Hannah's Beau

by Renee Ryan

  With one quick slash of her hand, Hannah dismissed the order. “No.”

  “No, I can’t go? Or no I can’t have my tobacco?”

  “No to both.”

  As if time had slowed, both women took two very determined steps toward one another. Their gazes locked and held.

  Mavis scrunched her face into a frown.

  Hannah did the same.

  Mavis jammed her hands on her hips.

  Hannah did the same.

  Frozen to the spot, Hannah waited, held firm, gauged her adversary and waited some more.

  Five minutes later Hannah was close to losing the patience she’d prayed so hard for earlier.

  Thankfully, Mavis cracked first. “I just want one—”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “No.”

  Mavis stomped her foot again. “You can’t—”

  “Oh, but I can.”

  Mavis cocked her head and studied Hannah for a long moment. “You ain’t gonna budge, are you?”

  “Not an inch.”

  “This stubborn side of you is not going to win many hearts.”

  Hannah gave her a quick, unrepentant grin. “Perhaps not, but I will win this argument.”

  With a snort, Mavis snatched up the skirt at her feet. “Fine. I’ll wear this one.”

  “Wise decision.” From the pile on the bed, Hannah plucked a light wool jacket and held it between her thumb and forefinger. “Add this to your ensemble and we’ll call you stage-ready.”

  Frowning, Mavis yanked the jacket out of Hannah’s hands and jammed her arms into the sleeves. “You can be downright mean when you want to, Hannah Southerland.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “You remind me a little too much of…” A smile slipped onto the corner of Mavis’s lips. “Me.”

  “It’s why you love me,” Hannah said. Dragging Mavis into a tight hug, she kissed the top of her head as she would a child’s. “And why I love you.”

  “Humph,” Mavis said between suspicious-sounding sniffs. Was the woman crying?

  Hannah released Mavis and touched the lone tear running down a weathered cheek. “Oh, Mavis.”

  Not to be outdone, Mavis lifted onto her toes and kissed Hannah smack on the forehead. “Take that.”

  “Well,” Hannah said through watery eyes of her own.

  Mavis just smiled at her, but then got that crafty look in her gaze that meant pure trouble. “Now that we’re friends again, you wouldn’t reconsider giving me back my toba—”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  Before Mavis could start the argument all over again, Hannah wrapped her own shawl around her shoulders and trod to the door leading into the hallway. As she passed the nightstand, she caught sight of the flyer that the deputy had brought to her less than an hour before.

  Compelled, Hannah picked up the parchment and studied the drawing of her former friend turned traitor. At the sight of Tyler’s smiling face, Hannah sank her teeth into her bottom lip.

  The drawing was a near-perfect rendition of the man, all the way down to the jaunty angle of his head and the cocky half smile that had become as much his trademark as his outrageous talent had.

  Mavis rested her chin on Hannah’s shoulder and peered at the sketch along with her. “That boy sure does look like our Pastor Beau.”

  Hannah bit down harder on her lip, then took a slow breath. “No. Not at all.” She traced her finger across Tyler’s jaw. “Beau has a stronger chin, with just a hint of a cleft in the middle.” She moved her finger upward. “And his eyebrows are more winged. His eyes more pale silver than green.”

  “Poor Hannah,” Mavis said, snatching the flyer from her fingers and setting it back on the nightstand. “You got it bad for the preacher.”

  Why deny the truth, when it was so glaring, so obvious? “You have no idea.”

  The admission didn’t bring much comfort, though. Instead, Hannah felt a sense of dread run across her spine, as though she was about to lose her solid, predictable future. The one she’d worked so hard to chart and organize ever since her father had banished her.

  Did God have a bigger plan for her life, one that didn’t include worldly security?

  And if so, did she have enough faith? Enough to obey His design for her life, even if it went against her own plans?

  She shook her head at the frightening prospect.

  “Come on, Mavis. Let’s go witness one of the most famous Shakespearean actors of our day perform on a stage set up in the back of a rowdy saloon.”

