyn lifted her heavy skirts and petticoats and began the ascent, but halfway up the staircase she stopped cold.

  What was she doing! She couldn’t possibly stay here and leave her mother at the boardinghouse. Couldn’t and wouldn’t. That’s where she’d draw the line in this farce.

  She turned back around to find Case standing at the foot of the stairs like a centurion looking up after her, back straight, feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed over his broad chest. He stood watching her, staring actually, his expression offering nothing but a handsome mask of cool politeness.

  Only his eyes, deep and searching, held any hint of emotion. Annoyance, Katlyn thought.

  Case waited impatiently, wondering how a woman who seemed so lacking in poise had managed to become so successful before an audience. He supposed she must be a better actress than she seemed. Perhaps the trip here had unnerved her more than she admitted.

  “Is there something else, Miss McLain?” he prompted when she stayed frozen on the staircase, looking down at him as if she expected him to pounce at any moment.

  “Actually…there is.”

  “Do you intend to tell me, or should I guess?”

  Katlyn ran the tip of her tongue over dry lips. “It’s my—traveling companion. She helps me dress and do my hair and makeup. But the robbery and the walk to town had a terribly ill effect on her. Her health has been fragile since the start of our journey and now…well, I’ve secured a room for her elsewhere, but I can’t leave her at the boardinghouse alone.”

  Case said nothing, taking his time pondering the situation, much to Katlyn’s irritation.

  “She can stay with me,” she said finally, more sharply than she intended. “I wouldn’t ask for another room.” Still he held back, the silence of waiting growing like thunder in her head. “Mr. Durham—”

  “Bring the woman here at once,” he answered, his tone an abrupt contrast to his words. “Becky, I’ll have Sally see to the laundry for a time so you’ll be free to help Miss McLain and her companion.”

  Becky practically burst with joy. “Yes, Mr. Durham!” The girl leaned close to Katlyn and said, “I’d be right proud to help you and your friend, ma’am.”

  Smiling back at Becky in thanks, Katlyn breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She could watch over her mother day and night now. Having Penelope close would make the whole ruse livable.

  The doctor would be discreet, she thought. He called her mother Mrs. McLain and neither Katlyn nor Penelope had corrected him. But Penelope had insisted no one else learn of her and Katlyn’s relationship. Lending Katlyn her title was one thing, playing the role of the St. Louis Songbird’s ailing mother was quite another. Katlyn was certain, once the doctor understood her mother’s delicate and volatile temperament, he would agree it was in Penelope’s best interest to keep their secret.

  “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Durham,” she told Case. “I’ll see to having her moved here this evening.”

  “I’ll send Bucky along to help.”

  “Thank you,” Katlyn nodded, then turned back to climb the stairs to the landing.

  “Miss McLain—”

  Case didn’t know what impulse prompted him to call her back. Maybe it was the way she kept surprising him. He didn’t like surprises. Or mysteries. And Penelope Rose, Katlyn McLain, or whatever she chose to call herself, was both.

  She looked back at him, clearly startled.

  “If you’re not too tired, perhaps you’ll join me this evening in the saloon for a brandy,” Case said. “I’m sure you’d like to see the stage.”

  Choking back the lump that rose in her throat at the mention of the word stage, Katlyn nodded down to him and hurried after Becky.

  They turned the corner out of Case’s view at the top of the stairs and, away from his disturbing scrutiny, Katlyn’s tension ebbed a little.

  A dimly lit landing separated one door from the rest of the rooms that lined the other hallway. As Becky motioned her to the landing, Katlyn caught sight of a little flash of white moving behind the railing.

  She squinted and looked harder, making out the image of a child’s face pressed through the spindles of railing. The apparition looked like a little dark-haired girl, crouching down, who appeared for an instant then vanished behind a velvet curtain.

  “Hello?” Katlyn ventured. When no one answered, she turned to Becky. “Who was that?”

  “Oh, just Mr. Durham’s little girl.”

  So he was married. Her mother hadn’t told her that. In a way, it was a relief to know he had a wife and child. There must be some trace of warmth in him after all.

