“What if you can’t get an advance?” she asked. “I understand that besides the money Mr. Rearden will pay me, sometimes customers also show their appreciation with cash. If we both work, we can earn twice as much.”
Frustration built in Zach’s chest like clouds gathering for a thunderstorm. He clenched his teeth. Clearly, she hadn’t listened to a single warning word he’d said. Unless he was ready to admit to becoming an outlaw, he had no choice but to let her find out on her own what type of men frequented saloons. Or maybe another talk with Alf Rearden was in order. Zach flashed his palms in surrender. “I guess we’ll just take it a day at a time.”
She smiled. “Good idea. And I’ll feel much better if I can pay my own way.” She rose, went to the bed and gathered her sheet music. “Now if you don’t mind, I really need to memorize my verses.”
She’d provided him the perfect opportunity to visit the saloon. “Sure thing.” He stood and doffed his hat. “I’ll go check on the horses and arrange for their care for a few more days.”
Zach left the room, hurried down the stairs and out the boarding house door. His boots thudded against the walkway as he quickened his pace to the saloon. Reaching the two-story, weathered building, he ignored the bawdy invitations made by two scantily clad women hanging over the balcony above him and pushed through the swinging doors.
Alf Rearden sat at the piano, his unfastened suspenders dragging the floor. His hair was uncombed and the shirt tucked into his breeches looked like it had been slept in—several times.
“Rearden!” Zach’s voice echoed in the almost empty room. The lone cowpoke at the bar flashed a quick glance at him but turned his attention back to his drink.
“What?” Alf swiveled his stool around and peered up with bleary eyes. His shoulders sagged. “Oh, it’s you again. What is it this time?”
“I came to make a deal with you.”
“What kind of deal?” The piano man’s brow arched.
“Miz Clay has decided, against my better judgment, to become your songbird. You make sure nothin’ happens to upset or harm her, and I’ll make sure you continue to breathe.” Zach slapped his holster for emphasis.
Alf Rearden’s lips turned into a thin line. His gaze moved from Zach’s holster to his face, and with eyes wider than silver dollars, the man nodded.
“Good, we understand one another.” He patted Rearden’s shoulder and smiled. “And treat her like the lady she is.” Zach turned on his heel and strode back through the slatted swinging doors.
“Hey cowboy,” a voice from the balcony called down. “Sure you don’t wanna come up and have a good time?”
Zach tipped his hat. “Thank you for the offer, ma’am, but not this time.”
A whoosh of air escaped his parted lips. Not this time—not any time. The woman who loomed overhead didn’t compare with Odessa in the least, and no matter how randy he became, being a notch on a whore’s bedpost didn’t interest him. Of course, getting married hadn’t been on his list of things to do either, but since meeting Odessa, the thought of settling down crossed his mind quite often. Would she want to cozy up with him once she discovered he’d robbed a stage? What if he wasn’t able to keep his identity concealed?
He made his way back to the boarding house at a slow pace and deep in thought. He was about take part in something that might make him a wanted man. Did he have to right to ask anyone to share his life?
"Have you any idea of what a man must endure who leads such a life? No, you cannot. No one can unless he lives it for himself."- Frank James
Chapter Sixteen
Odessa tossed her napkin on her dinner plate, pushed back from the table in the boarding house dining room, and stood. “I have to go upstairs and get my sheet music. I need to get to the Silver Queen early for any last minute instructions from Mr. Rearden.”
Zach peered up at her and shrugged. “So?” The tenseness in his shoulders belied his non-caring attitude, but he’d begged her for the last time not to take the damn singing job.
She gazed down at him and clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Please don’t come watch me tonight. I’d be twice as nervous if you were there.”
“Don’t worry. I have other plans.” Keeping his tone nonchalant, he scraped the last trace of gravy from his plate and shoved the beef-flavored spoon into his mouth.
“Good, then I’ll meet you back in the room afterwards and tell you how everything went.” Her hand on his shoulder sent a shockwave down his arm.
