Ranchers. Being a trapper in the wild, he’d never paid much attention to those who raised domesticated animals. Curiosity drew him closer, and soon he reached the trees lining a river. After letting Levka drink and taking a sip or two from his leather canteen, he rode up the opposite bank and stopped under a shade tree. The herd held fewer than a hundred animals, and he supposed the riders kept them grazing in a certain area and that they’d pick a different spot the next day. No fences were apparent, so the riders must also keep the cattle from running off.
The sight of the armed mine guard crossed his mind. Again using the spyglass, he surveyed the riders and noted they both had handguns and rifles. Of course, the cattle had to be protected from rustlers. Seemed everything in life had to be protected. He crossed the river but rode outside the tree line, watching the herd and seeing what the riders did. Maybe, instead of supplying the family business with hides from wild animals, he could raise cattle to fulfill his obligation. His thoughts rolled with the possibilities. The ride back to town passed in no time at all.
Doing only the briefest of rubdowns, he stabled Levka and stashed the fish in the icebox over a pan of cool stream water. Then he crossed the street and entered the mercantile for the first time. Behind the counter stood a man of average height with a brown mustache. His graying hair circled a balding spot on his head. A pencil rode on his right ear. “Afternoon.”
“What can I help you with, stranger?”
Normally, he was content with being the stranger in town and sharing only the barest minimum of details. But his brother had established himself in this place, and Valerik wouldn’t risk any of his actions coming back to haunt Nicolai. “Name’s Valerik Andrusha.”
“Mine’s Ralph Jones. Hey, yer name is like the saddler’s.”
“His older brother.” Valerik glanced at the shelves and started pointing. “A pound of cornmeal, butter, milk, eggs.” He paused and thought about what would go well with the bass. “A sack of potatoes and a slab of bacon.” That ought to last for a few meals. He walked to the back wall where stacks of ready-made dungarees lined a shelf. The red tag on the back pocket looked familiar, and he checked the patches on the waistbands, looking for his size. “Add two pair of denims to the total.”
The clerk filled the order, stacking the packages in a small wooden crate and laying the clothes on top. “Put this on your brother’s account?”
“Nah, I’ll pay.” Valerik dug into the pockets of his overalls. He usually had a coin or a bill stashed in one of these pockets. From the last one he checked, he pulled out a five-dollar note and extended it.
“Let me grab the change.” Jones started to turn toward the back.
“Why not put the remainder on an account? Do I need to sign anything?”
Jones reached and hand out of sight and lifted a thick ledger book to the counter. “Hang on while I get to a new page.” He licked his finger and flipped the corner of several pages then he reached down the pencil. “Spell yer name, if you would.”
Valerik did and watched as the clerk entered a total on the top line. Not much, but one dollar and thirteen cents showed a small investment in Morgan’s Crossing. Whistling, he hefted the crate to his shoulder and sauntered across the street. Maybe he’d invite Dorrie again to share his supper.
As soon as he walked into the saddlery’s kitchen, he made out faint strains of music through the wall. The crate dropped to the counter with a thud. Barely into the shop, he heard the scrape of footsteps moving in an awkward cadence. At the realization of what was happening, he stiffened, and his jaw clenched. Dorrie went through with her plan and was right this moment being held in another man’s arms.
What did eating another solitary meal matter?
Chapter Five
The next day, Dorrie was halfway through her morning chores around the shop when she remembered her offer to fix Valerik’s lop-sided haircut. Excitement over the terms of Michael’s generous rental agreement still made her smile every time the thought crossed her mind. She chose Cinnia’s second-best pair of scissors, turned the sign to Closed, and stepped onto the front porch. Her first knock went unanswered, making her wonder if she should have first checked the stable. After her second knock, she spotted the edge of the blinds waver.
Then Valerik’s face appeared. He pointed toward the side of the shop.
“What?” She leaned close to the window.
“Go to the back door.”
