The Dancing Lady: The Ninth Day (The 12 Days 0f Christmas Mail-Order Brides Book 9)

by Mimi Milan

  Kezia shrugged. Her face filled with hesitancy. She slowly responded, “I suppose it would depend on the heart of the matter.”

  “Didn’t you work in a restaurant or something?” Josefina pressed. “You know how to cook, yes?”

  “Actually, I washed dishes at a hotel restaurant.”

  Josefina deflated a little.

  “I guess I learned a few things from watching the chefs, though. I bake an amazing apple pie… and no one in the state can touch my goulash. I’m fairly certain of that!”

  The response earned the woman one of Josefina’s brilliant smiles – the one she saved for people she actually liked. She got one in return and the women both fell silent as they marched on, their feet sinking in deep inches of snow. They were finally led to a large log building with a sign out front.

  La Maison des Chats.

  Josefina frowned. She didn’t know much French, but she was fluent in Spanish and the similarities between the two were enough to make her question what kind of accommodations the Reverend offered them. She shook her feet in an attempt to clear her boots of the cold snow that clung to them and she suddenly didn’t care where they stayed. Compared to her native Mexico and her former Texas, this wintery weather was far from her liking. Any place was better than standing outside!

  The Reverend excused himself to check out the place first and Josefina offered her opinion to a few of the other brides that maybe the place was full of rats. Although, she was fairly certain her idea of what hid within the building’s four walls was somewhat different than what the others may have been thinking. Finally, the Reverend ushered them in.

  She urged one of the women, a Chinese acrobat by the name of Meizhen, forward and then plowed onward with the rest of them, briefly noting what appeared to be a smashed lamp (or something else that could produce an equal number of glass shards) on the ground beside the door. It reminded her of the time she threw a prized vase at a belligerent drunk who refused to pay her after his… entertainment. While Hank had been less annoyed about the vase than he was about a customer double-crossing one of his girls, the cost of the broken heirloom was still taken out of her pay.

  “To appease my dearly departed grandmother’s soul,” Hank joked. “May she rest in peace.”

  Now Josefina briefly wondered about the kind of altercation that could have led to this particular mess, but then she nimbly jetéd over it, her curiosity brushed away as she tumbled into the warmth the so-called mansion offered. A round of relieved sighs sounded from the entire group and even Mrs. Walters expressed her approval.

  “Well at last…”

  The Reverend began to show the women around when a nearly naked man shot down the stairs, past the girls and out the door… followed by another. Several of the ladies gasped. Josefina wanted to cackle like the bruja who used to prescribe her herbal teas for colds and other ailments. Perhaps her greater gift was dancing instead of healing and intuition, but anyone with two good eyes and some common sense would have known La Maison des Chats was not at all what it appeared to be.

  Mrs. Walters demanded an explanation while a couple of the brides clear-away fainted. Josefina gathered up the few that seemed to have enough good sense to keep their heads straight and shooed them into the nearby parlor.

  “I told you there were rats,” she stated as a matter-of-fact. Her triumph was short-lived, though. Soon they were undergoing introductions with the Reverend (who flustered quite brilliantly to find Molly hiding a goose beneath her winter wear). Josefina stifled a laugh, until the Reverend turned his attention to her. Childhood days at Sunday misa came rushing back and she suddenly felt like a naughty child caught talking during prayer. She brazenly introduced herself, but was glad to escape down the hall with a handful of other girls, her nose following a delicious aroma that made her mouth water. She didn’t make it to La Maison’s kitchen, though. Instead, a young blond met them on the steps.

  Josefina smiled at her when the woman, Pearl, amiably introduced herself. She had kindly put a soup on the stove to help warm the women up. Now she was offering to show them to their sleeping quarters.

  “Just a minute!” Mrs. Walters grilled the young woman about her business in the building. Upon learning that Pearl was one of the whores employed there, the matchmaker gasped. A mutter of disgust escaped from under her breath. Pearl practiced a measure of decorum and ignored the comment.