  Mavis let out a loud cackle. “Can’t think of anything more absurd than that.”

  Hannah’s sentiments exactly.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Beau had made his share of mistakes in life. But he didn’t usually make them on such a colossal scale. A raucous saloon, even one turned into a temporary theater, was no place for a decent woman of good, moral, Christian upbringing like Hannah Southerland.

  But they were here now. Close to the end of their journey. And he doubted Hannah would be willing to put off the confrontation with her sister any longer.

  At least Logan had thought ahead and ordered box seating for their party of four. The deputy might be young, but he was smart. And Beau was glad the lawman had agreed to accompany them tonight.

  With as little spectacle as possible, Beau escorted Hannah and Mavis toward the back stairwell leading to their private box. The steps were old, and creaky, but out of sight from most of the other patrons. Nevertheless, Beau had insisted Logan bring up the rear, sufficiently shielding the women against interested stares.

  At the top of the landing, he waved his party into the curtained booth. Following closely behind Logan, Beau took a quick look around while the others settled into their seats.

  His stomach dropped at the sight before him.

  It was much worse than he’d anticipated, and he’d expected ghastly. The box’s walls were adorned with the same red velvet as the cushioned chairs and balcony railing. In the center of the room sat a plate of fresh fruit and an empty silver bucket that would have chilled a bottle of champagne if they’d been any other group. Obviously, the management had attempted to create an illusion of upper-class elegance.

  But it was only an illusion.

  Even if he ignored the smell of stale whiskey and unwashed bodies, there wasn’t much to hide the fact that the Bird Cage was nothing more than a saloon with chairs lined up in front of an empty stage.

  There was no orchestra, just a bass drum set up next to an ancient piano. An equally ancient gentleman sorted through a pile of sheet music. But for now, the only melody came from the bawdy jokes yelled out across the general seating area. Every few seconds, the shouts were interrupted by the high-pitched ping, ping, ping of tobacco hitting spittoons.

  As if determined to turn the experience into a Wild West cliché, a fight broke out over an empty seat. Beau couldn’t tell which of the cowboys won the ridiculous match. Within moments, they both ended up passed out on the floor.

  Speaking his thoughts for him, Hannah muttered, “What on earth was Tyler thinking?”

  Beau took his seat next to her and said, “That’s just it, my dear Hannah. He’s not thinking.”

  Just then a bottle came sailing their way. Palm to nape, Beau forced Hannah’s head forward and ducked, as well.

  “Lovely,” he mumbled. “First-rate.”

  Hannah didn’t respond. She just raised her head and stared at the stage. Her sudden gasp had Beau following her gaze to an easel and placard. Squinting, he could just make out the words through the veil of cigar smoke. Faust. A Tale of Damnation.

  “Love-ly,” he muttered again.

  At the precise stroke of ten, a man sauntered toward the oversize drum and began beating a rhythmic cadence. After a round of hooting and shouting, a dark-hooded figure glided onto the stage. A hush came over the crowd.

  The drumming ceased.

  The mysterious character continued to stand in s
ilence.

  A gun fired, its bullet hitting the ceiling and spraying plaster over the audience. Hannah jumped in her seat. “Oh!”

  Beau reached out and took her hand.

  She braided her fingers through his and held on tight. “What is this?” she whispered.

  “I have no idea.”

  Using the thrill of suspense, the dark figure stretched its arms slowly overhead.

  The audience leaned forward, paused and held its collective breath. The apparition reached down and, with a flick of a wrist, whipped off the cloak.

  The crowd went wild.

  A loud gasp escaped Hannah.

  Logan muttered under his breath.

  Mavis looked to Hannah, back to the stage, then to Hannah again. “It’s…it’s you.”

  Speechless with shock, Beau blinked at the woman standing in the center of the stage. Her eyes gleamed with impish delight as she accepted the bawdy roars as her due. Beau shifted in his seat, fighting the urge to mutter an expletive. Dressed in a red silk gown in the latest Parisian fashion, the woman was Hannah. Only…somehow…less.

