For the next six months, through the worst winter to ravage the West in a hundred years, Cord had worked to drive Eugenia out of his mind. Unending blizzards decimated the Matador herds, and Pierce Orr, already deeply in debt from building the enormous house, was forced to sell his ranch. No one would pay Orr for lands he didn’t own, herds that no longer existed, or a huge house in the middle of a desolate plain, and the only buyer who offered the cash he needed was Cord Stedman. Even then Cord’s inheritance hadn’t covered the whole purchase price, and he’d had to borrow the rest.
Eugenia had come to him in the bunkhouse, now empty of the roistering cowboys whose jobs had disappeared, and offered him what he had so ardently desired just a few short months before, but the moment his lips met hers, he knew he never wanted to touch her again and he stalked from the bunkhouse. She was gone when he returned.
Eliza had brought back the memory of that summer, and Cord wondered if he might not be making the same mistake all over again. But then he would remember her wide-eyed gaze and the trembling innocence that were so unlike Eugenia’s sultry self-confidence. This was no pampered, over-indulged siren toying with his heart for a summer’s amusement, but a young girl too afraid of life to have yet discovered the power of her attraction.
He remembered every syllable she had ever spoken to him, and the simplicity of her words and the honesty of her gaze were beyond doubting. If he feared falling in love again, if he was reluctant to open his heart to the possibility of deception, the fear was for himself alone. Timid, antelope-eyed Eliza would never betray anyone she loved.
Cord doubted she could be the girl who was singing for rough cowboys in the smoke-filled saloon, but he remembered her unnatural fear of her uncle’s wrath, and his protective instincts stirred, sending prickles of worry and anger up his spine. What if Eliza was being forced to do what she found frightening and distasteful? Instinctively Cord’s legs tightened around the girth of his gelding, sending him into a canter.
Don’t be in such a hurry to make a fool of yourself, he admonished. Maybe you’re imagining things. Maybe it isn’t Eliza Smallwood after all. And if it is, maybe she doesn’t object to singing. His mind told him to slow up, and his feelings warned him to calm down, but his heart urged his gelding to still greater speed.
Chapter 6
The weeks had passed in a blur. Each day Eliza moved through the familiar routine of cooking, cleaning, and tending her animals, but every evening she would sing at the Sweetwater. She didn’t lose her dread of performing before strangers, but the crowds were small and she gradually lost the worst of her fear. Then the roundup crews returned, wild and randy, and not even a real angel could have kept them respectful for long.
“How about a little leg, sweetie?”
“Come closer. I can’t hear you.”
“I’d love to see all that hair down on your shoulders.” Panic seized Eliza, and she ran from the room.
“Are you crazy? You can’t walk out on those men just when they’re getting warmed up,” Ira yelled when he finally caught up with her.
“One of them grabbed at me,” Eliza told him, quaking from head to toe.
“They’re just trying to be friendly. It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little friendly back.”
“He grabbed at me.”
“I heard you. He grabbed at you” Ira mimicked.
“I can’t go back in that room.”
“Get this through your head. You’re going back in there if I have to drag you.”
They don’t mean any harm, Miss Smallwood,” Croley said, closing the office door Ira had left open. “They’ll settle down real quick once they hear you.” Croley was just as anxious as Ira to have Eliza go back, but he realized Ira was getting her so wrought up she might not be able to sing for days.
“Why don’t you go sit with Lucy for a bit. That ought to make you feel better,” Croley suggested, draping the cloak over her shoulders. “Let her alone!” he whispered furiously to Ira. “Can’t you see she’s near to fainting?”
Ira accompanied his niece in frigid silence, his tightly contained anger unmistakable. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he growled when he left her at the door, “and you’d better be ready.”
“Land sakes, girl, what happened?” Lucy asked, gently guiding Eliza to her own room. “You gotta stop this crying, or you’re gonna look like a windowpane in a rain storm.” A hiccup of laughter elbowed its way through Eliza’s sobs, and the tears quickly ceased to flow. “Now tell me what’s got you so upset.”
