“Me!” Priscilla looked both shocked and pleased.
“My idea is that you and Amanda will stroll on the stage together. You’ll be telling her how you long to meet someone special. You can sing the song you sang for me yesterday.”
Priscilla turned to her mother. “Do you think I should?”
Mrs. Carruthers thought for a moment. “I don’t see what would be wrong with that as long as I’m there. You did say you wanted all of us to take part,” she said, turning to Broc.
“I’d like you and Mrs. Liscomb to have a brief conversation about young people falling in love and some of the complications.”
“Should it be amusing?”
“I hope so.”
“I can’t do that,” Mrs. Liscomb objected. “What would people think?”
“They’ll think what we tell them to think, Grace,” Mrs. Carruthers said. “After all, we’re the most influential women in Cactus Bend.”
“What about me?” Eddie asked. “What do I get to do?”
Leaving Mrs. Carruthers to convince Mrs. Liscomb, he turned to Eddie. “After Priscilla leaves, the hero shows up, he and Amanda sing a duet, then he goes off leaving Amanda to sing by herself.”
“I asked about me,” Eddie reminded him.
“You get to run on and tell her the villain is coming. Then you run off to find the hero.”
“I want to fight the villain,” Eddie said.
“You can’t. The hero’s supposed to do that.”
“But you can’t fight yourself. I think Gary ought to be the villain. I can fight him.”
“I’m not acting in any stupid play,” Gary asserted.
“I want you to be the announcer,” Broc said to Gary.
“I’m not being any announcer.” He stopped. “What’s an announcer?”
“He comes on before the play starts to tell the audience what they’re going to see. After that you can go back to the bar if you want.”
Gary looked stubborn, but Broc knew trying to force him to agree would only have a negative effect. “Okay, let’s start with the mothers,” Broc said. “Your dialogue should go something like this.”
He outlined a conversation not unlike what any mother would say when complaining about a daughter falling in love and being virtually useless. Mrs. Carruthers took to the role enthusiastically and embroidered it with some of her own contributions. Words had to practically be forced from Mrs. Liscomb, but at least she didn’t refuse to take part. Priscilla sang so beautifully Broc decided he might work up a skit featuring her. Eddie performed his part with relish and begged for more. Broc then showed how he planned to play both the hero and the villain. There was a good deal of laughter and some doubts about how it would work, but Mrs. Carruthers volunteered to make a cape for him that very afternoon.
“I know exactly how to achieve the effect you want,” she said, apparently pleased with the notion she had in mind.
“That’s the idea of the show,” Broc said to Gary. “Think you can introduce us?”
“I can do it,” Eddie piped up. “Let me.”
“Anybody can do that,” Gary said.
“I was really asking whether you would do it.”
“I’ll have to ask Corby. I won’t do it if he thinks I shouldn’t.”
“Okay. But if you can’t, Eddie gets to do it.”
A jubilant Eddie was certain he had the part, but Broc could tell Gary wasn’t happy about letting his little brother have so much of the limelight. This was one time jealousy might work in his favor.
In the mysterious way that all small towns have when it comes to spreading news, it seemed every man in Cactus Bend knew there was going to be something special at the Open Door Saloon that evening. A few women showed up with their husbands. Corby didn’t know whether to be pleased or nervous. It was possible that having women become regulars at his saloon could drive a lot of his regular customers to look for a saloon where their nightly enjoyment wouldn’t be inhibited by the sensitivities of the delicate sex. For the single men, leering at the waitresses and giving them an occasional pat as they passed close by was the highlight of the evening.
“I’ve never seen the place so full,” Dan Walch said to Corby.
“I don’t know about having those women here,” Corby said, indicating a group who’d commandeered a table for themselves. “Some of the men don’t like it.”
“Maybe not, but some of us get tired of looking at the same old ugly faces night after night.”
“They’re not young.”
“They’re not men. That’s what counts.”
“Your show had better be good,” Corby said, twisting around to glare at Broc. “If it’s not, I won’t pay Amanda her percentage of the bar.” He glared at the table of women. “With them here, we may not make as much as I expected.”
“They’ll go home early,” Dan said. “If the men are in a good mood, they’ll drink even more.”
“Aaron Liscomb told me women would never set foot in my saloon so I didn’t have to worry about them.”
Broc believed women were gradually taking more control of their lives and demanding to be included in areas that men had previously consider all-male domains. If Corby didn’t learn to change with the times, his business wouldn’t last. Mrs. Liscomb didn’t realize that by owning a ranch managed by her daughter, she was at the forefront of change, and Broc didn’t mean to tell her. The shock would be too much.
“Get started,” Corby said to Broc. “The men are getting fidgety.”
Gary looked nervous when he mounted the stage, but he managed to explain the play without confusing people too much.
The men were shocked when the first people to walk out on the stage were the two most respected women in Cactus Bend, but Mrs. Carruthers took command of the stage as if she’d been acting all her life. She led the mumbling Mrs. Liscomb through their dialogue, managing to make Mrs. Liscomb’s bumbling efforts as funny as her lines.
