There was something special about that dog. Lucky. He had appeared in her life for a reason. And for now, she wasn’t going to worry about his reaction to his rescuer, if and when he recovered his strength. Right now, she was concerned over whether or not he would even survive the night.
Chapter Ten
Jase Conroy tied his horse and strode through the swinging doors of Rawlins’ Saloon. He hadn’t wanted to come here tonight, just as he hadn’t wanted to come here every night since that first. But seeing her had become a compulsion. He could no more stay away than he could stop breathing. She haunted his dreams. And during his waking hours, as he went about his chores, her image was with him. He could see her, all soft and delicate, standing on stage in that prim gown. Her hair was a silvery cloud, begging him to plunge his hands into it and savor the silken texture. That deep husky voice played over his nerves until he was as taut as a bow string. And her mouth. Thoughts of her lips on his tortured him. There was no release for it. He had to see her.
He began inventing excuses to come into town every evening. His friend, Jacob Mueller, had seen him more in the past few days than he usually saw him in months. Jase stopped by the store, exchanged pleasantries, picked up a few supplies, which he really didn’t need, then headed for the saloon.
"Whiskey," he said to the bartender.
Before it was poured, one of Rawlins’ women stepped up beside him. "Buying me one, Jase?"
"Sure." He nodded to the bartender, who poured a second drink.
She touched his glass with hers, then tossed down the liquid and set the empty tumbler on the bar. "Where’ve you been keeping yourself, Jase?"
"Getting a team ready. Takes a lot of my time."
She gave him a sideways glance. "Can’t take up all your time. Want to go upstairs?"
He set his drink down and turned to face her. "No, Annie. But it looks like you’ve got more customers than you can handle lately."
"In my business, that isn’t always good news."
He chuckled. "You complaining?"
She joined his laughter. "No. But some customers are just more—pleasurable than others. Sure you won’t change your mind?"
At the shake of his head, she gave him a last, lingering glance, then wandered toward a poker table. A moment later she was pulled down on the lap of one of the players. Her trill of laughter could be heard above the din.
With a curious detachment, Jase watched as miners dickered with Snake Rawlins for the small, boxlike booths around the stage. Leave it to Snake to cook up another scheme to bilk the miners out of their gold, Jase thought. He probably sat up nights dreaming of these things.
Jase heard the expectant hum of the crowd which always signaled the arrival of the Velvet Voice. Like the others at the bar, he turned and strained for a glimpse as she made her way to the stage.
At the first sight of her he felt the familiar tightening in his throat. Tossing back his drink, he straightened, and shared the tension of those around him.
Blackie played a ripple of notes, followed by several dramatic chords. Then, with the piano playing softly in the background, September began speaking the words of a new song, about a miner and the girl he left behind.
Jase felt as if he were the only man in the room. She was speaking those words just for him. The flickering lights of dozens of lanterns cast her features into a kaleidoscope of light and shadow. Her eyes glowed like a cat’s.
While she entertained, September’s gaze swept the crowd. Surrounding the stage sat miners with enough money to pay for the privilege of box seats. Beyond them, the gamblers and drifters sat at poker and faro tables, or crowded around the bar. At first glance, they were a sea of faces, all straining for a glimpse of her. As she scanned the crowd more slowly, her gaze was arrested by the tall man at the bar. The gunman who had saved her. Seeing the sudden look of recognition in her eyes, he inclined his head slightly. Their gazes met and held.
Jase felt the sweat trickle between his shoulder blades and down his back. The moment she even looked at him, he felt the heat. What would the touch of her be like? What would it be like to take that slender woman into his arms and hold her to him, mouth to mouth, flesh to flesh? The thought stirred a need that left him stunned.
Again September felt the touch, as tangible as if he had reached out a hand to her. Her heartbeat accelerated. Her chest rose and fell, as if breathing were an effort.
Finishing the song, September blinked and broke eye contact. For one brief moment, she felt drained. Acknowledging the applause with a smile, she signaled the piano player and immediately launched into a second song. Carefully avoiding the spot where the stranger stood, she sang the entire song with her gaze fixed on a spot on the wall.
When the second song ended, she watched in amazement as Rawlins’ women rushed into the boxes with the miners and began loudly ordering bottles of champagne. Even before the applause ended and she hurried from the stage, the girls latched onto the hapless miners and began spending their money.
Snake Rawlins watched as September climbed the stairs. Removing that back wall had been a stroke of genius. Now she had no choice but to go upstairs between acts. It was only a matter of time before he could put her to work up there as well.
He glanced around at the faces of the men and noted with satisfaction that all of them were watching the fluid movement of her hips as she walked upstairs. What they wouldn’t pay, he thought, to have a peek at what was under that modest velvet dress. Smiling, he turned away, and saw Jase studying him.
He froze. Of all the men in this town, Jase Conroy was the only man Snake Rawlins feared. Snake already had the law in his pocket. And most of the drifters who came through Skagway were willing to look the other way if they saw something that wasn’t quite right. But Conroy was different. He was a loner. There was no way of telling what he was thinking. His eyes were the steeliest Snake had ever seen. He had the determined look of a man who saw everything through to the finish, no matter what the outcome.