  “Ladies? If you’ll follow me,” she graciously offered.

  Josefina shrugged and quickly followed the woman. However, her mind reeled. If there was ever a time she wanted to snap at someone for being judgmental, now was the moment. How dare Genevieve Walters think less of someone simply because the woman practiced a less-than-desirable profession? It was the very reason Josefina hid her own dark past. Had the Benevolent Society of Lost Lambs known that Josefina was more than a dancing girl – that she actually slept with some of the patrons – she would have never been taken on as a bride.

  And with the way things were going, chances were good Mrs. Walters would still turn her out if she knew the truth.

  Josefina kept her mouth shut even after they found themselves in their bedrooms. She was too busy listening to the commotion downstairs.

  “That’s Madame Bonheur,” Pearl informed them about the proprietor of La Maison des Chats.

  Shrieks sounded from the woman, followed by the sound of shattering glass and Mrs. Walters sobs of shock. The Reverend seemed stuck between trying to appease them both.

  “Look, ladies. I’m hungry… and quite frankly, too curious to hide in a bedroom.” Josefina excused herself and quickly descended the stairs despite the cries of protest. She ignored them, though. This Madame what-have-you seemed quite serious about her threats to make everyone “be sorry” for displeasing her. Josefina wasn’t the sort to pursue trouble, but she definitely wanted to know what it looked like if it came seeking her out!

  She tumbled into the hallway and came face-to-face with the woman who could only be the “Madame” they heard screaming mere moments earlier. Stern and solid, the matron looked quite formidable. Eyes slit like razor-sharp knives, she raised a single, challenging brow.

  Why, what an unpleasant… cualquiera. Was that supposed to scare her?

  Josefina wanted to laugh. Head tilted to one side, she folded her arms across her chest and smiled as pleasantly as possible. The Madame hissed at her and Mrs. Walters quickly rushed to her side.

  “Don’t worry, dear. Everything is going to turn out swimmingly. Isn’t it Reverend?”

  “Of course,” he quickly answered. The look he gave Madame Bonheur didn’t go unnoticed. She growled at him one last time.

  “Like I said, you’ll pay for this.”

  She stormed off towards the door, stopping briefly when she noticed a framed plate hanging on the wall beside the entrance. It appeared to be the only one left that hadn’t been smashed to smithereens. She neatly plucked it off the wall, spun around and flung it at them. The Reverend rushed forward to push both she and Mrs. Walters out of the way of the flying debris. It landed squarely in his arm before falling to the floor and shattering like all the others.

  “Ow!”

  Mrs. Walters rushed to the Reverend’s aid. “Why, you—”

  The door slammed solidly shut, cutting her off mid-sentence. Mrs. Walters stomped a foot and even raised a shaking fist in the air, earning Josefina’s admiration with her spitfire display. The woman turned around and, seeing there was quite the audience, brushed her hands down her dress in an attempt to smooth it. She plastered on a smile.

  “Come, dear.” She wrapped an arm around Josefina and urged her forward. “Let’s collect the others for dinner.”

  Chapter 2

  Noelle, Colorado

  December 25, 1876

  Ignacio could have given himself a good, swift kick. All his planning to impress his bride-to-be and what happened? He didn’t even make it to the alter.

  A la Madre! He didn’t even make it to “hello.
”

  It was like one thing after another stood in his way of saying “Si, acepto” the day the women arrived. First, Jack Peregrine’s grandfather, Gus, stopped in for a quick bite to eat – except he couldn’t decide between bean burritos or bean soup. Then the poor viejo took twice as long to gum his food. Okay, maybe he had teeth…

  But in that case, he needed to learn how to use them!

  Who was he trying to fool, though? He could have boxed up the meal and asked Grandpa Gus to take his food to go. It wouldn’t have been the first time the man made haste back to Jack’s shipping shop before it was noticed he was missing. Not that it would have made things different for Ignacio. Even after the man left, Nacho made more attempt at cleaning the restaurant than he did hurrying down to Seamus’s bar. He kept trying to tell himself that it was because he wanted to present his señorita with as beautiful a business as possible – especially after exaggerating a bit on how grand his place was to begin with.