The men didn’t know how to react when Priscilla appeared on stage, but it didn’t take more than a few notes of her song before every voice was silenced. She was close to the end of her song when the doors to the saloon opened with a loud crash, and Carruthers stormed in.
“You damned bitch!” he shouted at his daughter. “I’ll show you what happens to a daughter who doesn’t obey her father.”
Carruthers’s entry was so unexpected and his progress through the crowded saloon so rapid, he had almost reached the stage before anyone was able to react. There were too many people between Broc and Priscilla for him to prevent Carruthers from grabbing his daughter’s wrist and yanking her off the stage.
The only reason she didn’t fall was that Dan Walch somehow managed to force his way through the crowd. He caught Priscilla with one arm while he used the other to land a punch in Carruthers’s face.
The man acted as though he didn’t feel a thing. “Whore!” he screamed at Priscilla.
Several men had gotten over their shock sufficiently to try to restrain Carruthers, but he still didn’t let go of Priscilla. Mrs. Carruthers’s shrill shouts only added to the confusion. Aiming for the straining muscle in Carruthers’s forearm, Broc brought his fist down with all his strength. His blow paralyzed Carruthers’s muscles, and the rancher lost his grip on his daughter’s wrist. Dan pulled Priscilla toward her mother while several men wrestled Carruthers to the floor.
“He’s drunk,” someone said.
“It doesn’t matter,” another said. “He shouldn’t mistreat a woman, not even his own daughter.”
Broc didn’t doubt Carruthers had been drinking, but this was the attack of a crazed man capable of doing dangerous, possibly terrible, things. Broc was convinced Carruthers was mentally unstable. Why else would he think no laws applied to him? Why would he attempt to harm his daughter with a saloon full of people watching? Why was he shouting threats at Corby, vowing to close him down, burn him out, for letting his daughter sing?
“Put him in jail long enough for him
to calm down,” Dan said to the sheriff, who’d been summoned by the noise. “If he tries to hurt Priscilla again, I’ll kill him.”
Dan stood with one powerful arm around Priscilla, who looked happy to be there.
“Shut up, man. Can’t you see there are women here?” the sheriff asked Carruthers when he continued to shout profanity.
“I think he ought to see a doctor,” Broc suggested.
“I agree.” Mrs. Carruthers had made her way to the front. “He hasn’t been himself recently.”
The sheriff had been reluctant to take action against the most powerful man in the area, but now he didn’t have any choice.
“I’ll take him over to the jail and have the doc look at him.”
It took four men to help the sheriff drag Carruthers from the saloon. A shouted “Bitch!” was the last word they heard from him.
It took several minutes for everybody to settle down. Even after they had reclaimed their seats, they didn’t stop discussing what they’d seen.
“I want you to sing your song again,” Broc said to Priscilla.
“She can’t do that,” Amanda said. “She’s too upset.”
“If she wants to be a professional singer, she’ll have to learn to perform regardless of what’s happening in her personal life. The audience only cares about what it has paid to see.” Broc knew he was being harsh, but it was the best way for Priscilla and everybody else to put the ugly scene behind her.
Priscilla swallowed, patted Dan’s arm, then stepped away from him. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?” Amanda gave Broc an angry glare.
“Broc is right. I can’t let anything keep me from performing.”
When Broc announced that Priscilla would start her song again, the men gave her a rousing round of applause. Their response when she finished was so enthusiastic, she had to sing the last verse again.
Broc was pleased for Priscilla, but he was relieved the audience was back in the mood to be entertained. Now their show had a chance of being successful.
Their duet was well received, but Broc knew the success of the show really depended on his being able to carry off the two parts. He had been careful to keep his good side to the stage during the duet. He wore a white hat, a white shirt and string tie, black pants, and boots. From that side he looked like the perfect romantic hero.
Amanda’s solo was beautifully sung and loudly applauded. The clapping only stopped when Eddie rushed on stage shouting that the villain was coming. The little ham added to his lines by drawing a lurid picture of what the villain would do to Amanda. They practically had to yank him off the stage.
When Broc appeared as the villain, he entered from the opposite side of the stage which showed the wounded side of his face. That side of his hat was black, and a black cape covered his white shirt, giving him a totally black silhouette. The audience gasped when they saw him.
Amanda recoiled in horror when Broc demanded that she marry him or he would foreclose on the family ranch. She begged for mercy, but he was relentless. When Amanda sank to her knees, Broc crossed behind her and turned, exposing his heroic side. The hero promised to protect Amanda, save the family ranch, and vanquish the villain. He pantomimed a punch.
Changing sides of the stage, Broc exposed his villain side. Pantomiming stumbling back from the force of the hero’s blow, he made terrible threats and punched at the hero. Broc crossed back behind Amanda and exposed his hero side, then stumbled from the force of the villain’s blow. Finally understanding what Broc was doing, the audience started to laugh. The more times Broc changed from hero to villain and back to hero again, the harder they laughed. Some even started to cheer for the hero and others for the villain. When the villain was finally overcome by the hero, Broc did his best to make his death scene a comic masterpiece before scrambling up to sing a final duet with Amanda.
The men whistled, shouted, and stomped. Some even threw coins on the stage. The women clapped just as enthusiastically. It amused Broc that Corby seemed caught between pleasure that the show had been so successful and anger that it had been so successful.
