Lasso the Moon: Book One in the Wild West Romance Series

by Beth Ciotta

  “Niles was right. You do have a beautiful voice.”

  Startled, Paris bolted to her feet. The stool tipped over, landing with a teeth-jarring thud. She inwardly cursed her clumsiness, praying for the earth to open up and swallow her whole as she locked gazes with the “Darling of Denver”. Of all people!

  Hazel eyes twinkling, Red Adams reached down and righted the piano stool. “Forgive the intrusion. I came over to discuss a business proposition and was so intrigued by your music that I purposely failed to announce my presence sooner.” Calm as you please, she cocked a hip against the Weber Upright and folded her arms under her well-endowed bosom. If she so much as coughed, surely the fleshy orbs would spill over the gown’s plunging neckline. “That ballad’s a real heart-string-tugger. Never heard it before. Did you write it?”

  Paris’s cheeks blazed. Tongue-tied, she managed a nod.

  “Heard you were a talented songwriter.”

  “From who?” she squeaked.

  “The thirty or so men you serenaded last night.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed a giddy yelp. Someone, lots of someones, had bragged about her songwriting abilities! Pride surged through her veins.

  The woman’s painted ruby lips curved upward. “You’re a dad-blamed triple threat.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Singer. Pianist. Songwriter.” She gave Paris the once over. “I bet you’re real pretty when you’re gussied up.” She clucked her tongue. “Shame to let all that talent go to waste.”

  Paris shifted her weight, uncomfortable with the accolades and the way Red was sizing her up. “I, well, I … ”

  “Arnold Tucker, the man who initially hired me to sing at the Lucky Lady, is due back tonight. He’s bringing along an East Coast talent seeker.” She winked. “Arnold’s a peach of a man. Anyway, apparently this talent seeker’s looking for new blood for a musical opera that’s opening in New York City this coming spring.”

  “He’d be crazy not to hire you,” Paris said, and she meant it. Beautiful, charismatic, and talented, Red Adams could outshine the brightest East Coast stars.

  “That’s sweet of you,” she said with a tight smile. “Be that as it may, I really want to make an impression. I thought maybe you could write me a special song. Something humorous and catchy. They say you’re good at that.”

  Her head reeled. “I don’t know. I … ”

  “I’d be willing to pay.”

  “You would?”

  “What’s more you should come over tonight and sing a song yourself.”

  Paris took an unconscious step back. Was she nuts? Sing at the Lucky Lady? On that stage? In front of those wolf-whistling, gun-shooting rowdies?

  “According to Arnold, this Mr. Maloy is scouting for a whole cast. Bet he could use a triple threat.”

  Paris dabbed her sleeve to her perspiring brow. “I couldn’t possibly.”

  “Why so squeamish? Didn’t anyone ever tell you to reach for the stars?”

  She massaged a heavy ache in her chest. “I just … I don’t think I’m meant for the stage.”

  “I suppose your husband put that notion in your head.” Red snorted. “Typical of a man. He got what he wanted … ”

  She thought about how Josh had made himself scarce after a night of lovemaking. How many times had she heard Athens lecture Rome about being more interested in the chase than the woman? She reined in her runaway thoughts, certain there had to be another reason for this morning’s disappearing act. Still, her head pounded with dread. “What do you mean?”

  Red pushed off of the piano, perched her hands on generous hips. “Don’t tell me he wasn’t up front with you?”

  She forced the words past the lump in her throat. “Up front with me about what?”

  Red pursed her painted lips, plucked a folded paper from her cleavage, and handed it to Paris. “And here Niles thought he was the last to know.”

  “Josh is an extremely honest man,” she whispered, the paper burning a hole in her palm. Except for tricking me into marriage. Presently, she remembered how he’d passed up reputable accommodations to spend the night alone at the hot springs. She thought about the inappropriate way he’d touched her, and how quickly he’d proposed, no, insisted on marriage.

  She’d refused. “I have a dream to fulfill.”

  “So do I,” he’d replied, “Maybe we can help each other out.”