  Taking command of her audience, Rachel Southerland stretched out her arms again and the noise died down to a smattering of whistles and howls.

  The man at the piano poised his fingers over the keys, then started banging out a happy melody.

  Rachel sashayed across the stage, humming along to the tune. Her movements weren’t elegant or even practiced, but rather coarse. Suggestive. Beau was ashamed for her. And disgusted with his brother. Tyler should have taught her better.

  There was acting. And there was what Rachel Southerland was doing on that stage.

  Even as anger gnawed at his shock, an ache clutched at his chest. Tyler knew better. But did Rachel?

  Raise up a child in the way that he should go…

  The Scripture said it all. Reverend Southerland had done Rachel a disservice by shutting his eyes to the truth all these years. By allowing Hannah to take the blame for her sister’s transgressions, without once questioning the veracity of her stories, he’d failed both daughters. Rachel most of all.

  Jesus had said a man’s enemies would be members of his own household, but surely the cycle could yet be broken.

  Lord, may redemption be at hand. May You shine Your light into this darkness and bring healing to both women, bring peace to their family.

  Flicking her hair over her shoulder, Rachel began to speak. “I present to you a story as old as time. A sad tale full of sin and ultimate damnation.”

  The male-dominated crowd went wild again, laughing and calling out promises to take a trip to hell as long as she joined them in the journey.

  She stuck out her hip and parked her fist there. “Let this be a warning to you all.”

  Hannah buried her face in her hands—the safest place for her eyes in Beau’s estimation. Unfortunately, she raised her head in time to catch Tyler’s entrance.

  Always the showman first, actor second, Tyler strolled toward Rachel with confidence and purpose in his steps. His slow, deliberate pace made him look almost predatory while the crafty light in his eyes made Beau bristle.

  Whatever Tyler was about to do, it was not going to be proper.

  With a bold wink to the audience, Tyler roped an arm around Rachel’s waist and drew her slowly—very, very, very slowly—into his arms.

  He dipped her low. Lower still. Then…

  He kissed her. Right on the mouth.

  The endearment had nothing to do with love, but possession. Ownership. Beau’s gut twisted with a fresh surge of disgust.

  “Oh, oh!” Hannah shook her head violently, as though she couldn’t believe what she was witnessing.

  Unfortunately, Beau wasn’t quite so shocked. He’d seen worse in the brothels. He knew sin was rampant in the world, knew evil lurked in every man to some extent. Hence the need for a Savior.

  But Beau hadn’t expected to see such wickedness displayed so blatantly in a member of his own family. He found himself harboring a strong desire to wrap his fingers around his brother’s throat and squeeze.

  Humiliated for them all, Beau touched Hannah’s arm in a show of sympathy. Even Mavis made a clicking noise with her tongue. And as the kiss turned into two, Logan pretended grave interest in his thumbnail.

  Hannah jumped to her feet.

  Beau followed suit.

  Wild-eyed, she clutched at her throat. In a haphazard fashion, her gaze bounced off the far wall, to the stage and back to the wall again. “I can’t watch any more of this.”

  Beau eased her around to face him. He placed a finger under her chin and pressed gently until her eyes met his. “Hannah, listen to me.” He kept his tone low, but he could feel his own temper licking at the edges of his calm. He gulped. “It’s all right. We’ll wait outside. Together.”

  Hannah opened her mouth, shut it and then nodded. “Yes, yes. Thank you.”

  “I’ll stay a bit longer, myself.” Mavis snorted in dismay. “I ain’t so easily shocked as you two. And someone had better find out what those two naughty children are up to.”

  Beau turned a questioning stare to Logan.

  The deputy’s expression was as bleak as Beau’s mood. “What do you want me to do, Reverend? Just ask.”

  “Keep an eye on Mavis for me,” Beau said. “Take her back to the hotel if we don’t reappear shortly.”

  Neither Mavis nor Logan argued, which would have taken Beau by surprise if he’d been in a more lucid state.