Grabbing the front of her green calico dress, she descended the steps and rounded the building. Using the back doors did indicate a bit more familiarity. Was that a good sign that he was easing into life within a community again?
Valerik waited in the kitchen doorway. The dog stood at his side in a braced stance. “Morning.”
“Oh.” She gasped, glancing at the animal to make sure it remained relaxed. At this moment, the eyes under the outlining dark mask looked friendly. Its tail even wagged a bit.
“Besides, I couldn’t let you in the front door, because I don’t have a key.”
That was true. She’d been entrusted with the saddlery’s key when Nicolai left. “I’ll get that to you afterward.” Today, he wore new blue jeans and a loose-fitting beige shirt with green braid lining the collar and offset placket opening. Holding up the scissors, she flashed a smile. “I’m here to do what I can with your haircut.”
He lifted a hand and ran it over the wayward strands. “Agreed. Only if we do this outside.”
She frowned and tilted her head. “Why?”
“To avoid gossiping by curious townspeople.” He ducked inside and reappeared carrying a chair.
Her pulse kicked up. Isn’t that sweet? Valerik cared about her reputation. “Good idea. Do you have a comb?”
Again, he went inside and came out then sat. “Here.” He held up a pale-colored comb.
Dorrie took it and immediately felt a rough texture on the spine. She saw carvings accented in black of a body of water and a bulky shape at the surface. “What animal is this?”
“A whale. The comb’s actually made from whalebone.”
Caressing the delicate lines in the smooth bone, she walked to stand opposite him. “You’ve seen such an animal in person? And an ocean?”
He ducked his head and nodded. “Had a job on a whaling ship once. Several kinds of whales and dolphins crossed our path.”
The waves etched in the bone somehow moved before her eyes, making the tiny scene come alive. And she spotted the fine detail of the aquatic animal’s eye. Unable to resist, she ran a fingertip over the whale’s outline. “This engraving is really good.”
Valerik shrugged. “It’s passable, especially for working it while on a moving vessel. True artistic scrimshaw takes years of practice.”
“Scrimshaw? That’s the name?”
“Means carvings in bone or ivory that are dyed with ink.”
“Do you have others?”
“In the shop. Maybe I’ll show you later.”
The reserved tone of his voice caught her off-guard, and she stiffened. “I’d like that.” She walked around to the back of the chair. Like she’d done this yesterday, instead of six years ago, she used the comb to lift the hair and then snipped along its teeth. Most of the lighter blond in Valerik’s hair had already been snipped away, exposing a wheat-like color beneath. Her brothers’ hair had lots of natural wave which she’d had to fight to make the cut even. Although thick in texture, Valerik’s hair had only a slight wave. As she cut, the breeze blew away most of the short strands.
Moving to stand near his knees, she leaned and brushed her fingers over his forehead to lift the lock hanging there.
Valerik inhaled with an audible sniff.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed his stiff posture with both hands braced on his knees. Her heart beat faster, but she focused on her movements. Now that she was in the middle of the haircut, she realized how they must appear to an onlooker. Their bodies were only inches apart, especially with her chest at his eye
level. She peeked downward to note he’d scrunched his eyes closed. Because she wanted to give a good haircut, she had to concentrate and couldn’t chat while she worked. The silence added intimacy to their proximity.
Her sigh ruffled the front of his hair. To cover, she set the scissors and comb on his thigh, and then ran her fingers through the top of his hair, extending her hand upward to check the length. The silky strands slipped through her fingers, giving her a delicious thrill.
Valerik huffed out a breath. “Almost finished?”
His voice rasped, making her think she’d done something wrong. “Just about.” After grabbing the implements again, she moved to his right side and cut as quickly as she dared. Using only the comb to pull his hair away from his head, she made one more circuit and snipped at stray long hairs. “Well, the cut may not be perfect, but it’s an improvement.” She gave his shoulders a couple of gentle swipes to dislodge the fine hairs.