Most men had a price, or could be conned. Snake had a feeling that Jase Conroy was the exception. That’s what made him so dangerous. He was his own man. And no one was sure just what he was. He had the look of a hired gun. But Snake wasn’t about to risk his neck by poking into his affairs.
Acknowledging him with a nod, Snake hurried across the room to see how his girls were doing with the new scheme.
* * *
September made her way upstairs. Snake had insisted that she use his room between acts. He hadn’t exaggerated the comfort. As she closed the door, she slipped off her high-top shoes and wiggled her toes, then walked to the fireplace. A fire crackled invitingly. An upholstered chair had been positioned in front of the fire. Over the arm lay a blanket. At her feet was a footstool. Maybe she was being too hard on Snake, always thinking the worst of him. It was nice of him to provide a place for her to rest between acts. She stretched out comfortably, then snuggling deep into the cushions, leaned her head back and dozed.
* * *
Each time September finished her songs, Jase told himself that it was time to leave. And each time he found an excuse to stay for one more act.
Rawlins’ latest scheme for making money fascinated Jase. After each act, Rawlins’ women leaped into the boxes with the wealthy miners and began ordering bottles of champagne. One of them was even bold enough to order a box of cigars for the man she had just met. Jase wondered how Snake would handle the commotion when all these men found out how much they’d been fooled into spending for the evening.
September sang her last songs of the night. She was relieved when she could acknowledge the applause and step from the stage. Wearily trudging up the stairs, she retrieved her shawl from Snake’s room and headed downstairs toward the swinging doors.
Seeing her descent, Jase felt a rush of relief. She didn’t sleep upstairs, with all the others. Quickly, he emptied his glass and strolled casually toward the door. Outside, he glanced right, then left, before spotting her melt
ing into the darkness.
He swore. What kind of fool was Snake Rawlins, to allow her to go home alone? Just the sight of her could incite a riot, and here she was walking unaccompanied in the darkness, without protection of any kind. She must not have a single brain in that pretty head.
He opened his parka and touched the gun at his waist. There was no harm in following her. At least he’d know she was safe.
When the outline of Aggie Whelan’s darkened boardinghouse loomed in the blackness, Jase watched as a slender figure made her way across the porch and disappeared inside. A few minutes later, he saw the flickering light of a lantern in the corner room. Only then did his hand move from the gun at his waist and relax at his side.
Leaning a hip against the trunk of a tree, he pulled a pouch from his pocket and tapped some tobacco into a paper. Expertly rolling the cigarette, he ran a match over the rough bark, held the flame to the tip, then inhaled deeply. As the wreath of rich smoke dissipated into the night air, he watched until the light in her room was extinguished.
He walked slowly back to the saloon and retrieved his horse. On the long ride back to his cabin, he would have a warm, vibrant companion to keep him company. Her image played in his mind. She would be asleep by now, her features relaxed, that silver cloud of hair spilled over a pillow. The Velvet Voice. Her deep, rich tones taunted him on the silent night air.
* * *
Thin sunlight filtered through the lacy curtains of September’s room. Curled into a fetal position, she snuggled into the circle of warmth. Over the sound of her own breathing, she heard the sound of deeper, steady panting. Sitting up abruptly, she stared at the huge mound of fur on the blanket in the corner of the room.
"Hello, Lucky," she called, bounding out of bed.
She crossed the room and knelt beside the dog. Running her hand along the length of him, she examined the cuts and ragged pieces of flesh and fur. He opened his eyes and watched her, without making a sound.
At her touch he froze, not moving, not even seeming to breathe, until he sensed her intentions. As she continued to probe with gentle fingers, the dog relaxed slightly, unresisting, but still watching her.
"You’re healing," she murmured.
The dog’s ears lifted, remembering this strange, female voice which had pierced his consciousness during the height of his beating.
"Come on, boy. Can you get up?"
She stood, clapping her hands softly. With a great effort, the dog forced himself to stand and walked stiffly toward her.
"Oh, thank heavens. I wondered if your legs had been broken." She buried her face in his neck. She found that she didn’t even have to bend to pet him. His head reached higher than her waist. Stretched end to end, he would be much taller than September and would outweigh her by a few pounds.
"You’re beautiful," she breathed, kneeling down and staring into those unusual ghostly eyes. "And you’re mine. No man will ever lay a hand on you again."
The dog watched her eyes as she spoke, as if he understood every word. The scent of her became locked firmly in his memory.
"As soon as I’ve dressed, you and I will take a walk. Then I’ll have to sneak you some food and figure out how to keep your presence a secret from Aggie."
The last proved easier than she expected. Aggie took to her bed with a fever which lasted three days. Although the extra burden of chores fell to Billy and September, they had earned a brief reprieve.
"So far, fellow," she muttered later, dropping her arm around the big dog’s neck, "you’ve certainly lived up to your name."
* * *
All day, as September went about her chores, she thought about the money Snake owed her. Tonight, she would collect her first pay. She would be one hundred fifty dollars closer to her goal.
