by Paige Tyler
It only took him a minute to pour her a glass of tea and set it on the bar in front of her. He still didn’t say anything, just leaned back against the shelves by the mirror. He seemed to be thinking, wrestling with something.
Taking a quick drink, she pressed him. “Tell me what’s troubling you, Ham. Can I help?”
He looked at her for a few seconds, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again, shaking his head.
Her two friends, Maybelle and Abigail walked up behind her and she smiled at them in the mirror. She’d met the women near her age when they’d came to town on a stage several years ago. They’d become friendly almost immediately, even though the more proper “ladies” in town didn’t approve of them, especially when they had quickly gone to work for Ham. Dance hall ladies were shunned by many of the town’s women, but not by all. As for her, she didn’t care a bit what the old, pompous biddies thought about her friends or about her. She befriended who she wanted to and that was that. Even her brothers’ meager attempts to change her mind hadn’t worked, and they’d given up. Truth was, Keno and Taos liked Maybelle and Abigail.
Abigail appeared to have had trouble containing her wildly curly reddish-orange hair today. She had it tied back in a ponytail of sorts, but it was trying hard to escape being confined. She grinned at Whiskey. “It sure is good to see you here, to see a smiling face.” She glanced at Ham. “He’s been fretting over business lately.”
That surprised Whiskey. Usually the Varieties did a lot of business, almost as much as Keno’s place. She set her glass down and studied the forty-something man. “What’s the problem, Ham? I thought your place was packed most nights.”
His shoulders slumped beneath his white shirt. “It has been until recently. The regulars still show up, but fewer newcomers are dropping in. I hear grumbling about the men wanting something more.”
A bar was for drinking, playing poker, for getting rowdy at times with a man’s friends. At least that’s all she’d ever witnessed in Keno’s saloon, on those rare times she’d gone there at night. He frowned on her being there more and more. “It’s not proper for a woman like you to be here.” And he didn’t listen to her arguments on the matter.
“What kind of ‘something more’ do they want?” She couldn’t figure it out.
Maybelle moved beside her and answered before Ham could respond. She looked worried as she said, “They want Abigail and me to do some new fancy dance they’ve heard of. Some kind of leg-kicking dance.”
Whiskey raised an eyebrow. She’d heard her brothers talking about this dance. Evidently Keno had seen it on one of his trips to Chicago. “The Can-Can? That new French dance?”
Ham nodded grimly. “It’s innocent enough, from what I gather. Just some high-kicking, some leg showing.” He looked warily at Abigail and Maybelle. “They could do it; I don’t doubt that for a minute. But they’re nervous about trying it. Understandably. And I won’t make them do something they’re uncomfortable with.”
“I’ve heard Keno talk about this dance. He says that sometimes the men in the audience get a bit boisterous.” She worried her bottom lip. She didn’t want her friends to be in any kind of danger.
“You know I wouldn’t let anyone harm my girls,” Ham said firmly.
She did know that. He looked on the two women almost as his daughters. He took care of them, watched over his crowds like a hawk.
“I’d even pay a couple of men to control the crowd, make sure the audience behaved.” He met her eyes and she sensed that he’d given this matter a lot of thought.
“You never mentioned that,” Abigail said, giving him an annoyed glance.
“If’n that’s true, I reckon we could give it a try, at least once.” Maybelle looked determined.
Both of the women would do almost anything for Ham. He’d taken them in, given them work, and a home over his saloon, too. They had pretty sad stories before they’d shown up here in Dodge City, stories they’d shared with Whiskey a little at a time. And other than the righteous biddies who spurned them, there wasn’t a soul in town who didn’t like them. One of these days she suspected a man or two around here would be brave enough to step forward and actually marry one, or both, of her friends.
“Still, we’re a bit nervous about this newfangled dance. Not sure we can even do it,” Abigail admitted, sounding worried.
Ham walked closer, hazarding a supportive smile. “I know you could do it.”
Maybelle looked uncertain, too.