“Obliged.” He shot to his feet, brushing off the front of his shirt, and stepped away from the chair before turning. “What do I owe you?”
Her head jerked back. “I offered to be neighborly.” She crossed her arms over her middle. “I don’t expect payment.”
“Beg your pardon.” He smoothed a hand over the back of his head, and then ran fingers through the front to flatten it. “Feels like I’m more presentable.” His gaze connected with hers then bounced away.
This time, the silence was awkward and uncomfortable. If he hadn’t wanted her to do it, shouldn’t he have said so rather than be abrupt and curt when she’d finished? Irritation built, and her fingers tightened on the metal scissors.
“Ah, Dorrie, the key?”
“Right.” The perfect reason to escape. After she’d delivered it and retreated behind the closed kitchen door, she leaned back her head and huffed out a long sigh. What could he have intended by trailing his fingers along her hand as she pulled away? Doing her best to ignore her racing heartbeat, she strode into the shop and set the scissors back in their proper place. The man twisted her insides worse than a Kansas tornado. Besides, she had better things to think about.
In the week that elapsed since she gave Valerik his haircut, she’d only seen him from afar. Almost every day, he rode one of the horses away from town but at different times. And he was gone for hours on end.
But Valerik Andrusha was not her concern.
Standing in front of the mirror on the wall next to the bureau, she tied a lavender ribbon over the clip holding back hanks of hair. She fluffed the ends to lie atop her hair that tumbled over her shoulders. Only an hour remained until everyone would arrive at the meeting hall for the dance. An event created by her own efforts. Excitement over its success ran through her body. When she was satisfied she’d done all she could with her appearance, she climbed down the ladder.
On the shop table, she shuffled the order of the wax cylinders for the phonograph, hoping to create the best mix of tempos and steps. Carrying all the jars of flowers down the street and arranging them around the meeting hall had involved more of Dorrie’s time than she’d planned. A note for next time was to borrow a wheelbarrow or cart to make the transporting easier.
As she stood at the entrance and looked at the long room, she saw how the wildflowers—although she’d spent lots of time creating color-balanced arrangements—didn’t make enough of a decorative impact. The pale green walls were too stark. Hopefully, the gay atmosphere produced by the music and dancing would hold the group’s attention. She told herself everyone appreciated an event that provided a distraction from the routine of their everyday life.
At the end of one wooden bench sat the pitcher of apple cider and the four glasses and three mugs she’d brought from Cinnia’s place. As refreshments to provide for the expected attendees, the array looked insufficient. The least she could do was add a pail of water to rinse the drinking vessels. Another aspect to develop for next months’ dance.
If only Valerik hadn’t disappeared…again, she would have knocked on his door and begged for his help. He’d made his opinion of the event known, especially after their horseback ride. But, in her heart, she hoped she could call on him to act as a good neighbor and give her a hand.
Close to the posted time of half past six in the evening, people arrived in small groups, and a few miners approached alone. Dorrie greeted each one and accepted the three-cent entry fee.
True to her word, Cecilia Garr was the first one at the door. Wearing a dress with a full skirt, she held tight to the arm of her husband, a rusty-haired giant of a man named Leviticus. “I’ve just been dyin’ for tonight to come.” Her smile accented her heart-shaped face.
“I’m glad you came.” Dorrie eyed the blonde-haired little girl in Leviticus’s arms. They brought a child to the dance? She fought back a gasp.
A flame-haired boy stepped from behind his mother.
Two children? But, of course. They couldn’t very well leave them at home on their own. Panic seized her chest. Oh no, what if they got underfoot? Or squalled the whole night? After a deep breath, she figured the parents must be used to dealing with their children in different settings so she turned to the next arrivals.
Bertha Bucholtz and Howie Brungar stepped into the hall, followed quickly by some people from the Harper Ranch.
Curvy Bertha, with her blonde curls, and tall and lean Howie, who wore his brown hair almost shoulder-length, looked like opposites, but they’d discovered a real heart match. She heard whispers they were to be married this summer.
