by Beth Ciotta
He grasped the man’s hand in a friendly shake. “Sorry it took me so long.” He didn’t know Oscar well, but Mason had been fond of the six-foot-seven bear of a man. Dependable, trustworthy, and hard working, he’d helped his uncle build the Desert Moon from the ground up. Josh was pleased he’d agreed to stay on. “You can drop the formalities. I’m not the law anymore.”
Oscar nodded. “Who’s the pretty gal?”
“My wife.” He’d offered the information, knowing the news would spread, and hoping it would keep the lonely rowdies in line. He hadn’t expected the admission to roll so easily from his tongue or to feel so natural. Now all he had to do was break the news to Paris.
Oscar smiled. “Plays the piano right nice, don’t she?”
“Yes, she does.” He didn’t recognize the song, but he liked it. The melody was simple, but pleasing, although she couldn’t seem to get past the one passage. If this is what it was like when she had a song stuck in her head, he sympathized.
“We could use a piano player.”
Josh didn’t care for the direction of this conversation. “I thought Mason hired someone last month.”
“Your cousin Niles,” Oscar scowled then spat on floor, “stole him away, along with the fiddle player. Not to mention the acting troupe that arrived three days ago. Mason hired them as a result of a newspaper advertisement. Also hired some high-falutin’ singer from San Francisco. Soon as she arrives, Niles,” he spat again, “will no doubt steal her, too.”
“Over my dead body.” He downed his whiskey, signaling for a refill. “Anything else?”
“He stole our cook.”
Josh shook his head. “I’m surprised he didn’t snatch you.”
“Oh, he tried,” Barky Bob said, waddling up to the bar. “Oscar spit in his eye.”
“Yup.” Tom moved in on the other side of Josh. “Spit right in his eye.” The man snickered.
Josh’s lips twitched. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Oscar spit on the floor every time he uttered his cousin’s name. He motioned to the man for three more glasses, poured them all a drink. “I appreciate you gentlemen patronizing the Moon.”
“Least we could do for Mason,” Barky Bob said. “He was our friend.”
“Sure do miss him,” Tom added.
Josh had summoned emotional distance the moment he’d scaled the steps of the Desert Moon’s wraparound veranda. He couldn’t shake the sick feeling that Mason had cashed in his chips too soon. Couldn’t help but feel that he’d been cheated. But then life was rarely fair. Forcing a smile, he raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to loyalty.”
They tossed back their drinks in unison.
Barky Bob cocked a fat thumb over his shoulder. “Who’s the boy?”
“That ain’t a boy,” his crony said. “It’s a girl. Take the specs off the top of yer head and put ‘em where they belong, for cripes sake.”
Barky Bob slid his spectacles down, resting them on the tip of his bulbous nose. “She’s dressed like a boy.”
“That’s Sheriff Grant’s wife,” Oscar said.
“I’m not the law—”
“She always dress like a boy?” Tom asked.
“Mostly,” Josh said. He’d never thought to ask her why, exactly. Dressed in a potato sack, she’d still incite fantasies. He didn’t much care what she wore, although he had to admit, seeing her in that corset last night had spiked his pulse to the stars.
“That’s probably a good thing,” Oscar noted. “Considering there are a lot of lonely men in this town.”
“Speaking of lonely,” Josh said, indicating the empty room. “How long has it been like this?”
Barky Bob groaned. “Since Niles and Tucker opened the doors to that sin-house.”
“And whose fault is that?” Tom asked his friend. “You’re the one who sold them the building.”
“You try turning down that kind of money. Figured I could run my business just as well out of a tent. Besides, I thought I was doin’ a favor for Mason’s son. Didn’t know the smooth-talkin’ varmint was gonna turn my building into a sin-house.”
Tom snorted in disgust. “I’m just glad Mason ain’t here to see it.”
“Niles,” Oscar turned and spat, “is tryin’ to run you out of business, Sheriff.”
“I gathered. And call me Josh.” He eyed the mirrored back bar. Hordes of bottles lined the shelves. “It’s not a lack of liquor that keeps the men away.”