She walked away, taking the warmth from the room with her. Zach had no other plans, but she didn’t want him there. Fine, he wouldn’t go. He refused to show her the hurt he felt and tamped down the urge to jump up, throw her over his shoulder and cart her out of town and far away from the dangers he feared lurked in the saloon. She’d made her choice and he’d honor it if it killed him. He’d have to find some other way to pass the worrisome hours before he met up with Spence and his boys. He doubted sleep would be an easy feat with his nerves jangling like a one-legged man in a foot race.
* * *
Odessa paused inside the saloon and scanned the room for her new boss. She spied him at the bar, one boot propped on the foot rail and the other flat on the floor. His dark hair looked as though he’d slicked it back with lard. A half-empty whiskey bottle sat in front of him, and he tipped his head back and emptied the contents of a small glass.
“I’m here, Mr. Rearden,” she called out.
He turned and nodded. “Good, go ahead and get changed and we’ll run through a few songs before the nightly crowd gets here.”
She glanced down at her dress then back up at him. “Ch-change? What’s wrong with what I have on?”
He slammed his glass on the bar, turned and rested his elbows on the long counter. His gaze assessed her from head to toe. “Nothing if you’re teachin’ Sunday school. This is a saloon. Men wanna see a little skin.”
Flo came floating down the stairs in a mass of red ruffles. Her ample bosom bulged against the confines of her corseted top, and her hem rested well above her chubby calves. Alf Rearden exhaled a loud breath—one that sounded more like relief than pleasure at the sight. “Hey, Flo,” he summoned. “Can you come here a minute? I need some help.”
Flo waddled over, taking time to stop and bat her eyelashes at the trio of cowboys drinking at the bar.
Alf rolled his eyes. “You can work the room later, Flo, I need your help now.” He crossed to the piano and sat.
“All right, all right.” She came and plopped at a nearby table. “Whadda you want?”
“You remember Odessa, don’t you?” He nodded in her direction.
She stood with clammy palms clasped at her waist.
“Oh, of course.” The redhead smiled. “Nice to see you again.”
Odessa nodded. “And you.”
“Yeah, yeah…we’re all happy to see each other,” Alf snapped. “Flo, you got anything more suitable for this young lady to wear? I guess I didn’t make myself clear when we discussed the wardrobe she needed for the job.”
Flo looked her up and down. “I think I can find something. Pearlie left behind a bunch of dresses and things when she quit, and I think she was about the same size.”
“B-but….”
“Follow me, hun.” Flo rose and sashayed toward the staircase.
Head down, Odessa followed, counting each step like someone climbing to the gallows.
At the top of the stairs, Flo opened the closest door. “C’mon in. Don’t be shy.” She stood aside and made a sweeping gesture.
Odessa inched inside and made a cursory glance at the room’s frilly curtains and four-poster bed with a floral cover and far more pillows than a single person needed. The smell of lilacs hung heavy in the air, but a hint of sweat and mustiness tainted the sweetness.
“I-s this your room?”
“No. It was Pearlie’s until she up and left. Fell in love with some tow-headed trail hand who drifted in and out from time to time and thought he cou
ld offer her a better life.” Flo sighed and then trailed a finger across the dusty dresser top. “My sweet friend’s been gone quite a while now.”
Flo crossed to the armoire and opened the doors, displaying a garish array of garments. “You know,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, “I had this room in mind when I offered—”
Odessa pressed her palm toward Flo. “Thanks, but, like I said, I just couldn’t… do…” She took a breath. “I’m simply not interested, but I do appreciate your kindness.”
Flo chuckled. “I understand. This job isn’t for everyone.” She turned her attention back to the armoire. “Let’s see if we can find something in here for ya.”
* * *
Flo had been summoned downstairs, but before she went, she’d laid out an assortment of dresses on the bed. Odessa stared at them and shook her head. They all looked the same, but in different colors—had far too little material in some places, and not nearly enough in others. Showing so much skin was simply scandalous.