Next, Dorrie greeted square-jawed Doc Rawlins, who stepped forward with an auburn-haired woman on his arm who Dorrie thought had the most interesting name—Missouri.
Behind them walked one of the owners of the S Bar D Ranch, Paul Slater, and his pretty wife, Letty. The rose-pink blouse she wore complimented her blonde hair done up in a twist.
Voices grew louder as everyone hailed one another. The women commented on a new accessory or dress worn by a friend or neighbor. The men shook hands all around and greeted the arrivals.
Trying not to be rude, Dorrie counted the people present, and then glanced into the woven basket holding the money. By the number of coins, she attempted an estimation if everyone had dropped in their fee. Keeping track took more attention than she’d imagined. She’d have to trust the honesty of the townspeople.
From outside, excited voices called out in greeting.
More people, and by the sound, lots of them together. How could she take money and mingle among the arrivals? Dorrie touched Bertha’s elbow and jerked her head sideways. When they’d moved several feet away, she turned and whispered, “I didn’t realize everything would happen so fast and all at once. Can you help collect the money at the beginning?” She had no idea how long “the beginning” meant, but surely the flow would change to a trickle at some point. After all, the town only had a certain number of people. “You’ll be great at this job, because you know everyone in town. Just stand at the entrance and collect the fees.”
A wide smile puffed Bertha’s rosy cheeks. “I always appreciate being on the sidelines, Dorrie. And I’ll get Howie to help me.”
Blowing out a relieved breath, Dorrie smiled then spun and scurried to the middle of the room. She glanced around. People stood in groups along the hall’s perimeter, talking quietly. Hearing an occasional bark of laughter or a round of chuckles made her happy. That was the atmosphere she’d hoped to create. Dorrie moved among the attendees, thanking each person for being there. And always, she smiled. Because now that the dance was happening, she really didn’t know what she was doing.
While performing vaudeville, she’d always been backstage, waiting for her cue. She had never paid attention to how much before the performance people started arriving. Envisioning the last performance—oh, that sounded so final—where she put on her act, she remembered hearing the buzz of conversations from behind the curtain the troupe erected in this same hall. The attendees had visited among themselves while they waited. Of course, f
or some productions, the audience also had programs to look over. A knot formed in her stomach. Oh dear, should she have created one for tonight?
One of her dance students, Hugh Bemeere, approached. He lifted off his hat and nodded. “Evening, Miss Dorrie. I’m looking forward to putting my lessons to use tonight.”
“Evening, Hugh.” She noticed the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes deepened when he smiled. The odor of pungent tobacco wafted into her nostrils at his movement, and she fought against wrinkling her nose. “That’s exactly what we’ll do.”
No question existed that dancing would occur, but she wasn’t so sure when to actually start. One thing she had planned was to wait until the Morgans arrived, knowing that the town’s mayor usually made a speech at all public gatherings. The tradition was one she liked. When he’d given his approval of the hall rental, he only requested payment based on twenty percent of the entry fees. As far as she was concerned, that generous arrangement granted him a few moments in the spotlight.
Oh, I need to tell Bertha not to charge them an entry fee. “Excuse me, Hugh.” As she returned to the front entrance, she glanced around, hoping to spot Valerik in the crowd. Instead, several of the miners met her gaze and dipped a chin or lifted a finger to the brims of their hats. Had the men worn their hats while in the vaudeville audience? Or had a rack been provided for them to store the hats? She hadn’t noticed. So many details to remember.
Another five minutes passed. Walking through the crowd, she felt the anticipation rising. As she readied herself to move to the center of the hall, she saw a tall, dark-haired man step over the threshold. Michael wore his usual dark suit and escorted his pregnant wife, his hand covering hers where she grasped his arm. Prudence wore a pale yellow dress that didn’t do a thing to diminish the roundness of her belly.
Montana Sky: Dance Toward The Light (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Entertainers of The West Book 3) Page 6