“It’s the lack of women,” Barky Bob said.
“Sportin’ women,” Tom clarified.
Josh rolled his glass between his palms. “I hadn’t planned on importing any Calico Queens. Mason’s goal was to civilize this town in hopes that some of the miners would import their wives and families. I aim on honoring his vision.”
Barky Bob raised his gray, scraggly eyebrows. “You aim on taming Chance?”
“Aim on doing what comes naturally.”
“Glad to hear it, Sheriff,” Tom said. “Merely pointin’ out the drawin’ card of the competition. Scenery’s a might more pleasant at the Lucky Lady.”
“And more satisfyin’ on a randy man’s loins,” Barky Bob added. He frowned then. “Don’t your woman know another song?”
“She seems stuck on that one part,” Oscar noted.
“She’s drivin’ me crazy,” Barky Bob said.
Josh laughed. “One of her special talents.”
Paris slumped forward in frustration, hitting a clunker chord and bonking her forehead against a piano worthy of Mozart. Featuring intricate carvings, inlay, and marquetry, the Weber Upright had been especially designed for the 1876 Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia. She’d seen pictures. She never dreamed she’d have the pleasure of sampling its wonder.
Unfortunately, there was no pleasure to be had. She was blocked. The love song that had driven her to distraction all of last night and most of today eluded her beyond the first verse. Questions swirled in her mind instead of lyrics. Worries in place of melodies.
The Desert Moon exceeded her expectations. It wasn’t nearly as elaborate as the Gilded Garrett, or as large, but the design and décor were charming. It plainly offered liquor and gambling, and the stage, with its paneled proscenium arch, exquisite backdrop, and foot lighting, rivaled that of a major theater.
So why did everyone frequent the Lucky Lady? Aside from the two elderly gentlemen, the giant barkeep, and Josh, the Desert Moon looked as empty as a poor woman’s cupboard. Was Red that much of a draw? Was the liquor better or lower in price? Were the barmaids prettier?
Come to think of it, where were the Desert Moon’s barmaids?
Clutching the blanket the curly-headed giant had draped over her shoulders, she rose and blinked at the stage. Where were the entertainers?
Where was the pianist?
Surely other performers had answered the advertisement. Was she the first to arrive? Would Josh expect her to sing and play the piano to bring in a crowd? To compete with Red Adams? The notion turned her stomach. She envisioned the beautiful, curvy vixen and then considered her own freckled, unpainted face and less than voluptuous figure. She wasn’t … qualified. Nor did she have a full night’s repertoire. She’d been set to ease her way into the show. To work up her nerve, to hone her stage persona. No, indeed, for all her former bluster, she was not ready to take center stage.
Besides, what if she performed and instead of drawing in customers, chased them away? Business was bad enough. Unlike Niles, she wanted to help, not harm Josh. She hadn’t worked it all out in her mind, but she had the distinct feeling those two were longtime rivals. Now they were owners of competing establishments.
This moment the odds were stacked in Fancy Pants’ favor. What did a lawman know about running a theater?
She, on the other hand, knew plenty!
Charged with excitement and purpose, she tossed off the blanket and rushed the bar.
“Maybe we should reconsider,” said the rail-thin man. “Maybe you should get a dove or two
. How else are you gonna compete? Maybe one cat with special talents. A saucy gal with big—”
Josh cleared his throat, alerting the men to her presence. Placing a possessive arm about her shoulder, he indicated each man with an introductory nod. “Tom Noggins, Barky Bob, Oscar Pike … this is Paris.”
“Pleased to meet you gentlemen.” She knew she should shrug off Josh’s arm, since she didn’t want to give his friends the idea that they were sweethearts, but comfort squashed good sense. His big body radiated a blessed heat that caused her to sidle even closer. “I have an idea.”
“How come you’re dressed like a boy?” Barky Bob asked, scrutinizing her head to toe.
“Because I was traveling alone and wanted to avoid male attention.” She shivered and sneezed. “Now, about my idea … ”
“You’re chilled.” Josh rubbed his palm up and down her arm.