The women left after the show was over, and the men reverted to their usual practice of drinking themselves silly before wandering off to their beds.
“Amanda, I want to see you in my office right now.”
Amanda laughed at Corby. “You don’t have to increase what you’re paying me. We’ll do the show every night for the same amount.”
“That isn’t what I want to talk about.”
“Then what is it?”
Broc didn’t understand why Corby looked so unhappy. His saloon was packed with men in a mood to stay longer than usual to talk about the show and Carruthers’s strange behavior. They’d probably drink even more because of the excitement.
“I need to talk to you privately.”
“You can say anything you want in front of all of us.”
Corby looked very uncomfortable. “I’d rather talk privately.”
“Unless it’s something personal, go ahead.”
For a moment it looked as if he was going to refuse. Then he took a breath and focused on Amanda. “I’m firing Broc.”
Chapter Seventeen
Amanda wondered how it was possible to question what had been said when she had heard each word perfectly clearly.
“Let’s go to your office,” she said. “Either you’re not feeling well and need to lie down, or you’ve been drinking too much of your own whiskey and don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.”
“Then you’re going to have to explain it to me and Broc.”
The office was a monument to Corby’s opinion of himself. When her father had occupied it, the room had contained little more than a desk, a chair, and a cabinet for his records. After her father died, Corby had asked advice from several ladies in town. Now he had pictures on the wall, an armchair for visitors, a carpet, and a table with a lamp.
Amanda couldn’t believe Corby was serious. It would be impossible to carry on without Broc. He was the heart of the show, its creator and its producer. All of them simply did what he suggested.
She wished her mother and Mrs. Carruthers were still here, but Mrs. Carruthers had been anxious to take Priscilla home. Amanda’s mother had been equally insistent that Eddie needed to be in bed. Eddie had objected strongly but was overruled.
“Now tell me why you want to do anything as stupid as firing Broc,” Amanda said when the door closed behind Corby.
“How can you ask a question like that when you heard what Carruthers said?” Corby asked.
“Pay no attention to Carruthers. He was angry at Priscilla for disobeying him. He thinks singing in public is beneath her.”
Corby spun around to face Broc. “Did you know that?”
Broc nodded.
“And you persuaded her to sing anyway?”
“Her mother approved,” Amanda reminded him. “Nothing should have happened.”
“Something did happen,” Corby nearly shouted. “Carruthers promised to burn the saloon to the ground.”
“I doubt he’ll remember his threat when he sobers up.”
“You can ignore him,” Corby shouted. “You don’t own the saloon he intends to burn down. I’m never going to let his daughter set foot inside this place again. I’ll lock the doors if she or her mother comes near the place.”
“Everybody loved Priscilla,” Amanda reminded him.
“I did without her before, and I can without her again.” Corby turned on Broc. “And I can do without you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Amanda said. “The show won’t be the same without him.”
“I don’t want a show,” Corby said. “I want you to go back to waiting tables and singing a few songs. I’m putting Oscar back on piano. I want everything to be like it was before.”
“I can’t go back to things as they were before,” Amanda said. “I can’t make enough money to keep the ranch
going.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Corby said. “I’ll take care of everything when we get married.”
Amanda looked at Broc, but his face was devoid of expression. Seeing him head-on, the stage paint making his disfigurement even more apparent, she was surprised once again how little his scars affected her. It was Broc’s face, the face of the man she loved, and she couldn’t imagine him looking any other way.
Her own thoughts stunned her. She liked Broc more than any man she’d ever met. She enjoyed being with him, being kissed and held by him. She readily acknowledged that she had started to depend on him, to turn to him when she had a question. She never hesitated to put herself in his hands because she had complete confidence that he would protect her. But when had her feelings turned to love?
Wouldn’t she have noticed something as important at that? Had she been so busy worrying about finding the missing cows, making enough money to pay wages, and trying to keep her mother and brother happy, that she hadn’t had time to pay attention to her own feelings?
“It doesn’t make any difference if he fires me,” Broc said to her. “I was only going to be here for a few more days.”
Amanda jerked her thoughts back to the most immediate problem. “It does make a difference,” she insisted. “You’re the reason all of this happened…the songs, the duets, the piano, the skit. Without you, I’d still be waiting tables.”
“That’s what he wants you to do. You don’t need me for that.”
Amanda could feel Broc pulling back, withdrawing from her emotionally. She couldn’t let that happen, not until she told him. But what good would it do if he was leaving? Would he come back if he knew she loved him? She didn’t have time to sort through the thoughts bouncing around in her brain. She could deal with everything else later.
“I don’t want to go back to waiting tables,” she told Corby. “After listening to Broc, everybody in the saloon knows Oscar is an awful pianist.”
“It’s my saloon, and I decide who does what,” Corby announced. “That means Broc is fired and Oscar is back at the piano.”
“Then I quit, too.” She hadn’t meant to say that, but the words were out before she could stop them. She was furious that Corby would fire Broc, but she was certain he would change his mind. He didn’t want to lose her. He was just jealous of Broc.
When Love Comes Page 21