  “Could you ask her to come out so I can meet her?”

  “I can try. But she don’t like strangers. She’s real shy. Don’t say much to no one.” Becky turned toward the curtain. “Emily, this pretty lady wants to meet you. She’s the new singer your daddy told you about.”

  After several minutes of coaxing from Becky, at last the heavy drapes swayed and a pair of beautiful, wide-set eyes and pink cheeks peeked out from between the crimson folds.

  In that quick glimpse, Katlyn saw the biggest evergreen eyes and the sweetest little peaches and cream face she had ever laid eyes on. She was struck at once by the child’s remarkable beauty—and by the joyless expression that marred it.

  “Hello, Emily,” she said, speaking softly and bending to eye level with the little girl.

  But in the next instant, the precious face vanished once more behind the curtain.

  Bewildered, Katlyn looked to Becky. “Where did she go?”

  “She ain’t supposed to talk to guests. Mr. Durham has a playroom fixed up for her in that nook behind the curtain. Only the real fancy guests stay in the suite here. Her room is away from the others, so it’s safer over here for Emily when her daddy’s busy.

  “Doesn’t his wife watch over her?”

  “Wife?” Becky shook her head. “Mr. Durham ain’t got a wife. Don’t know if he ever did. Never said a word about her if he did and I ain’t gonna be the one to ask. He don’t cotton to no questions about himself or his little girl. Guards her like gold. No one dares so much as talks to her without his sayin’ so. ’Cept me and Bucky, that is. We’re twins,” she added proudly. “Did you know that?”

  “Why no, you with your blond curls and he with that brownish mop of hair, you two don’t look much alike. But—” Katlyn appraised Becky more closely “—there is something in your mouth that is similar to his.”

  Becky nodded and smiled. “Mr. Durham hired us right away after our ma died and our pa sent us out to find work.”

  Judging the girl to be only about thirteen, Katlyn frowned. “You seem a little young to be working in a hotel.”

  Becky shrugged. “I’ll be fifteen next spring. And Pa needs the money fer his whiskey. Besides, me and Bucky, we’d sure rather be here with Mr. Durham than at home with Pa when he’s had a bottle or two. Mr. Durham might not be real f
riendly sometimes, but he’d never lay a hand to us. He treats us mighty fine.”

  Katlyn thought of herself at fourteen. Although Penelope had hardly been an attentive mother, Katlyn never feared a beating or wanted for anything. Her image of Case Durham shifted slightly as she considered his willingness to take on Becky and her brother.

  “So, Mr. Durham only lets you two talk to his daughter?”

  “Mostly. ’Cause we’re like kids, too, I guess. He knows us real good. Knows we’d never lie to him or cheat him or hurt Emily.”

  “I’m sure he can count on you both.” Katlyn looked away from Becky, her heart suddenly racing with guilt she feared would show in her eyes.

  “Mr. Durham’s a real fine man. But he don’t abide no liars or cheats. And Lord help anyone who gets too close to his little girl! He loves Emily more than anythin’. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

  Imagining the child’s angelic face behind the curtain, Katlyn’s eyes turned there, wondering if Emily were listening. Betting she was, she said clearly and with surety, “Well, I think Emily and I might become better acquainted.”

  Katlyn anticipated Becky’s protest and waved it aside. “Don’t worry. I just think maybe Emily could use another friend.

  “And I know what it is to be lonely,” she added softly, thinking of Emily’s sad eyes and another little girl who’d also grown up in hotels and on riverboats, a lonely little girl who’d also hidden in the shadows, waiting and listening, hoping for a place to belong.

  “I won’t discuss it any further.” Penelope clenched her thin fingers together atop the quilt. “My mind is made up.”

  “But, Mama, the suite is beautiful, wait until you see it! Much of the hotel still needs work, but Mr. Durham had the suite redone completely for you, and it’s lovely. I don’t know how he knew, but it’s all in pinks and greens. And roses. The colors and the flowers you love most. Bucky is waiting outside with the buggy to help move you there.”