Whiskey knew she had to do something to help. She’d never been afraid of trying new things. “How about we try this dance out?”
She focused on Ham, her heart beating hard at her daring suggestion. “Is Pete around somewhere? Can you get him to try the music on the piano?”
Ham’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I’ll go round him up.” He hurried out from behind the bar, calling over his shoulder, “Draw them curtains back on the stage and dance up there.”
Only rarely was the stage used for anything more than Ham standing in front of the curtain to announce someone in the audience’s birthday so everyone there could help celebrate. Maybelle and Abigail had never danced any kind of dance up there. The most they ever did in the saloon was serve drinks and occasionally put up with a pinch or a slap on their bottom. Both of her friends looked unsurely at the stage.
“I don’t know…” Abigail said, glancing over at Maybelle.
Maybelle faced Whiskey. “You said we, when you talked about trying out this dance. That mean you will try it with us?”
Her head was telling her to say ‘no.’ Her heart was thudding as excitement raced through her. It wasn’t like she would be doing the dance in front of anyone other than her friends…and the piano player. Nobody would ever know. Most importantly her brothers wouldn’t know. Morgan, either.
She drew in a breath and nodded. “Let’s do it.” She hurried toward the stage and climbed the steps. “Help me pull this curtain aside.”
***
Loud, boisterous laughter poured out of the Varieties Dance Hall as Whiskey stood outside the batwing doors. A cool breeze fluttered around her and already the sky was darkening. She’d been here earlier this afternoon to see her friend Ham and to see Maybelle and Abigail. She’d even tried out that new dance with them, kind of had fun with it. But then she’d gone to visit Camelia.
Uneasiness swept over her. She really should be heading home or at least staying the night at Camelia’s. She absolutely shouldn’t be here. This was crazy, even Camelia had told her that…over and over. But she hadn’t been able to keep away.
She rubbed at the nerves curling in her stomach and concentrated on familiar sounds: spurs jangling on a wooden floor, chairs scraping back and forth, men yelling to the bartender for drinks, and the piano player pounding out a lively tune. Smoke drifted out the doors along with the smells of sweat, liquor and tobacco. She wrinkled her nose and worried her bottom lip. She was risking much to be here tonight. If her brothers found out there would be hell to pay.
If Morgan found out…
Morgan. She was confused about him. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, especially in her dreams. In her dreams he did things to her she’d only heard her more colorful friends talk about. She’d barely even been kissed. Ace hadn’t wanted to do much more than give her a brief flutter of a kiss until after they were properly married. And then he’d struggled with setting a date for that. And then…he’d died.
But Morgan was very much alive. He was very much a man, so darn handsome, even when he sported a day-old beard or even when he scowled at her instead of smiling. Then there had been that incident with the picnic and the flowers. If she’d let herself, she could easily fall hard for him. But she couldn’t let him into her heart. She didn’t want to be hurt again.
So she would just keep on telling him “no” about getting married. She would keep on doing exactly as she wanted to. It didn’t matter how irritated he got with her.
With that in mind, sh
e shoved open the doors and walked inside. The big marshal had no right telling her what to do, how to behave. “A lady shouldn’t go into a place like that,” she muttered under her breath, repeating his words. Well, maybe most of the women in town wouldn’t set foot even on the sidewalk outside. She wasn’t most women, but she did consider herself a lady no matter her occasional acts of rebellion. Maybelle, Abigail and Ham were her friends. They needed her.
A few of the men she knew from ranches in the area yelled out a greeting. The town’s barber grinned at her, slicked down his spattering of hair, and motioned her over with his usual look of interest.
She smiled and shook her head. You would have thought he’d heard the rumor by now of her being Marshal Rydell’s intended—not the rumor was true.
Shoving aside thoughts of yet another unwanted beau, she glanced around the room. Wyatt Earp leaned against the long, crowded bar a dozen feet away and caught her eye. Beneath his long-handled mustache she noted a big, amused grin. The gleam in his eyes warned her that he’d soon go down to Keno’s saloon and pass on the news about her being here. Darn him and his penchant for interfering. But then she imagined that he would probably stick around to see just what she was up to first.