  Okay, maybe he exaggerated more than a little.

  He harbored big plans, though. So it really could be grand… with a little help. That’s when it dawned on him that he was getting in his own way of achieving his dreams. He raced over to The Golden Nugget as quickly as his two feet could carry him. Of course, he couldn’t go empty-handed. He wasted another ten minutes, looking around as he wondered what he could bring to present as a gift. Then he remembered the ribbon he purchased a few years earlier for…

  Ignacio shook the thought from his mind much like he’d done the night before when his memory had been tickled. It didn’t really matter who the ribbon had originally been intended for, so long as it was never actually given to anyone else. The important thing was that it was never been worn in another’s braid. Now that would have been a little tasteless and cheap. But facts being as they were, it should have made a fine gift to his new bride.

  He fingered the turquoise satin once again. Slightly faded and unraveling at the ends, he trimmed it a bit (another five minutes looking for a knife sharp enough to do the job right). Then he poured himself a cup of coffee… just to give himself enough time to consider the most appropriate way to present the ribbon. A thought popped into his head and he snapped his fingers. Draining the cup, he placed it on the counter with the rest of the dishes to be washed once he returned home with his bride.

  It will be nice to have someone help clean this mess up, he thought as he wrapped two bean burritos in a cloth servieta and carefully tied the colorful ribbon around it.

  “Eso es,” he said to himself. “Now she will have a nice little something, but not so nice as to expect a life of luxury.”

  Unable to find any more reasons to stall, he made his way to The Golden Nugget.

  “Ya just missed them, man.”

  “Como?” Ignacio slapped the food on the bar counter, upset that his bride must have been married off to someone else. “Tell me, Seamus, how is that even possible?”

  Seamus gave him a questionable look. “Aw, Nacho, ya knew what time they were coming in. The Reverend told ya the same as everyone else. So, don’t try acting daft with me. It won’t work. I know ya was getting the cold feet.”

  “I don’t have cold feet,” Ignacio protested. “I’m happy to get married.”

  Seamus’s lips thinned, but he remained silent. Instead, he grabbed a mug and filled it with his best brew. He slid the cup in front of his friend and watched him drain it.

  “That should put ya right for heading down to La Masion des Chats.”

  “What? Why would I need to go down there?”

  “Because that’s the place the Reverend relocated the ladies to.”

  “Relocated?” Nacho was confused. “Why would they be relocated there after getting married? They should have gone to their new homes.”

  Seamus sighed. “Because they didn’t git married… and they sure as hell-is-full-of-sinners weren’t boarding up here.”

  Nacho shook his head, rattling his beer-soaked brain. “Wait a minute, amigo. Are you saying no one married my woman?”

  A slow, thin smile lit up Seamus’s face. “Ay, that’s exactly what I’ve been telling ya. Yer wee woman is spending the night at Madame Bonheur’s place – waiting for you to go pick her up and take her home.”

  Just the mention of the Madame’s name made Nacho’s stomach churn. If there was ever a woman he never again wanted to deal with…

  “Well,” he hesitated, “I think that calls for a drink.”

  Seamus frowned. “Are ya sure about that, man? After all, ya wouldn’t want to be getting drunk before saying the vows.”

  Nacho frowned. “Come now, amigo. Have you ever known me to actually get drunk?”

  “Well, there was that one time—”

  “Funerals don’t count,” Nacho interrupted.

  “No. I’ve never known ya to get drunk,” Seamus reluctantly admitted.

  “Well, then?” Nacho asked expectantly. He picked up the mug and waved it around until Seamus grabbed it. Seconds later and Nacho was forgetting all his troubles…

  And his bride.

  Now here he was the following morning, rushing around the diner once more, trying his hardest to push out the workers who kept stopping in for his pan dulce and café con leche before heading out to the mines. Some of them still believed they would find gold, but he had hung up his hat on that one. There was no time to chase after empty dreams of quick riches when a legitimate business waited to be run.