  Her hands trembled as she unfolded the paper and skimmed the official looking document. Tears filled her eyes as she zeroed in on the circled stipulation.

  No wonder he’d never mentioned love.

  Love had nothing to do with it.

  Dizzy with a cyclone of emotions, she gripped the piano so as not to crumple.

  Just then Josh pushed through the opera house door, Seth trailing behind, their expressions grim. Red faded into the background. Everything seemed to be fading from Paris’s view, including her new life. She could scarcely breathe. Betrayed by her papa and husband in the very same hour.

  She pushed off the upright, swiped away angry tears, and thrust out a palm as he neared. “Don’t.” If he touched her, if he pulled her into his arms, he’d scramble her thoughts further. If only she’d been thinking straight from the very beginning this wouldn’t have happened. She’d known all along that he was dangerous to her future. Maybe Papa’s dream wasn’t her ideal, but neither was being shackled to a dishonest, manipulative sweet-talker. Unlike her mama, she refused to spend the rest of her life with a man who’d married for ulterior motives.

  The ache in her chest nearly brought her to her knees. She realized then that she was still clutching that damned will to her heart. “I was right all along,” she whispered, her throat constricted with misery. She thrust the crumpled document into his hands. She’d actually envisioned helping him oversee the Desert Moon, writing her ditties, and living happily-ever-after, inspired and in love. “Marriage does equal broken hearts and dreams.”

  She tried to walk away, from Josh and her shattered dream, but he nabbed her wrist. “It’s not like you think, Paris.”

  Bitter disappointment rose in her throat like bile, her voice a strangled croak. “No? By your own admission you loved Mason like a father. It’s obvious you despise your cousin. I’m thinking you’d do anything to honor your uncle’s last wishes. Anything to keep his pride and joy out of Niles’s possession. What if I hadn’t happened along? Or what if I hadn’t come down with that fever? I’m thinking you would have coerced or charmed some other woman into becoming your wife.” His silence crushed the last of her composure. “It’s exactly how I think.” Heartbroken, she wrenched away and stalked for the back door.

  “Where are you going?” he asked in a deadly quiet voice.

  She didn’t look back. “New York.”

  You’re either an ass or completely inept with that woman.”

  Josh stood rooted to his spot, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Guilty on both counts.”

  Seth huffed a disgusted breath. “You realize that you botched it when you didn’t counter her attack by telling her, no, I would not have married another woman.”

  Josh stared down at his uncle’s will. “I botched it long before that.”

  Grunting, his friend grabbed the wrinkled document out of his hand and focused on the circled stipulation. “You could have clued me in.”

  “Thought about it.”

  “Before or after you lost your mind? Dammit, Josh, tell me that you didn’t marry that girl solely to meet Mason’s demands. Because if you did—”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then why didn’t you say so?”

  “Because I wasn’t sure.”

  “You just said—”

  “I never gave it due thought. I set my sights on Paris and that was that. She asked me what I would have done if she hadn’t happened along, and by God, I don’t know.” Seth looked like he wanted to strangle him and the way he felt he almost welcomed the try. “I don’t know what I would have done if we�
�d never met. I can’t imagine life without her.”

  “Why didn’t you say something like that when she was in the room?” Seth threw up his hands. “Does she have any idea how you feel? Women like to hear the words. The words.”

  Josh swiped off his hat and palmed his brow. His head ached damn near as bad as his chest.

  “I take that as a no.” Seth folded his arms over his chest. “You missed a hell of an opportunity to fess up, my friend.”

  “She wouldn’t have believed me. Not just now.” He moved to the piano and fingered the document, the sole copy of Mason’s will. “Someone swiped this out of the lawyer’s office.”

  “Yeah. Niles. If nothing else maybe I can nail the bastard for breaking and entering.”

  Josh shook his head. “He just came by this, otherwise he would have used the information against me sooner. Seeing he’s been in town for at least the past four days … ”

  “Burgess.”

  “He could make it from here to Florence and back in twenty-four hours. That’s why we couldn’t find him yesterday. He wasn’t in Chance.”