“It’s my own fault,” Eliza admitted. “The men started saying things and then one of them touched me.” She shuddered at the remembrance of the large hairy hand that had brushed her bare arm.
“They’re just looking for a little fun.”
“I won’t have them mauling me,” Eliza sniffed.
“Then tell them! Look down your nose until they’re afraid to touch you.”
“I can’t. Just thinking about it makes me start to shake.”
“You gotta get over that real quick, honey. Men don’t pay attention to timid females. You want your husband to walk all over you?”
“I’m never going to get married.”
“Nonsense. A gal as pretty as you could have a dozen husbands.” A picture of Cord flashed through Eliza’s mind and she blushed involuntarily. “Aha!” observed Lucy sharply. “You’re already sweet on someone.”
“No!” Eliza stammered, blushing fiery red. “I never thought of it.”
“Well, never mind that right now. There’ll be plenty of time for figuring out what you do feel after you get used to the boys out front.”
“I’ll never get used to it.”
“Yes, you will. It’d be a crime for you to stay hidden away in that old cabin where nobody can see you. There’s nothing wrong with a farm, but get yourself a husband, and maybe all this hiding yourself away will have some purpose.” Lucy’s raised eyebrow caught Eliza between embarrassment and laughter. “I’m not used to thinking of men that way.” “Then start. They’re sure thinking about you that way, and you’ll never get anywhere talking at cross-purposes.” “But I can’t talk to men. I just stare at the ground.” “You won’t stand tongue-tied when it’s the right one.” Eliza thought of the quiet interlude under the tree with Cord. She hadn’t felt scared then. He was such a big man, so fiercely capable and determined, yet she saw nothing threatening in his powerful, six-foot-three frame. In fact, she couldn’t imagine how any man who owned his own ranch and tended his own cows would look any different; being at ease with him was just as natural as breathing.
“But first you gotta tend to those cowboys at the saloon.” Eliza’s daydream vanished, and the harsh reality of rude, lusting men thrust itself upon her again. “You’re going back with your chin up and dare anybody to come near you.” “I don’t think I can.”
“You’ve got to. You know your uncle is never going to let you stop singing. You might as well make up your mind to it right now, or you’ll never be able to sing in a real theater.” “I could never be good enough for a place like that.” “Yes, you will, but you gotta get over these silly fears first. Nothing else stands in your way.” The door opened without a warning knock and her uncle stood in the opening, scowling morosely. “You ready?” he barked. Eliza looked imploringly at Lucy. “Remember, dare them to touch you,” Lucy whispered, and gave her an encouraging smile. Eliza couldn’t hope to do as much as that, but desperate courage stiffened her will. She had given up any hope Cord would come listen to her sing, but even if he wasn’t present to see her perish in this miserable place—she felt like she was being thrown into a pit full of wild beasts—she refused to die a coward.
The room seemed smaller and more crowded than ever. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, Eliza walked over to the piano with what she desperately hoped was regal disdain. The room grew quieter. There were a few whispered comments, but no voice stood out and she was betrayed into a nervous smile. There was never anything disdainful a
bout Eliza’s smile; it was friendly, open, and a terrible mistake.
“That’s a pretty smile, lady.”
“You got pretty teeth too.” A ripple of amusement cracked the tenuous restraint. The noise abated during her ballad, the talkers being noisily hushed by their neighbors, but when she finished there were immediate demands for a lively tune. Eliza obliged with a folk dance, and before the first verse was over two cowboys had started to dance with each other.
“Don’t waste your steps on Clem when there’s a gal right in front of you,” prompted one onlooker.
“Otis doesn’t know how to dance with a girl. He ain’t seen nothing but cows since he was thirteen.”
“Give her a whirl. I bet she’ll show a prime leg.”
Eliza’s voice faltered, and the piano player glanced at Ira out of the corner of his eye, but she didn’t stop.
“Don’t be bashful. Go on, dance with her.”
“He’s afraid.”