She put him and the other foolishly smiling men out of her mind and looked toward the stage. Maybelle peeked around the inner-stage curtain, giggled and waved to some men who whistled and shouted back at her. She rolled her eyes at the slightly older woman’s behavior and made her way through the maze of tables. She swatted at a couple of men who tried to stop her by reaching for her hand. Then she scowled indignantly at another who dared to touch her leg.
When one thoroughly drunk man snagged her and pulled her onto his lap, she rammed an elbow in his flabby stomach. “Are you crazy? Don’t you know who my brothers are?”
He seemed to consider it with his fuzzy brain while the other man at his table said, “Her oldest brother is a U.S. Marshal, you idiot.” He nodded her to keep on moving.
Once she finally made it backstage Abigail pulled Maybelle back away from the curtain and said, “I swear every man in the county must be out there tonight.” She reached up to smooth her long coils of barely tamed hair, coils much like the ones in Whiskey’s hair just for the night that Camelia had reluctantly helped her with.
She knew of at least three men who weren’t out there: Taos, Keno and Morgan. Thank the good Lord. She wasn’t nearly as excited about a big audience as her friends were. Ham stood a few feet away bouncing on the balls of his feet in happiness. When they’d discussed this idea a few hours ago, it had seemed logical, brilliant even. Now it seemed…well, maybe too daring, even for her.
Again her thoughts turned to her brothers…and Morgan. They were going to be so upset with her. She didn’t doubt for a moment that her backside was going to pay dearly for this madness. But she’d given her word. When a Wakefield gave his or her word, they stood by it.
She tried to force aside those troublesome thoughts and concentrate on the present. She moved closer to Ham. “What if we make fools of ourselves?” Not that it would be the first time she’d done something a tad foolish. After all, she’d come back to town flying in a balloon, crash landed actually.
Ham smiled at her and gestured at the costumes both Abigail and Maybelle already wore, one she would soon be wearing as well. “In those dresses it won’t matter what you do. Believe me.”
Abigail thrust the black satin dress with the short, multi-layered red petticoats and a pair of black fishnet stockings at her. “Hurry up and get changed.”
Whiskey took the items, listened to the men pounding their glasses on the tables, listened to them yelling for the advertised special entertainment. Word had sure spread quickly around town. The place was packed, standing room only.
A glance at her friends with their eager faces did nothing to settle her nerves. She shouldn’t be doing this, absolutely shouldn’t be doing this. Her brothers… Morgan…
No! She refused to think about what consequences she might suffer. Ham needed her help. She’d promised her friends.
Resigned, she hurried to the small dressing room. God, help me get through this.
*
The sky was nearly black and the trail only lit by moonlight while Morgan and Taos rode side-by-side toward town. Although there was a breeze now, it was faint, thick with humidity. It had been a long miserable day spent mending fences. Neither of them had been in the mood to head back to the house. When Taos had suggested heading to the Dusty Trails Saloon for a few drinks with Keno and playing a hand or two of poker, he had jumped at the idea. He wasn’t ready to bunk down and start having nightmares about that spunky female he’d soon be marrying. Fact was, he didn’t want to think about her at all. So he’d been encouraging Taos to talk about the building he’d bought for his new law practice.
“It’ll take some work, but—” Taos was saying when suddenly one of the younger ranch hands who’d been in town earlier came riding up fast.
Instantly Morgan and Taos reined in their mounts and stiffened. He had a gut feeling the man had bad news. “What happened?” Rafe. Had the bounty hunter shown up in town already? He wasn’t ready for a final showdown.
The cowboy avoided looking directly at Taos and only glanced up at Morgan. Nervous, worried.
“Speak up,” he prodded as he grew impatient.
“Nothing has happened. Yet.” The man’s voice was little more than a whisper. “I was in Varieties…and…”
Taos leaned forward, clearly uneasy. “And what?”