  “But why would Niles suspect the will contained anything other than he was told?”

  “Who the hell knows how his mind works? All that’s certain is that he and Burgess are both out to hurt me, and the best way to do that is through Paris.”

  Seth grimaced. “What do you think she meant by that New York crack?”

  Josh didn’t consider it a crack so much as a threat, and given her present state of mind he worried she’d follow through. “Not sure. But obviously, Red’s involved.”

  “I’ll be back shortly with the answer. When it comes to the fairer sex, I’m not inept.” Seth tugged down the brim of his hat and headed for the front door. “In the meantime, if I were you I’d track down Paris and grovel. Works like a charm on most women.”

  Josh pocketed the will and forced his feet in the direction his wife had taken. Unfortunately, Seth’s plan was flawed. His wife wasn’t like most women.

  Paris stood on the back veranda of the log house staring out at the wondrous landscape. Saguaros stood tall and green against the dark and mysterious Superstitions. Mesquite trees appeared almost graceful in contrast to the sharp ridges and vertical cliffs of the mountain’s face.

  A coyote howled. A vulture circled. A ground squirrel scurried nearby.

  A man once said everything in the Superstitions bites, stings, pricks, or eats meat.

  She guessed that included her husband. He’d proven as hurtful as one of those Gila Monsters he’d described, damn him. Tears clouded her vision, distorting the picturesque view. She didn’t want to leave this place. She didn’t want to leave him, and yet how in the world could she stay?

  New York City. When he’d asked her where she was going, why hadn’t she said home? Because home is where the heart is, she could hear Emily saying, and your heart is with Josh. Except he’d betrayed her. Utterly. He’d married her because of that stupid will! She could almost forgive him. People do crazy things trying to please a loved one. She should know.

  If only he loved her.

  Tears streamed unchecked as she massaged the fierce ache in her chest. On second thought, maybe she’d be better off thousands of miles away. With an entire country between them, maybe he’d be easier to forget. Of course, it meant auditioning for Mr. Maloy, betraying Josh, and performing on his competitor’s stage.

  As if she wasn’t miserable enough, guilt and stage fright swooped in for the kill. She leaned over the wooden railing and retched.

  He searched the town high and low.

  Seth caught up to him, and after relaying the specifics of one Percival Maloy’s talent search, suggested that Josh check back at the Desert Moon while he searched the perimeter for Burgess. “Ten to one she’s sitting at that piano practicing her audition piece.”

  He found her in the opera house’s kitchen stirring a bowl of batter. Clapping a hand to the back of his neck, he counted to ten and allowed his heart to settle back into place before speaking. “What are you doing?”

  “Baking a cake.”

  He cast a wary glance at the bowl of eggs. “I can see that.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  Her voice was eerily calm, her posture relaxed, her gestures controlled. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Oscar stood to her right, glaring. Apparently she’d found a confidant. Josh angled his head toward the door. “Do you mind?”

  Oscar scowled. “You bet I do.”

  Suppressing the urge to physically toss the man from the room, he turned his attention to Paris. “We need to talk.”

  “You don’t have to explain.” She poured the batter into a circular pan, refusing to make eye contact. “I understand.”

  “That so?”

  “Oscar told me how Mason practically raised you. How you idolized him, so much so that you followed in his footsteps and became a lawman. He said Mason had a heart as big as Mexico.” She slid the pan into the stove and wiped her hands on the seat of her trousers. “Going to great lengths to please a man you worship is a subject with which I am well acquainted.”

  His gut twisted as he latched hold of what was left of his tortilla-thin patience. “I know all about that East Coast talent seeker, Paris.” Never mind that damned will. He hadn’t lost his sense of self by marrying her. He’d gained a whole new perspective on life. Near as he could tell she still viewed the world through the impressionable eyes of an eight-year-old. “Is this really what you want? Aren’t you tired of trying to live up to your daddy’s expectations? For the love of God, grow up!”

  “Don’t yell at her,” Oscar snapped.

  “I’m not yelling!” But the rattling china cup on the table said different.