Otis turned to Eliza with a wordless invitation; she kept on singing.
“Ask her. She can’t say yes unless you do.”
“How about it, Miss Sage?” Otis begged, almost as self-conscious as Eliza. She shook her head and glanced imploringly in her uncle’s direction, but he looked away. Two more men got up, each asking her to dance and being refused. One tried to take her hand, but she snatched it away. There was no escaping from the room; every inch of space was filled by a milling mass of men who looked to be all mouths asking her to dance, all arms trying to pull her on to the floor, all bodies keeping her hemmed in. Still she kept on singing.
Suddenly a man emerged from the whirling mass and pulled her roughly toward him. Her desperate protests were lost in the crescendo of merriment, and he whirled her about, sending her spinning into the arms of another man, who spun her around until she became dizzy. The music seemed to pick up speed, only a little at first, and then so rapidly she couldn’t keep up. Faces began to lose their focus and she felt like she couldn’t get her breath; the room started to spin so fast she was sure her legs would buckle under her any minute.
Then the grip on her fell away, there was a distinct thud, and the music stopped. The noise ceased just as abruptly. When Eliza’s vision cleared the men in the room were locked into place like so many wax images, a maelstrom stopped in mid-stride. Two men lay sprawled on the floor, and miraculously, Cord Stedman stood before her.
“Are you all right, Miss Sage?”
Astonishment held her speechless; she couldn’t even nod her head “Somebody throw these two out,” Cord ordered, and moments later the two bodies were sent tumbling into the street. “Now, if the rest of you will be seated, maybe Miss Sage will finish her song.”
“What the hell do you mean busting in here like you owned the place?” Ira exploded, oblivious to Eliza’s effort to resume her song. “This is not Bear Creek.”
Cord stared at him with smoldering anger. “Is this your niece?” he demanded.
“That’s got nothing to do with it. This is my saloon and—”
“I wouldn’t be surprised to find out you’re not related to her at all. A real uncle wouldn’t toss his own flesh and blood into a dog pit. Even dumb animals care for their young.” The audience was not misled by Cord’s appearance of calm; he never interfered, but when he did, he meant for things to go his way.
“You can’t tell me how to take care of my kin.”
“Somebody ought to. Seems like you can’t get the hang of it yourself.” Cord’s bushy brows almost met in the center of his head, and his eyes sank further behind their barrier, the lids lowered, his look hooded and speculative.
“He looks like a cougar about to pounce,” one man whispered.
“You don’t deserve a niece as beautiful and talented as Miss Sage,” Cord went on. “Protecting and providing for her should be an honor no man would lay down as long as there was breath in him. And you boys are a disgrace to the calling that gives you your name,” he said, turning to face the bemused cowboys. “Bother her again and you’ll explain it to me. Touch her and you’d better be south of Douglas before sunrise.” Cord’s left hand was balled into a tight fist, a fact missed by very few.
Eliza knew she had to be dreaming. No one had ever said such things about her. The idea of protecting her, of providing for her, of being proud of her was almost too much to comprehend. Such things only happened in books, yet in less than three minutes this strange, enigmatic man had turned her whole world upside down, dumped her miserable existence into the dust, and handed her a new, exciting self, but one so much like a princess she could hardly believe it was real.
“I hear tell you usually sing three songs, Miss Sage. If our manners haven’t given you a disgust of us, I’d be mighty grateful if you would oblige with another.”
Eliza managed to nod her head this time.
He didn’t move from his command post. The musical introduction began and Eliza struggled to gather her paralyzed wits and remember the words.
She sang from habit alone. Cord’s presence, the rigid attention of the listeners, the atmosphere of forced courtesy made everything seem unreal. She didn’t know if she was doing her best; she was still reeling with shock, and all she wanted to do was disappear until she could have time to think.
No one moved until the last note had died away.
Once the applause stopped, Eliza didn’t know whether to thank Cord for his intervention, ignore the whole episode, or sing another song. Instead, after a slight hesitation, she left the room.
