“Thank you, Mr. Andrews.” After she ran a hand along the doorjamb, she breezed past him and moved straight to the glass display case with the smaller pieces he offered for sale. As she looked over the items, she rubbed a hand along the wood framing.
A hint of a sweet-smelling scent followed her. Nicolai sniffed, debating over the particular flower. He was much better with differentiating types of wood or the quality of cow or deer hides.
“You have some lovely items here, Mr. Andrews. Such even stitching and detailed imprinted designs.” She turned and walked up to the first saddle on a block then ran her fingers over the cantle and the seat. “So smooth.” She leaned close and sniffed. “Such an unusual scent.” Heading toward the next one, she took two steps then skidded to a stop. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She glanced over her shoulder and pursed her lips. “I’ve interrupted—I mean, you’re entertaining.”
“What?” Why did he feel like he was half a step behind in this conversation? He followed her gaze where she faced toward the open doorway to the kitchen.
Quaid sat slumped in the chair, his head nodding forward.
“Not entertaining exactly. Quaid’s going to be a houseguest…Er, the story is too long to relate right now.” Besides, his curiosity was roused by what type of favor she wanted to ask. “Tell me more about this business proposition or arrangement.”
“Well…” She turned to face him and tilted her head. “In your absence, I peeked through the window into the other shop next door, but the back portion remained in shadow. Does it have the same layout as this one?” Pointing, she walked toward the workbench. “I didn’t see this type of shelving or table.”
To block her, he hurried forward, wishing he could hold out his arms straight from his sides to stop her progress. He couldn’t remember if he’d swept up all the stray nails, or what tools might be around that could cause injury. Especially if she kept touching everything. “The basic layout is the same. In this shop, I’ve added features that are needed to perform tasks particular to my line of work. Actually, I thought I might use—”
“Well, I think the place is just about perfect, and I want to rent it. Please, tell me, what is the monthly fee?”
Rent out my shop? He hadn’t considered that option. Excitement flashed in her eyes, and by standing this close, he spotted a dimple at the side of her mouth when she said certain words. No denying the idea of Miss York staying in town was an appealing one. Although, being neighbors and having daily contact might lead to a deepening relationship of the type he’d been expressly warned not to begin. Honoring his father’s wishes was a good enough reason to deny her request.
“Mr. Andrews, my fondest wish is to open a dressmaking shop.” She clasped her hands together under her chin and looked up into his eyes. “If you agree to rent me the shop, you’d be my savior.”
The earnest gleam in her green eyes tugged at his resolve, but that final word clinched it. A grin spread across his mouth. He’d never been anyone’s savior before.
CHAPTER FIVE
After professing her gratitude, Cinnia bounced out of the saddlery and across the porch. Anticipation buoyed her steps, and she was barely aware her feet even touched the boards. She couldn’t keep a wide smile from stretching her lips. My dream is getting closer. Cooling air nipped at her cheeks, and she fastened the braided closures of her plaid cape at the base of her throat.
Cupping a hand at eye level, she pressed her forehead against the empty store window and imagined how she’d lay out the sections for her shop. She’d need a crate or two to hold bolts of fabric—a shelf would be more professional. A long table for laying out the pattern on the fabric lengths and cutting out the pieces. Maybe a bench or another table just for the lock-stitch machine. A board with pegs for hanging thread spools, scissors, and other implements would look more professional than the beat-up wooden box she now used.
Ready-made items could be placed in full view at the window. But on what? The troupe owned only two dressmaker forms, and the “Judy” and “James” were table-top models made of wire. Flynn was the go-to handyman of the troupe. Maybe he’d help her figure out the needed solutions. Hadn’t she seen wooden clothes hangers in Mr. Thomas’ wagon? Now that she thought of all the essential details, the prospect of just getting the shop ready to be opened was daunting.
The deal wasn’t yet final, but she’d heard the shop owner say he’d think about setting an equitable price. After the incident this morning at Mr. Thomas’s wagon, she sensed Mr. Andrews was a fair man, and that the amount would be affordable. No sense in spoiling the arrangement at its outset by telling him the compensation might manifest in the form of mending or sewing.
Within their circle of performer acquaintances, barter was an honored and often-used form of exchange. A system that she may have to propose after the first month’s rent—or until she had a few steady clients. From her obvious wealth and station within the town, Mrs. Morgan looked like the most likely prospect to be Cinnia’s first client. Even if the reserved, somewhat unpleasant, woman might prove to be a very discerning and demanding client, she’d also be the best advertisement for Cinnia’s skill as a seamstress.
Besides, Nola had been adamant that none of her own money would support this pursuit. So, Cinnia had to make this business work on her own wit and skills. A sigh escaped and left a moist cloud on the glass. Turning from the window, she looked through the late afternoon sunlight at the immediate area. From nearby came a familiar voice and, looking to her left, she recognized her sister’s rose-colored shirt.
