Singing Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 7)

by Debra Holland

  The streetlights in the front of the hotel cast a pallid glow, and the half moon gave the faintest glimmer to her surroundings. No light shown in the windows of the train depot or the mercantile. But in looking down the street, she saw several buildings with the windows still lit and headed in their direction.

  The brick road soon gave way to dirt and the odor of horse droppings. She tripped over a rut and slowed her pace so as not to twist an ankle. Something smelly squished under her feet. Sophia mentally groaned, knowing she’d stepped on excrement. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, after all.

  She was just about to retrace her steps to the hotel, when she heard the faintest sound of a piano. Although she knew the music came from the saloon, she still moved forward to the source, as if lured by the Pied Piper. A compulsion to view life made her peer into the windows.

  Outside the two-story saloon, a lantern hung on a pole, a beacon for those who wanted to gamble, drink, and—remembering some tidbits of the town she’d learned on her previous visits—enjoy the intimate company of women. She moved around a row of horses tied at the hitching rail and skirted the circle of light, heading toward the surprisingly clean window. Here, she leaned close to see through the glass.

  Inside, Sophia saw round tables where groups of men held cards. In front of them were small piles of poker chips and glasses with amber liquid, whiskey she supposed. Smoke from cigars curled around their heads and drifted through the open door. She angled her face to avoid breathing in the fumes, which were bad for her throat.

  Two women in low-cut gowns sat among them. One wore faded scarlet and the other brassy yellow. Both dresses had only bands of fabric for sleeves, exposing much of their bosoms and shoulders. The redhead in yellow rose to move from the table to the bar, showing the shortness of her skirt, which exposed her calves above high-button boots. Sophia supposed most women would be scandalized by the sight of those dresses, but she’d worn costumes as scanty.

  A man played the piano—a tune she didn’t know but assumed was a bawdy one. She imagined regaining her voice, wearing a costume like the saloon girls, knowing the words to the song, and bursting into the room to belt it out. What an entrance! Wouldn’t they be surprised?

  No standing in the wings, wistfully watching the performers and wishing to be among them. Sophia would take her familiar place—the center stage of life—even if she did so in a poky saloon in a backwater town.

  She held in a chuckle at the picture. Maybe when I can sing again. IF I can sing again.

  No, don’t think of the worst! But, as much as Sophia tried to believe in an optimistic fate, she couldn’t help the fear that had lived heavy in her chest since she awoke from her illness. Too much exposure to tragic operas is enough to oppress the sunniest personality.

  When my voice returns I’ll only sing comedic operas for a while!

  Sophia thought wistfully of a few bawdy opera songs she could sing in the saloon—perhaps, Durch Zärtlichkeit und Schmeicheln, from Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail.

  Too bad the saloon’s patrons wouldn’t understand the German and understand the lesson on treating women respectfully

  Her pulse raced. But as fun as the idea sounded—even if she brought a man for protection—such an act would ruin her reputation in this small town. For Lily and baby Adeline’s sake, Sophia couldn’t do such a scandalous thing.

  Returning her attention to the scene before her. Sophia scanned the men’s faces to see if she recognized any of them. She’d been introduced to so many people in Sweetwater Springs and most were a blur, unless she’d met them a second time or in a context that made them stand out.

  In a corner table with the best view of the room, sat Sheriff K.C. Granger—a fascinating woman who dressed as a man. The sheriff’s cool, gray gaze swept the room as often as she studied her cards or her opponents’, no doubt keeping track of everyone to avoid potential trouble.

  As with the saloon girls’ dresses, the sheriff’s male attire didn’t bother Sophia. Many operas had parts where women masqueraded as men. When Sophia had played Gilda in Rigoletto, she’d donned trousers for a few scenes. Rigoletto had been one of the company’s most popular operas because men flocked to the performances to see her legs—regardless of whether they loved opera.

  Sophia had never had a chance to talk to K.C. Granger but wanted to become better acquainted with the sheriff ever since she’d heard the town had a lawwoman. Maybe on this trip. Then she remembered she was incognito and, even if she wasn’t, her lost voice made a conversation impossible—at least of the type she desired with the sheriff.