When she arrived at the saloon, Snake greeted her more warmly than usual.
"I’ve got a surprise for you, kid. How’d you like a midnight supper, after you’ve finished singing for the night?"
"That’s nice of you, Snake. But I’ll probably be too tired to eat. I think I’ll just collect my pay and head home."
"Where’s home?"
"Nowhere special," she hedged. Her instincts told her not to tell Snake too much about her personal life.
"I’ve got a little business proposition to offer you over dinner."
"Business? Why not just tell me now?"
He smiled, causing a little tremor of fear at the base of her spine. "I talk better over a good meal."
She sighed. "All right. Where will we go?"
"Up in my room. We have a good cook here who sees to all our meals. I’ve already told her what I want." He glanced at the door as a group of noisy miners entered. "We’ll talk later."
September watched as he strolled away. The last thing she wanted was dinner with Snake. But she was eager to get paid. And she was curious to hear his business proposition.
There was no time to ponder what he had planned. It was time to start the evening’s entertainment. As she glanced around the crowded room, she saw a number of new faces. Another boat must have arrived. Another load of eager treasure seekers. Or, she thought, seeing the bleak look on the faces of some of the defeated men, another boatload of shattered dreams.
* * *
Jase stood in the crowd and felt the warmth of that rich voice wash over him. For a little while he forgot the hard work, the pain, the things which drove him, and lost himself in the dreams she wove.
When the Velvet Voice finished her last song of the evening, he refused another drink, intending to follow her home again tonight. It gave him an odd sense of satisfaction to know that he was looking out for her welfare, even though she wasn’t aware of it.
* * *
When she finished her last act and made her way upstairs, September was surprised to find a fancy table in Snake’s room, positioned before a blazing fire. On an embroidered linen cloth were set fine china and crystal. In a round urn, a bottle of champagne was chilling over ice.
Snake entered from an adjoining dressing room. He had changed into a wine-colored velvet jacket. His black hair glistened in the light of a half dozen candles.
"They were a good crowd tonight."
She forced a smile. "Yes."
"Sit down," he said, holding a chair.
When she was seated, he took the bottle of champagne from the urn and opened it. Filling two glasses, he said, "Here’s to the Velvet Voice."
Carefully, September sipped, remembering how the whiskey had burned her throat, the night the stranger had saved her from the drunken miner. This was different. It didn’t burn, but the bubbles tickled her nose.
"You like it?" His eyes were watchful across the table.
"Yes." She laughed, that rich, warm sound of innocent happiness.
At a knock on the door, Snake opened it to admit a small, thin woman carrying a heavy tray. Behind her, a girl of about ten carried a second, smaller tray.
While the woman served the table, the girl placed the small tray on a sideboard, then waited until her mother was finished.
The plates were heaped with enormous slabs of beef, accompanied by small, whole potatoes and thick, brown gravy. A loaf of hard-crusted bread, warm from the oven, was sliced and placed in the center of the table, along with a plate of creamy, freshly churned butter.
"Coffee and desserts are on the sideboard, Mr. Rawlins. Do you want me to stay to serve?"
"No, Theresa. Thank you."
When the door closed behind them, he sipped his champagne and smiled across the table at September.
"I can’t eat all this, Snake."
"Sure you can, kid. You don’t see food like this every day in Skagway."
"No." She thought of how hungry she had been on the boat, and that reminded her of Deke Kenyon. He had tried to charm her with his cozy room and food right from the captain’s own table.
The thought caused a lump in her throat which she thought would choke her.
"It looks really good, Snake. Bu
t I had a big dinner before I came here tonight."
"That was hours ago. Relax, September. Enjoy."
She lifted the fork to her lips and tasted the tender beef. Snake tucked into his meal with relish, washing it down with several glasses of bubbly champagne.
When he was finished, he watched as she moved the food around her plate.
"Would you like some dessert? It’s Theresa’s specialty. Chocolate layer cake, with cream filling and real strawberries."
She shook her head. "No, thank you. But you go ahead, Snake."
"Coffee?"
She nodded. "Yes, please."
As he filled her cup, he glanced down at her. "Your hair smells good."
She stiffened. "Thank you."
With his thumb and finger under her chin, he tilted her face upward.
Fear became a razor, slicing through her nerves.
"You and I are becoming quite a team, September Malloy. If we play our cards right, we could own this town."
"I don’t want to own Skagway, Snake. I just want to find my father." She jerked her face away and reached for the cup of coffee.
"I like you, kid."
She avoided his eyes. "Thank you."
"Are you always so damned polite?"
"What?" She clattered her cup on her saucer and watched him.
"Polite." He strode angrily to the fireplace, where he held a flaming torch to his cigar. He turned. In the light of the fire, the scar along the side of his face stood out in relief. His thin lips twisted cruelly. "Polite and proper. Didn’t it ever occur to you to flirt a little with those men down there? Do you know how much money you could earn if you’d just smile a little? And what about those boxes? Haven’t you figured out that by leaping into one of those boxes after you sing you could get those hungry old boys to spend a fortune just to keep you there?"
His outburst left her stunned. She continued staring at him for long, silent moments.
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