Nola stood at the side of the saddlery shop, admiring a group of horses tied together.
Just the person to share my news with. “Oh, Nola.” She rushed to the edge of the porch, her boot heels resounding on the wood planks.
“Shh.” Nola whirled, her face wrinkled into a scowl. She thrust out a hand, palm outward, in warning. “No quick movements by these horses. They’re untrained.” She let out a sigh and turned back to face the animals. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
“Why, thank you, ma’am.” A tall cowboy sauntered from the back of the saddlery shop. “Those mustangs were carefully selected to improve our stock’s bloodlines.”
“And who are you?” Nola jammed a hand onto her hip.
The man arched an eyebrow. “Torin Quaid, ma’am.” He lifted his hat an inch or so and set it down again. “From up north, around the Great Falls area. And with whom do I have the pleasure of sharing admiration for my horses?”
“Miss Nola York.” Pinkness colored her neck and crept into her face, and she dipped her chin.
Sucking in a surprised breath, Cinnia stared at her sister’s blush. When had that ever happened before?
“Oh, sir, you’re injured.” Nola rushed forward and started to reach out a hand but immediately pulled it back. “What happened? Is it bad?”
“The black stallion there at the head of the line tried to run me down as I attached the lead to his hackamore this morning. I dove and hit the ground sooner than I’d anticipated.”
“You must let me tend to it.” Nola’s brow wrinkled as she tilted her head, angling for a look at where his hand was hidden inside the front of his coat. “If the injury isn’t stabilized, future movement of the joint could be compromised.”
“You know how to do this?” Mr. Quaid cut his blue-eyed gaze between the women.
His eyes aren’t as clear blue as Mr. Andrews’ are. As she dipped her chin to hide her embarrassed smile, Cinnia nodded. Comparing the looks of the two handsome men surely wasn’t lady-like. When she glanced up, she saw the cowboy staring at Nola, who stood with her hands clasped behind her back, murmuring in a sweet voice to the closest horse. “I’m Cinnia, by the way. My sister’s the unofficial nurse for our vaudeville troupe. All the performers go to her with our aches and pains, and she fixes them.”
“Before there’s any fixing of my injury, I’ve got to get the mustangs settled for the night. Nic will be out in a minute or two.”
&n
bsp; Hearing Mr. Andrews’ first name sent a thrill through Cinnia. Nic Andrews—a strong, no-nonsense name.
“Oh, Mr. Quaid, may I help?” Nola stepped close and tilted her head to meet his gaze. “I have lots of experience with training dogs and my own horse. I’ve always wanted to try my hand at taming a horse.”
Thumbing up the brim of his hat, Mr. Quaid narrowed his gaze and shot it over her length. “Tell me how you’d approach one.”
Best leave the horse people together to work out horse things. Cinnia rolled her eyes and strolled toward the wagons. Maybe Dorrie would be excited about her news.
****
A few minutes before seven o’clock, Cinnia patted the leaf garland she’d woven into the coronet of intricate braids radiating from her forehead. Little touches like different hairstyles and specific accessories helped her really feel the essence of the poem she performed. Tonight, no one had remembered to come early to stoke the stove—another of Mr. Thomas’ mysterious duties they all had taken for granted—so the air within the hall held a distinct chill. As she scrubbed her hands over her bare arms to warm them, she peeked around the curtain edge. The meeting hall benches were only half filled with audience members. Nola won’t like this.
At the back of the room, Dorrie sat with the cracker tin on her lap and accepted payments from those entering. She’d agreed to remain there through the first four acts and then she’d bring the box backstage in time for her performance.
That afternoon, agreed by majority vote, the group split up and stationed themselves in various places throughout the town to spread the word about tonight’s show. Two of the male performers volunteered to have a beer and speak to whoever was present in the saloon; the other two hiked up to the mine. Milly and Gerda stood outside the mercantile for a short period, but returned to the wagons after only twenty minutes or so, saying they were uncomfortable talking to strangers. Josette was excused from the advertising task in hopes that a nap would calm her over-excited nerves. Helen refused to assist in what she deemed a hopeless cause.
Nola walked the dogs down toward the tent city of Chinese mine workers, but she hadn’t spent much time there. Then when she returned, red-faced and furious, she asked to be left alone in the wagon for a spell. Only after much cajoling and a shared pot of soothing chamomile tea had Cinnia learned that while in the Chinese camp, Nola had to fend off pantomimed offers to either buy the dogs or of marriage—she wasn’t sure which.