“Now that you remember how to behave around a lady, see that you do,” Cord admonished the crowd, then nonchalantly walked from the saloon.
Usually Eliza hurried to Lucy to change her clothes and go home, but she was so dazed by what had happened she retreated to Croley’s office, sank into a chair, and succumbed to the most wonderful feeling of her life. A man had protected her. A nobody! He had knocked two men down and even threatened to knock down more. The feeling was unbelievably delicious and she wanted to savor every minute of it.
“That interfering bastard,” Ira roared, bursting into the room in a boiling rage. “What did you two do under that tree?”
Eliza sat up a little straighten Unconsciously, Cord’s protection, combined with Lucy’s support and her newfound popularity, had come together in one evening to give her a different perception of herself. It would have been too much to say she had gained a realization of her own worth, but she had grasped the tenuous idea that she had value she could give or withhold to her advantage. Even her uncle sensed the change in her.
“It’s high time somebody took that man down a peg,” he finished a little lamely.
“But it’s so much nicer to have them listen quietly. You said from the first that’s how you wanted it to be. And now Mr. Stedman has seen to it they won’t bother me again.”
“Damn the man! This is my saloon,” Ira burst out. “I decide whether or not the men dance with you, and I think it’s a great idea. We can start a lottery. Well draw numbers with a different man getting one dance every night.”
“No!” shouted Eliza.
“Can’t you see what a money-maker this will be? You’re a lady who can sing like a canary instead of screech like a bobcat. I might even charge for the dances. No, I’ll make it an extra. I’ll raise the price of whiskey instead.”
“I won’t be auctioned off,” Eliza declared rebelliously.
“I’ve got to talk to Croley about redoing this whole place,” Ira continued as if Eliza hadn’t spoken. “If we’re going to charge higher prices, we’ve got to have a fancier decor. I wonder if it’d be a good idea to get some more girls—maybe give free chances on them too? No, I don’t think so, not with you as a centerpiece. But I’ll have to talk to Croley.”
“I won’t do it,” Eliza announced so vehemently her words finally pierced Ira’s armor of self-absorption. “I’ll quit.”
“What?” thundered her incredulous uncle.
“I said I’d quit. T
hen I could become a teacher.” Eliza’s newfound courage wavered, but it held.
“Who put such a crazy idea in your head?”
“I’ve always wanted a school,” Eliza replied eagerly, emboldened by her first taste of defiance. “And Mrs. Baylis says they haven’t had a teacher for almost a year now.
“I told you to stay away from that woman.”
“I sometimes go there while I wait for the second performance.”
“Then stop it right now. And put this idea of a school out of your head.”
“No.”
“What did you say?” Ira sputtered, thunderstruck.
“I said I won’t stop going to see Mrs. Baylis, and I won’t give up the idea of a school. Please, I can keep fixing your dinner and singing.”
“You won’t do anything of the kind.”
“Then I won’t sing anymore.” Eliza was as surprised as her uncle to hear the words come out of her mouth, but having said them she clung to them tenaciously.
“Of course you’ll sing,” he growled, too shocked at Eliza’s ultimatum to rage at her. “Now let’s have no more talk about this. You’ve had too much excitement and it’s gone to your head. You’ll feel more like yourself tomorrow.”
“I’m not going to change my mind tomorrow or the next day.”
“And just what do you propose to do?”
“Mrs. Baylis has asked me to come live with her. She says I work too hard. She also says I shouldn’t be singing in a saloon and wearing dresses no God-fearing female would be caught dead in.”
“You tell Ella Baylis to mind her own business. You’ll do as I say, or I’ll lay a broom handle across your backside.”
“I’ll tell Mr. Stedman.” The words, out before she knew it, caused her uncle to regard her with an ugly expression.
“You would dare to trust a cowboy before your own uncle?”
“He said he wouldn’t let anyone touch me.”
Ira was nonplussed. He’d never encountered opposition from Eliza. That she would claim the protection of a stranger was the crowning blow.
Wicked Wyoming Nights Page 6