Varieties. The dance hall. Morgan almost told the man not to answer. Instinctively he knew that this had to do with Whiskey. She’d mentioned going to the dance hall earlier, although he’d told her not to go. But she didn’t seem to listen to anyone, especially not to him. Still, he’d meant it.
The cowboy swallowed hard and finally spit out, “Your sister is there. I tried to find Keno to tell him, but the barkeep at the Dusty Trails said he’d gone back to the ranch earlier.”
Taos sat up stiffly, ground out, “What the hell is she doing there? What the hell is she even doing in town this time of night?”
“She told me this morning that she was going to town,” Morgan admitted. “She said something about going to see her friends. We had words.” They would have more than words firing between them when he caught up with her. His hand was going to burn her sweet butt.
Before Taos could say anymore the young cowboy said reluctantly, “Word in town is Ham Bell has promised anyone coming there tonight a special show. The girls are going to do some newfangled dance from France.” He hesitated. “I think he means Whiskey, too.”
Morgan blistered the prairie air with curses. Nearby birds resting in the trees took flight. Animals scurried into hiding in the underbrush along the riverbank.
Taos added another round of curses as both men urged their horses into a gallop and left the poor cowboy eating their dust.
All he could think about was his bride-to-be dancing in a saloon. Prancing around, kicking her legs up in that dance he’d seen once before. Every man there would be lusting after his woman! Every man there would be seeing a hell of a lot of his woman. Every man there could possibly die tonight.
*
Ham Bell walked to center stage, grinning from ear to ear as Whiskey watched anxiously from the sidelines. It took a few minutes, but eventually the audience of expectant men quieted down. When they did, Ham said proudly, “I’ve got a real special treat for you all tonight.”
He let the words sink in, let the wild round of cheers fade off, and then finished. “Three of the prettiest ladies on this side of the Mississippi are going to show you that new dance sweeping the East, the Can-Can.”
Whistles and whoops of obvious delight resounded throughout the chockfull room. Her heart pounded with dread as Ham waved the men to quiet down again. As soon as they did, he nodded to Pete, the piano player next to the stage. The skinny man with bulging frog-like eyes started pounding o
ut the lively tune he’d played for her and her friends this afternoon. It had sounded like such fun earlier, innocent. Now it sounded like the forewarning melody of bad news ahead, for her.
She considered high-tailing it out of there when Ham walked off the stage and the red velvet curtains opened to reveal a large painted scene. But it was too late. He signaled them to start dancing.
She glanced over at the other girls to see if they were as worried about this as she was. No. They were smiling, ready.
Maybelle stepped out first onto the stage, then Abigail. The men went wild and they hadn’t even started dancing.
She forced down her fears. There was no turning back now.
Planting a smile on her face, she walked out to join her friends. She felt sick, but she sucked in a breath and ignored her shaking hands, and then lifted her knee-length skirt and the first layer of petticoat. Maybelle and Abigail followed her action. Then they were dancing and kicking their way to center stage just as they’d practiced.
The men went crazy. The piano man pounded the keys harder, louder. Chaos reigned in the dance hall. She danced without really paying attention, trying to picture herself someplace else. She didn’t mind the dancing, but she wasn’t all that happy with all those men ogling her. She didn’t even try to make out what they were yelling. She’d rather not know.
Just keep kicking. Just keep moving. It will soon be over. Never, never would she do something this stupid again.
*
There wasn’t a free spot on any of the hitching rails anywhere on this side of Front Street. Morgan didn’t care. He slid from the saddle in front of Varieties and tossed the reins at Taos. “I’m going inside.”
Taos grumbled as he snagged the reins and rode off with Demon. As they’d ridden to town, they had come to an agreement that Morgan would handle this matter. Actually, he had told Taos that either he let him handle his sister or he would call everything off, sell back the ranch, and head down to Texas tomorrow. Of course, he had no intention of doing that. But Taos had relented.
He stepped onto the boardwalk crowded with men trying to see into the building because there wasn’t room for them inside. He heard the loud clanking of the piano keys. He heard the men’s shouts and catcalls.