The door creaked open and Flo poked her head inside. She flashed a raised brow. “You haven’t picked one yet? Alf says to hurry up and get downstairs.”
Odessa slid off the bed and stood. Wringing her hands, she stared at the garments. “I-I can’t decide. Why can’t I just wear what I have on?”
Flo came inside and closed the door behind her. “If you were going on a hayride or working at the mercantile, you’d look just fine, but the customers here expect you to look a little flashier.” She snagged the yellow dress from the bed and held it up against Odessa. “How bout this one?”
A few feathers from the bodice loosened and drifted up into Odessa’s face. She waved them away and crinkled her nose. “I don’t think so.”
“This one?” Flo held up a deep blue velvet gown.
Odessa chewed her fingernail and shook her head.
“Look, little lady.” Flo tossed the dress aside and put her hands on her hips. “I don’t give a damn which one you wear…hell, come downstairs naked for all I care. I’m through wastin’ my time here when I can be makin’ money elsewhere.” She turned and left, slamming the door behind her.
“Ohhhh,” Odessa ranted, looking at the assortment spread across the bed.” I hate them all.” She held her head and screwed her face into a scowl. The warning that Alf waited brought her tantrum to an end.
Resigned to her fate, she covered her eyes with one hand and pointed with the other, then peeked at her selection. The red one! She grimaced. Not one the same color as Flo wore. Nibbling her bottom lip, Odessa picked up the yellow one and eyed it with disdain. Maybe the feathers would disguise the low cut bodice.
She shimmied out of her blue gingham and slipped the yellow gown over her head. The dress fit like a glove—a very tight one, and hid very little of her chemise. She couldn’t very well go without something beneath the scanty number.
Searching through the armoire, she found a low-cut corset then black net stockings like those Flo had on. Odessa swallowed hard, removed the feathered dress, her undergarments and shoes, and then working until she was breathless, finally managed to lace up the corset, doing the best she could without help. Next, she hitched up her leggings and secured them with black garters, shaking her head at such a useless piece of attire. A glance down at her bulging bosom made her mouth gape.
She wriggled back into the yellow dress and smoothed it down over her hips. The feathers tickled her throat, yet the satiny material felt elegant against her skin. Stepping to the dresser, she peered into the mirror. Her eyes widened.
Someone rapped on the door.
“C-come in.” Odessa turned to see who entered.
“Are you decent?” Flo asked as she stepped inside.
Odessa glanced down at her exposed chest. “As much as one can be in this getup.”
A smile crinkled Flo’s cheeks. “Why so glum? You look beautiful, and the dress is a perfect fit. Turn around.” The proprietress circled her index finger in the air.
Odessa pivoted on command. Her cheeks heated. “I feel foolish.”
“You needn’t. Alf will be so pleased, but…” Flo’s appraisal fell silent. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and studied Odessa’s face. “Something’s missing….” She waggled a finger in the air. “I think your hair needs—”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Odessa patted the tresses she’d pulled back with a ribbon.
“Nothing a little adornment won’t fix. Sit.” She pointed to the bed.
Odessa perched on the mattress’ edge, her muscles tense, but allowed Flo free reign. After a few moments and several moans and groans, Odessa approached the mirror with downcast eyes, and raising her gaze, gasped. Although Flo had pulled Odessa’s blonde locks atop her head in a pleasing mass of curls and left tendrils draping the side of her face, the gaudy peacock feather protruding from the top stole her glee. She stared at herself, speechless.
“So, whadda you think?” Flo stood back and smiled.
“I-it’s very…different than how I usually wear my hair. But…but I like it.” She had no desire to upset the woman again.
Flo stepped closer. “A little color on your lips and cheeks and you’ll be set.” Odessa reached her breaking point, no longer caring whose ire she raised. She shook her head and backed away. “No thank you!” She intoned her voice with firmness. “I’ve made enough concessions by wearing this…this ridiculous frock.” She fanned out the skirt. “And I have more feathers on me than a chicken. I absolutely refuse to paint my face. I thought Mr. Rearden hired me for my singing ability, not….”