  Once my voice returns, I’ll never again take the ability to speak for granted.

  A horse stamped a hoof.

  She returned to her perusal of the saloon patrons, her gaze lingering on the profile of a big, attractive man with curly, ebony hair and heavy-lidded dark eyes, who carried his right arm in a sling. He wore a red-and-black plaid shirt—the colors making the most of his rough-hewn handsome looks. He seemed familiar somehow. She leaned closer to the glass and urged him to turn his face in her direction.

  As if aware of her scrutiny, the man looked up, his eyes widening when he saw her. He shifted to rise.

  With a sharp inhale, Sophia pulled back and stepped to the left of the window to avoid being seen. Is that Kael Kelley? Then, giving in to her curiosity, she leaned sideways to again peer through the glass.

  A cowboy across the table slashed his hand in the air and appeared to say something sharply to the man who interested her.

  In response, he turned over his cards, commented, and looked her way.

  Yes, he is. Excitement stirred, banishing the numbness she’d struggled with since her collapse.

  A hand grabbed her arm.

  Sophia gasped and instinctively jerked back, but the grip on her was as tight as a vise.

  The man was thin and not much taller than her, but he had a wiry strength. “What have we here, Missy?” The sour smell of whiskey oozed from him. “You lookin’ for a little pleasuring tonight? Well, you’ve come to the right place.” He leaned forward to press a slobbery kiss to her lips.

  She gagged and managed to turn her head away, so he only caught the edge of her mouth.

  His other hand reached to squeeze her breast.

  Her heart knocked against her ribcage, and she froze in fear. Then anger took over, and she slapped his face.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sophia Maxwell? Kael blinked to clear his vision, wondering if the cigar smoke clouded his eyes. Did I see the ghost of Sophia in the window? The morbid thought made his heart almost stop. Then logic caught up to Kael. The last account in the newspapers had reported the Songbird’s recovery. She’d been seen standing at the window and waving to her admirers, even blowing kisses. Reading the article had brought him great relief.

  Na, couldn’t be her.

  He eyed his full glass, double checking that the whiskey hadn’t magically found a way into his stomach. Haven’t even taken my first sip.

  I must be hallucinating. I have Sophia Maxwell on the brain, so I’m conjuring images of her.

  Across from him, Donny Addison lowered his cards, slashed his hand at the deck on the table, and snapped. “Kelley, wake the hell up.”

  Kael realized it was his turn, but his mind wasn’t in the game. “Fold.” He dropped his cards on the table and swiped a hand across his forehead. I need some fresh air. “I’m out.” He slid the coins off the table and into his hand, rose, and tucked them into his pocket.

  Lured by the vision in the window, Kael caught up his mackinaw draped over the back of the chair, tossed the coat over his shoulder, and strode to the door.

  “Hey, how ’bout your whiskey?” someone called.

  Kael waved a dismissive hand behind him. “It’s yours.” He strode to the door, his gaze on the darkened window but saw no image, no flicker of movement. He pushed through the doors, the cold air clearing the stink of smoke, whiskey, and unwashed men inside. />
  Moving to the corner of the building, he saw a young woman in a black dress fighting to free herself from the grasp of a man. Their struggles took them into the light of the window, and Kael recognized a lumberjack from the camp, although not one of his crew.

  “What the hell are you doing, Stevenson? Step away from that lady immediately!”

  Stevenson retained his hold on the woman. “She’s just a whore.”

  The woman gasped and elbowed him in the stomach.

  With an oof, the man doubled over, losing his grip on the woman.

  Good for her. Kael dropped his coat and yanked away Stevenson, wishing desperately for two hands. He used a body block to get between the lumberjack and the woman. Releasing Stevenson, Kael swung an uppercut to land underneath the man’s chin.

  Stevenson stumbled backward.

  Kael punched the man in the gut.

  The lumberjack collapsed to his knees in the dirt, holding his stomach and moaning.