“Fetch her a brandy,” Tom told Oscar.
“I don’t—”
She doesn’t—”
“—drink,” they answered as one.
She frowned up at Josh. How did he know she didn’t partake? “And I’m not chilled,” she told him before he could drag her off in search of dry clothes. “But I do have an idea.”
“A painting!” Oscar slapped a Goliath-sized palm to the polished bar. “We could hang it above the back bar. A gigantic painting with a carved, gilded frame. Clouds and trees and half-naked women.” He glanced at Paris, his ruddy cheeks deepening a shade. “I mean, since we ain’t havin’ the real thing.”
“I like the sound of that,” Tom said. “The half-naked women part. Not wholly indecent, yet tantalizing. Might work.”
Her temper flared. “I was thinking—”
“Your face looks flushed.” Josh smoothed her wet hair off of her cheek.
She batted away his hand, shrugged off his arm. “I’m fine. Now this idea of mine—”
“Forget it.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Shouldn’t you listen to what I have to say before shooting me down?”
“I know what you’re going to say, and the answer is, no.”
“How could you possibly—”
“You’ve got a one-track mind.”
Insulted, she crossed her arms over her stomach. “Fine. If you don’t want my help—”
“I don’t.”
“I do.” Oscar turned pleading eyes on Josh. “Lack of business might not hurt you much as finances go, but it might kill me. Can a body die of boredom?”
“Git yourself a couple of doves,” Tom offered. “Prettier ones than Tucker and Burke’s. That’ll fix their wagon and keep Oscar here entertained.”
“No more doves!” Barky Bob snapped. “We’re tryin’ to clean up this town, remember? I’m hopin’ to send for my Gilda real soon. God fearin’ woman that she is, she’d have a conniption fit if her new town was overrun with workin’ gals!”
“Barky Bob was a grumpy old cuss, a grumpy old cuss was he. He squawked all day and he groused all night, but the man wouldn’t hurt a flea.” Paris clapped her hand over her mouth. Of all the times for a ditty to come out! She wanted these men to take her seriously, instead she’d pegged herself, and yet again, as a musical freak.
Oscar Pike’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.
She didn’t dare look at Josh.
Tom Noggins smiled and swatted his red-faced friend on the shoulder. “She has you pegged.”
She shook her head, fingered the hem of her shirt. “Sorry about that. I was … inspired.”
Barky Bob slowly turned, puffed up his chest. “I inspired a song?”
“Yes, well … ”
He cleared his throat, stuffed his pudgy hands in his pockets and gave her his full attention. “You mentioned some kind of idea. Let’s hear it.”
“I bet it’s creative,” Tom said, eyes bright.
Oscar placed his forearms on the bar, leaned forward. “Creative is good.”
It took her a couple of seconds to realize they weren’t laughing at her or looking at her as if she’d lost her marbles. They were encouraging her to speak her mind. It felt awkward. No, it felt good. She smiled. “Actually, I have a couple of ideas.”
Josh threw back his whiskey and folded his arms over his chest, making it clear he wasn’t open to suggestions.
She didn’t care. She was going to offer them anyway. Her brain was zinging with two or three winners. She rubbed her hands together, perched them on her hips. “Icould be wrong, but it appeared to me that there’s more to the Lucky Lady’s allure than a few girls on the fence.”
“Girls of the line,” Josh corrected, leaning back against the bar and crossing his left boot over his right.
She ignored him and gestured to the back bar. “We have liquor. A man could get chickened here same as down the street.”
Barky Bob and Tom looked at one another.
The left side of Josh’s mouth hitched up. “I think you mean roostered, darlin’.”
“Chickened. Roostered.” She waved a dismissive hand. “We also allow gambling.”
“Same as the Lucky Lady,” Oscar said.
“So what are we missing?” she plowed on.
“Doves!” Tom shouted.
“Entertainment,” Barky Bob said.
Tom screwed up his bearded face. “That’s what I said.”
“A gimmick,” Paris said.