  Laying his palm on the small of Hannah’s back, he led her into the empty hallway. Once they were alone, Hannah spun around. Beau reached to her, hoping to give her comfort, but she shrank back and collapsed against the wall.

  Gasping for air, she closed her eyes on a shudder.

  Beau shifted his body so that he shielded her from the view of any wandering patron. Guilt gnawed at him.

  Lord, what have I done? Why did I bring her here? She shouldn’t have witnessed that unseemliness.

  “Hannah, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “I knew it was going to be bad,” she choked out, wringing her hands together and blinking rapidly. “But I never thought…” She let her words trail off and gazed up at him.

  The shock and helplessness in her eyes made him want to wrap her in his arms and protect her from the bad in the world. Even if that corruption was in her own family. And his.

  Speechless with frustration, Beau drew in a sharp breath. Heart pounding, head reeling, one powerful thought arose.

  There was going to be a reckoning tonight. And Tyler had better come bearing answers.

  “It’s all my fault,” she said through clenched teeth. “All of it.”

  “Hannah,” Beau began, but she cut him off with a finger to his lips.

  “No. Let me say this.” She dropped her hand. “If I hadn’t always accepted the guilt for her transgressions, Rachel wouldn’t think she could get away with such…such behavior.”

  Her words were so close to his earlier thoughts that Beau couldn’t deny their veracity. Whether Thomas Southerland had believed her or not, Hannah had told untruths. She might have been motivated by her promise to her mother. Perhaps guilt had played a role, as well, but in the end she had chosen to claim acts she hadn’t committed herself.

  That had been wrong.

  At least she was here now, in this ugly world where she didn’t belong, accepting her share of the responsibility and attempting to break the destructive cycle at last.

  He admired her courage, and would support her to the end. At this point, his loyalty belonged to Hannah alone.

  Using a gentle touch, he brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “This is your day, Hannah. You have the opportunity to undo the dangerous pattern once and for all.”

  “I know.” Hannah sighed, then lifted her chin at a determined angle. “That’s why I’ve traveled so far. It ends here. Tonight.”

  Beau doubted this would end clean and neat, nothing between families was ever
that simple—especially when something as complicated as an estrangement was involved.

  But Hannah was right about one thing. The end was near.

  And once the performance was over, Beau would demand answers from his brother. Tyler’s explanations had better be worthy of them all.

  Hannah had never wanted to punch another human being. Never. She wasn’t prone to violence. But Tyler O’Toole was asking for a fist right in the middle of his nose.

  Needing a moment to calm her distress, she let her gaze rest on Beau. He leaned against the wall on the other side of the room. His expression was unreadable, but she could see his tension in the rigid angle of his shoulders and the thin line of his lips. She could tell it cost him to remain silent. But he’d promised to let her handle this initial confrontation. So far, he’d held to that promise.

  Hannah had never met a man with that much patience and strength of character. His presence alone brought her the courage to finish having her say.

  Rising to her full height, she broke eye contact with Beau and ran her gaze across the jars of face paint to the dirty tissues strewn about the dressing table. The tools of her trade looked ugly in this cold, dank room. Mere items used to create deception, rather than entertainment.

  If the saloon-turned-theater had seemed sordid from the box seating, this dressing room was far worse. The furniture was faded and threadbare. The scent of mold, stale cigars and rotting wool cloaked the damp interior.

  Hannah couldn’t understand why Tyler would choose to perform in such squalor, such filth. Not when he could have top billing at the most prestigious theaters in the world.

  And to subject a woman he reportedly loved to this dark existence? Something didn’t add up.

  “I don’t understand why you chose to stay here, when you could have escaped to New York. Or Europe. Or even San Francisco.” She tasted the bitterness on her tongue, heard it in her voice and accepted it as her right.

  Unwilling to see the seriousness of the situation, Tyler let out a jolly laugh and placed Rachel in the crook of his arm. Side by side, they made a ridiculously beautiful pair. Her dark to his light. And yet, something about the way they stood together was…ugly. Sordid.