  Which was why he needed to hurry up and claim his bride. He ran the risk of another hombre snatching her up with every passing minute. He let out a frustrated sigh and picked up one of his Talavera mugs. He tapped a fork against it – soft at first to avoid chipping the delicate pottery. When that failed to get everyone’s attention, he loudly cleared his throat.

  “Come on, everybody. You know I’m trying to get out of here.”

  “Where’s the fire, Nacho?” One man joked.

  “Yeah, there’s plenty of cold around here to put it out,” another added.

  Peals of laughter sounded throughout the diner and he knew they were all having a good laugh on him for having been the first to volunteer for marriage… and the only one that failed to show up.

  “Better hope she doesn’t think you left her at the altar,” the first man joked again and Nacho wanted to punch him in the nose. It would be just like Elmer Copperpot to put his two cents in where it didn’t belong.

  It would be just like him to go and steal Nacho’s bride, too. Everyone had heard about his questionable dealings with a foreigner who passed through town looking for work a few months prior. Elmer had hired him to build his house. When the time came to compensate the man, he claimed the job wasn’t done proper and paid him far less than originally agreed upon. Of course, Nacho couldn’t really say whether or not it was true. However, he rode a time or two past Elmer’s place when going out to survey his own land. While he couldn’t speak much to the interior, the house looked fairly sound from the outside. In fact, his casa looked bien bonita – pretty enough to entice almost any woman to marry the skinny weasel.

  Nacho picked up a washcloth and wiped off a nearby table. “You’re the last person I’d have to worry about anything from, Elmer,” he grumbled and returned to his original post.

  Orvis Weston, another miner who observed the merrymaking, came up to pay for his coffee. “Don’t worry about them,” he said as he slapped his money down on the counter. “They’re just jealous they didn’t draw any straws.”

  The laughter died down and a few of the men grumbled about rigged straws and such, but the suggestion sounded silly even to their own ears. Well, everyone except Elmer. He continued gripping about how one of those women should’ve belonged to him. Still, he lined up like the rest of the men. One by one, they paid their bills and shuffled out of the diner. Nacho walked around to a couple of the tables and picked up the mugs. Orvis followed him.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  “Aw, gracias, amigo. You d
on’t have to do that.”

  “I know I don’t,” Orvis said. “Just figured it would help you get on down to La Maison a bit faster. Besides, I was heading that way myself.”

  Nacho smiled. “Looking to see your lady friend, are you?”

  Orvis grinned like a singing bird who whistled his favorite tune. “You know it.”

  Nacho couldn’t fault him for falling in love with one of the Madame’s working girls. After all, he himself had done the same once.

  He gave his head a shake. The last thing he wanted to do was think about her again – especially when he was trying to move on to a new chapter in his life. Instead, he focused at the task at hand. “Thanks for helping out, Orvis.”

  “Not a problem,” his friend replied and the two men quickly worked at clearing off the rest of the tables. Orvis followed Nacho into the kitchen, an armful of plates and mugs weighing him down.

  “Just leave them with the rest,” Nacho instructed.

  Orvis stared at the incredible pile. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m going to have some help around here soon. Remember?”

  His friend frowned. “You talking your gal? The one you plan on marrying?”

  “Si, señor.” Nacho grinned wildly. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. No more running around like a backwards mule. I’m going to have someone to help cook and clean – a real domesticated lady.”

  “Sounds like you should’ve hired a servant instead,” Orvis mumbled.

  “Nah,” Nacho said as he stacked his own set of dirty dishes with the rest of the pile. Then he stopped, one plate still held in midair. “That is what wives are for, no?”

  Orvis shrugged. “Guess it depends on the wife. Don’t forget, though, most women like to feel like they’re someone special… and you haven’t sealed the deal with yours just yet. Another hombre comes around, making her feel all important, and she could always change her mind.”