Oscar smiled. “Someone like Red Adams.”
Josh locked gazes with her, stormy eyes needling in with an intensity that made her skin prickle. “You are not performing on my stage.”
That’s not the gimmick she had in mind. In fact, it’s what she hoped to delay. But, dang it, how dare he go back on his word! Did he doubt her talent? Had he listened to her struggling with that one verse, deciding her skills as a pianist were limited? She hadn’t been aware she’d been auditioning! Blood simmering toward boil, she matched his glare. “We have a contract.”
“No, we don’t.”
Incensed, she dug Mason’s telegram out of her pocket and slammed it on the bar. “Are you going to go back on your uncle’s word?”
He unfolded the soggy paper, scanned the message and then passed her back the wire. “I’ll honor his word.”
“So I can perform.”
“Didn’t say that.”
“But—”
“Telegram says you’re hired. Didn’t specify the job.”
“But—”
“No wife of mine is singing in a gurdy.”
“I don’t care what happened last night,” she blasted. “Hell will freeze over before I marry you!”
“Then the devil’s wearin’ long-johns.”
Oscar scratched his head. “I’m confused.”
“So am I!” She thought Josh supported her dream. She wanted to help him achieve success. Though Lord knows why she should care since he was the most arrogant … most infuriating … She stomped her foot in frustration. “You said you’d honor M.B.’s word!”
“I don’t need a singer.”
Tom looked over at Barky Bob. “Are you following this?”
“What do you need?”
“Aside from a wife?” Josh asked.
She nodded.
“A cook.”
“I’ll take it.”
Josh pushed off of the bar, his voice ominously low. “But you don’t cook.”
She smirked. “You should have remembered that before you offered me the job.” If he thought he was going to manipulate her into marriage, he had another think coming. She was going to help turn the Desert Moon around, and when she was good and ready, he was going to let her perform. Or swear to heaven she’d … she’d … She sneezed. Twice.
“That’s it.” Josh hauled her up over his shoulder and strode toward the back door.
Mortified, she smacked his broad back. “Put me down!”
“Want me to tend to your horses?” Tom called.
“Much obliged,” Josh said, without breaking stride. “The buckskin and palomino.�
�
“Got any luggage?”
“Just the saddlebags.”
“I forgot my carpetbag!” Paris realized, her temples throbbing as the blood rushed to her head.
“Seth’s bringing it tomorrow along with the buckboard of supplies I purchased this morning.”
Supplies for their home. Her heart raced like a spooked rabbit. “What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”
“To bed.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Then I’ll have to tire you out.” He stalked out the door, into the night and across a small patch of land.
Luckily the rain had eased. Not so her misgivings. From her upside down position, she couldn’t make heads or tails of where they were going. “Put me down this instant, you bone-headed brute, or I’ll make you always and forever sorry!” She pummeled his back. “Do you hear me?”
“The whole town hears you.” He scaled two steps and shoved through a door. “Lower your voice.”
“Make me!”
He kicked the door shut and set her down, angling to strike a match to a kerosene lamp.
Golden light flooded the room, illuminating his enigmatic expression. The air crackled with tension. Why, oh, why had she blurted that childish challenge? Wringing her hands, she backed deeper into the excessively furnished sitting room, nearly tumbling backward over a Boston rocker. “On second thought, I am quite tired.” She feigned a loud yawn. “If you would direct me to a hotel … ”
“Chance doesn’t have a hotel.”
“Then I’ll sleep at the Desert Moon. There must be accommodations for the help.”
“You’ll sleep here. With me.” He advanced, backing her flush against the wall. His hot gaze ignited a fire in her belly that fanned out and singed her nether region. Her entire body tingled in anticipation even as her heart pounded with dread. Her mind emptied of everything but song and sensations.
He tangled his fingers in her hair.
Lovers sleeping in the night. Their hearts and hands entwined. One has given up the fight. Lost body, soul, and mind.
Ground his lower region against hers.
One holds onto fear and doubt. Won’t say the words aloud. Both afraid of what could be forever and for now.