  Paris turned slowly, hands on hips, her expression placid as a nun’s. “Since you hired me as your cook, I feel obligated to serve dinner to whatever miners show up this evening. I also intend to celebrate Barky Bob’s birthday. Naturally, what I do in my off hours is none of your concern. But since you’ll find out anyway, afterward I’m going over to the Lucky Lady to audition for Mr. Maloy.”

  Her demure tone set his teeth on edge and he had to force himself to not rush forward and shake some passion into her. He wished to hell she’d rant or cry, wing an egg at him or, better yet, throw a punch.

  Instead, she followed Oscar’s lead and started clearing the table. “Consider this my official notice.” She glanced at him then, her eyes sparking with defiance. “I quit.”

  “Did you hear that applause?” Red flounced off the Lucky Lady stage into the cramped, dimly lit wing and gave Paris an affectionate rap on the shoulder. “The boys were right, honey, you’re a damn good songwriter.”

  Paris forced a weak smile. “Thank you.” She should be doing cartwheels. Hearing Red sing one of her songs had been an unprecedented treat. The crowd’s boisterous reaction to Don’t Kick Me When I’m Down should’ve had her squealing with delight. Instead, she’d paced backstage willing herself not to throw up. She felt positively faint. It didn’t help that Red had cinched her into a rib-crushing corset and too-tight costume. She glanced down at the gaudy blue satin gown, at her exposed ankles and cleavage, and cringed. “I can’t do this.”

  Fancy Pants stood stage left, bellowing a flowery introduction. Thankfully, she’d been spared his company thus far, though every now and then he’d glance into the wings to give her what he probably thought was a reassuring wink. Instead, the gesture gave her the willies.

  Red tugged her aside as the acting troupe rushed past to make their entrance. The crowd immediately heckled their Shakespearean efforts. “Listen here, kid. You’d be a fool not to capitalize on this opportunity. Maloy is your ticket clear of these ignorant yahoos.”

  Except Paris didn’t consider the men of Chance “ignorant yahoos.” Despite her questionable cooking, more than forty men had shown up for dinner. Fifteen more than the previous night. They’d cleaned up and checked their guns at the door, no questions
asked. She’d heard plenty of “please” and “thank yous,” and a healthy dose of pleasant conversation. And if she wasn’t mistaken, as much as she’d tried to hide it, a good many had been sensitive to her solemn mood. Their enthusiastic response to her ditties had been a tad overzealous. But they’d seemed intent to cheer her up, especially Barky Bob who’d choked up when she’d presented him with his birthday cake. No, indeed, she couldn’t think of one ignorant yahoo in all of Chance.

  Except maybe for Josh.

  That dip-doodled Romeo had disappointed her at every turn. She’d given him more than one opportunity to redeem himself today. If only he’d professed his love.

  It had taken every ounce of her concentration to affect a casual persona. She’d turned herself inside out, disconnected with her emotions in order to present the image of a mature, worldly woman. When she thought about the restraint she’d exhibited when he’d walked into the opera house kitchen, the mind marveled. She’d ached to launch herself at the heartbreaker, to pummel him with her fists and curse him to Hades and back, but she’d remained detached. Reasonable. Calm.

  Red was wrong. She wasn’t a triple threat. Her creative tendencies had launched her into an even higher hemisphere that included consummate actress.

  If only he’d begged her not to go.

  “I told the pianist you’d open with Buffalo Gals,” the woman said. “Prime the audience with something familiar, get them on your side, then impress Mr. Maloy with that song, Destiny. Since you didn’t bring the sheet-music you’ll have to sing a cappella. The musicians have decent ears. Just tell them the key and maybe they’ll noodle something behind you.” Red snapped her fingers in front of Paris’s face. “Are you with me, kid?”

  Just now, she wasn’t even sure if her heart was beating. The crowd’s heckling had digressed into deafening boos. She peered around Red just in time to see a royally-attired actor duck an empty bottle. “I can’t sing Destiny. It’s … personal.”

  “Exactly why it’ll bring down the house.”