  Kael glared down at the cad. “The lady doesn’t look like a whore to me,” he growled. “Looks more like a widow. And even if she is a prostitute, that’s no call to treat her roughly. If she doesn’t want you, then that’s that, and you leave her be.” He leaned over, grabbed the man’s coat, and hauled him to his feet, thrusting him against the building and gripping him around his throat.

  Eyes bugging out, Stevenson reached up to pull on Kael’s hands and twisted, trying to escape. He had a lumberjack’s strength but was no match for Kael—even one-handed. “Let me go,” he squealed.

  “How do you like feeling helpless, Stevenson?” Kael ground out, infuriated at what had almost happened to a helpless woman. He ignored the pain from the battering his broken arm was taking. “This is what you did to the lady with the intention of doing far worse.” He caught a whiff of the man’s foul whiskey breath. “You’re as drunk as a skunk.” He dragged the struggling man over to the horse trough and pushed him in.

  Stevenson smacked backwards into the water. His legs dangled over the sides.

  “Maybe that will sober some sense into you.” Although tempted to drop a booted foot on the man’s middle and sink him, Kael left Stevenson and hurried back to the woman, who huddled against the side of the building.

  He stopped a few feet away, not wanting to crowd her and add to her fear. “You’re safe now.” He kept his voice pitched low and gentle. “I won’t hurt you. I promise. I’m sorry Stevenson attacked you. I wish I’d gotten out here earlier.”

  Kael extended a hand. “Will you allow me to escort you safely home?”

  The woman in black straightened from the wall and put her hand in his. Her palm was soft, without callouses, and trembled. When she looked up at him, the light caught her face. Her beautiful violet eyes looked dazed, and her skin was ghostly pale. Sophia? Her dark hair was shorn to about an inch long, and her face was narrow, making him question for a moment if this lady was Lily and not Sophia. But he knew Lily too well to think so for more than a few seconds.

  His heart told him the truth. “Sophia,” Kael murmured, drawing her close, wanting to ease her fear. Then remembering his manners, he corrected himself. “Miss Maxwell. I’m Kael Kelley. We met briefly at the Norton’s wedding reception. I brought over a chair for you to rest in.”

  Her eyes widened, and she nodded in apparent recognition.

  “I’m sorry you’ve been ill. You’ve been in my prayers.” You don’t know how desperately I’ve prayed for you.

  She slanted him an upward puzzled look but didn’t say anything.

  The fact that she wasn’t speaking concerned him. But Kael knew shock could do that. He rushed to fill the silence, as if his talking would make her feel safer. He ventured to guess at what she might be wondering. “How did I know you were ill?” He tried another question. “Or why would I care if you were?”

  Again she remained silent.

  Perhaps if I mention familiar people, that will put her at ease. “You wouldn’t believe how much Adeline has grown since you were last here. When she smiles, why, I can’t help grinning back. She’s the image of her mother…and of you.”

  Sophia gave him a slight smile—a mere turn up of her lips—but an improvement from her formerly blank expression.

  My babbling must have reassured her. Kael squeezed her hand. “Your singing has brought me great joy, and Tyler Dunn is my best friend. Lily was out of her mind with worry about you.” As was I.

  Kael waited for her response, but nothing came.

  A thrashing sound from the trough made her gasp and push close to him. He released her hand to gather her against his side, his good arm going around her narrow waist. Her violet scent teased his senses. “I’ll keep you safe.” With my life if need be.

  A shadow darkened the doorway, and the sheriff stepped out of the saloon. “What’s going on out here, Kelley?” She clipped each word. Her gaze swept from Kael and Sophia to Stevenson, who was just climbing from the horse trough, water gushing from his clothes. Her eyes narrowed. With a jerk of her head toward Stevenson, Sheriff Granger asked, “He bothering you, ma’am?”

  Sophia nodded rapidly.

  The sheriff walked toward her, spurs jingling. The handcuffs looped over her belt clinked. She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening. “Miss Maxwell? Miss Sophia Maxwell?”

  Again, Sophia nodded several times.

  “Miss Maxwell, what in tarnation are you doing outside Hardy’s?” The sheriff shook her head. “Not that where you are justifies an attack on you. But it’s foolish behavior on your part.”