Flo dipped her head and laughed, then looked at Odessa. “Forget the makeup. Your cheeks are glowing hotter than an ember in January right now, and your lips…I’m sure you’re fine as you are. Let’s go downstairs before someone comes lookin’ for us.”
Odessa started for the door and realized she was shoeless. She stared back at her brown boots by the bed then up at Flo.
The woman shook her head. “There’s no way you’re wearin’ those unless we can’t find something better. Let’s check the armoire.” She dug in the bottom of the wooden chest then turned, dangling a pair of white button-up boots in the air. The toes were scuffed and the heels much higher than Odessa usually wore. Uncomfortable came to mind, but she sat and tried them on only to find they were nearly a perfect fit—just a tad too big, but nothing tight lacing wouldn’t solve. After Flo’s approving nod, Odessa hobbled out into the hallway, feeling like she might topple over in the slightest breeze. She held tight to the banister and made her way downstairs amidst the whoops and hollers, and indecent comments coming from men who lined the bar and filled the chairs around the tables. Her heart hammered hard beneath the yellow feathers adorning her bodice.
"Fast is fine, but accuracy is everything."- Wyatt Earp
Chapter Seventeen
Odessa froze a few stairs up and clung to the banister with whitened knuckles. The blasted boots she wore didn’t help steady her trembling knees.
“Whoa, you bunch of randy devils.” Flo stood on the bottom step and held back the sea of charging men. Some had dirty, whiskered faces, and others looked old enough to be grandfathers. A strong smell of sweat hung over the bunch.
Flo turned and gestured to her. “This here is our new songbird, Miz Odessa—”
“Clay,” Odessa reminded at the pause.
Right.” Flo faced the men. “Miz Clay is here to sing, and that’s all. So get back to your roosting places. The other gals and I will take care of your real entertainment needs.” Her bawdy laughter made Odessa’s wince at the image.
With slumping shoulders and groans, some of the group slogged back to their tables while others returned to leaning on the bar, nursing their drinks. Odessa took a deep breath, descended the last few stairs with great care, and searched for Alf Rearden.
“Go on over to the piano.” Flo gave her a gentle shove. “Alf’ll be here directly.”
Odessa nodded. Granny’s voice rang in her head, re
minding her to show respect and appreciation. “And, thank you kindly for your help, ma’am.”
“No problem. Jes knock ‘em dead, honey.” Her hand on her hip and an exaggerated sway to her behind, Flo sashayed toward the bar with the confidence of a skilled hunter.
A sudden feeling of dread settled in the pit of Odessa’s belly. Despite the room’s warmness, a chill shuddered through her and she questioned her decision to take a saloon job. A quick glance around, at the hungry stares and lusty looks aimed at her made her feel totally naked. She wobbled to the piano on leaden legs and stood with her back to the bar, flipping through the sheet music but not seeing a single word. Where was the defiant and determined feeling that came so easy when she argued with Zach?
“You ready?”
She started at Alf’s voice behind her. Releasing a big breath, she turned and forced a smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I imagine.” An invisible fist clenched her throat.
His gaze began at the top of her head and drifted to the toes of Pearlie’s well-worn boots. “My, my, Flo did a great job dressing you, didn’t she?”
“Yeah…g-great.” Odessa’s breath fluttered the yellow feathers around the neckline when she looked down in dismay at the twin globes of her breasts so boldly displayed.
Alf plopped on the piano stool and turned toward the keys. “What do you wanna sing first?”
Nerves seized her throat; the urge to flee through the swinging doors overpowered her. “Last Rose of Summer. I really like that one.”
“Good choice. Get ready.” He rubbed his palms up and down his pant legs.
She raised her brow. His hands weren’t even on the keys yet. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t just stand there like a lump of dirt.” He rolled his eyes. “Sidle up to the piano and lean on it in a… a suggestive sort of way. And hike up one foot and rest it against the wall. You know…show some skin if you want these pigeons to feed ya.”
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