  Sophia didn’t shift away from Kael. She shrugged and spread her fingers wide. Then she touched her throat.

  The sheriff moved closer but still kept her stance open, apparently to see Stevenson from the corner of her eye. She jerked a thumb at the lumberjack. “Did that man choke you? Is that why you can’t speak?”

  Sophia shook her head. She ran a hand over her hair, then tugged on a short tuft before moving her hand to touch her throat.

  The sheriff watched carefully, obviously trying to understand.

  Kael was the first to figure out Sophia’s message. “Your illness caused you to lose your voice.”

  Sophia nodded.

  The Songbird can’t talk or sing. Kael stiffened, stricken by Sophia’s loss. What this must mean to her! Is that why she was taking chances by hanging around Hardy’s, trying to hear music? The thought made his arm tighten around her waist.

  Sheriff Granger’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes warmed and held understanding. “I’ll ask you yes or no questions, Miss Maxwell. And if I need more, perhaps tomorrow, you can write a formal report.”

  Sophia nodded.

  Stevenson tried to slink away.

  The sheriff pointed a finger at him. “Hold.”

  The man froze, his hands in the air as if she held a gun on him.

  The sheriff tapped her Colt in the holster at her hip. “You move an inch, and you’ll be sorry.”

  The sheriff turned toward Sophia and pointed at Stevenson. “Did this man accost you, Miss Maxwell?”

  Sophia touched her nose.

  “Ah, like in charades. I’m on the nose with my questioning.”

  Sophia tapped her nose again.

  The sheriff cleared her throat. “Did he, ah…make familiar with your person?”

  With a shaking hand, Sophia touched her arm, her lips, and her breast.

  Anger surged through Kael, along with a hot wish to beat Stevenson to a pulp.

  As if sensing his reaction, Sophia reached up to pat Kael’s arm.

  “Mr. Kelley intervened before Stevenson could further harm you?”

  She nodded.

  “Did you feel Stevenson’s intent was rapine?”

  Sophia quickly tapped her nose several times and shivered, leaning against Kael.

  A surge of protectiveness and love made him wish he could sweep her up in his arms and whisk her away.

  The sheriff sighed. “As much as I’d like to string up Ste
venson for this, I don’t have grounds, since he didn’t actually, ah, finish what he started. However, I’ll throw him in jail for the night. Then tomorrow, I’ll run him out of town.” She lowered her voice and cupped the side of her mouth to keep Stevenson from hearing. “Legally, I can’t make him stay away. But I can threaten him so that he thinks I can. I’ll also send word to the logging camp so he’ll lose his job. He won’t bother you again.”

  The sheriff’s gaze shifted to Kael. “Since you have the situation well in hand, and Miss Maxwell obviously feels comfortable with you, I’ll allow you to see her back to the hotel. That all right with you, Miss Maxwell?”

  Sophia dipped her chin.

  Knowing Sophia was safe with him, that both she and the sheriff trusted him to see to her well-being, brought tremendous comfort to the part of Kael still shaken by her brush with danger.

  The sheriff pivoted and moved toward Stevenson then turned back to look at Sophia. “I didn’t hear any word about your arrival.”

  Sophia shook her head.

  Sheriff Granger took a step back in Sophia’s direction. “Your visit’s a secret?”

  Sophia nodded.

  “Well, word won’t get out from me.” Her eyes shifted to Kael.

  “Nor me.”

  Not wanting Sophia to see any more of Stevenson, Kael gave her a gentle nudge with his arm in the direction of the hotel, expecting her to step out from his embrace. Instead, she moved with him, as if wanting him to keep his arm around her the whole way up the street, an action neither of them would dare if this was daylight and they could be seen.

  Kael strolled as slowly as he dared, both to pick a careful path along the rutted street, and because he wanted to savor every moment of holding Sophia.

  Under his palm even through her coat, he could feel her corseted waist. He was vitally aware of her body tucked against his side, the swishing sound her gown made when she moved, of her perfume, which wafted in the air. With each breath the fragrance seeped into his very soul—a scent he’d remember until his dying day.