One positive trait H.P. Thomas had possessed was the ability to talk up the show’s performances and draw a capacity crowd. After hearing about the discouraging attempts of the troupe members, Cinnia had a better appreciation of his promotional skills than ever before. One thing learned from this experience was that in future endeavors, Cinnia would ask more questions and demand to know details about issues that affected her livelihood. She and Nola had trusted Mr. Thomas too implicitly. Look where that trust had placed the futures of her and the rest of the troupe.
At that moment, Nola rushed to her side, a dog-eared piece of paper containing the line-up clutched in her hand.
Queenie and Gigi, dressed in their ruffled skirts, milled around the women’s feet and then curled into balls.
Rather than comment on how they crushed the netting, Cinnia eased the long, draping hem of her floor-length stola from under Queenie’s shoulder. When she peeked into the audience, she spotted several more spaces had been filled and breathed out a sigh of relief.
The house is almost full.
“I can’t believe this. The Fosters insist on being the opening number. Helen is acting like a primadonna and says she needs her beauty sleep.” Nola snorted and shook the paper. “As if that woman has gone to bed before eleven o’clock in her adult life. She just wants to cause trouble.”
“Now, now, Nola.” Cinnia winced and glanced over her shoulder, hoping no one had overhead the uncomplimentary outburst. The calming effects of the tea had obviously worn off. “Is that change really so bad?”
Tilting her head, Nola squinted at the list. “Well, their dance numbers were always a strong lead-in to the second half. I know that’s why Thomas positioned them there.”
“Don’t worry, things will be fine.” Most people in an audience weren’t aware of such things. Cinnia thought it best to send out Nola and get the show started. She tugged at the shoulder straps of her gown. Had this costume always revealed so much skin? While performing on theater stages in bigger venues, she’d had more of a buffer between her and the audience. A physical barrier that allowed her to mentally separate herself from those watching and listening.
Beneath this long pleated dress that was tied with a ribbon under her breasts and belted at her waist, she wore only a linen shift as an undergarment. Authentic to Grecian times, but suddenly, Cinnia felt very underdressed for a mining town in Montana Territory.
Not unlike how she’d felt that morning behind the shops in her encounter with Mr. Andrews. An experience she didn’t want to repeat any time soon. She turned toward Nola. “Does this stola look right? I guess I never noticed how revealing it is.” Glancing down, she plucked at the scooping neckline that draped in soft folds. “Not too clingy, is it?”
Frowning, Nola shot her a quick look then jabbed a stiff forefinger in her direction. “Do not become a problem performer. I do not need you to start acting up. I am just about at my wit’s end. I need to know at least a couple of the performances will go off without a hitch. You and Dorrie are my rocks. You can’t equivocate on me now.”
The tension in Nola’s voice was evident. Cinnia rested her hands on Nola’s stiff shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Take a deep breath, Nola. The show will be fine. We all have completed our performances dozens of times.” She flashed an encouraging smile and waved a hand at the large cloth depicting an elegantly outfitted ballroom. “See their backdrop is in place. Go out there, welcome everyone, and then introduce the Fosters.”
A breath huffed out, and Nola nodded, letting out a slow breath. “Thanks, sis.” She passed off the leashes, pivoted, and walked to the opening between the curtains.
Both dogs jumped to their feet and tried to follow their mistress, their nails scraping on the wood floor.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”
Gigi thrust her body against the restraint and yapped.
Oh, no. Cinnia squatted and tugged back on the leash. “Shh, Gigi. It’s not your turn.”
Nola glanced to the side with a deep frown before continuing. “We have a wonderful show for your enjoyment.”
Queenie threw herself toward her owner and let out a mournful howl.
Cinnia sucked in a breath. What should I do? The dogs think they should be out there with Nola.
Flynn edged close and bent over. “Don’t you know a trick to shut them up?”
While moving her splayed hand between the dogs’ flanks, she hoped her stretched fingers could soothe them both at the same time and they’d be quiet. She glared over her shoulder at the comic. “What do you suggest? I can’t take them outside, because my recitation is scheduled right after the opening dance.”
“I just learned that I follow you.” He scratched his chin. “Who’s on later in the line-up?”
The barking grew louder and more frantic.
Her petting wasn’t calming the excited animals, so she stood and jerked the leashes backward. “I’m not sure. Nola had to rearrange the line-up a couple of times.” Cinnia shook her head after receiving another of Nola’s glares. Her jaw tensed. These dogs are not my responsibility. “All I know is Dorrie and Josette perform in the second half. Oh, and the violinists.”
Helen stalked up to them and stamped her foot. She flung out a hand toward the animals. “This is so unprofessional. How do you think we can possibly go on after this hullabaloo?”
“I figure, as professionals, you will find a way.” Cinnia scooped up the flowing hem of her gown and hauled on the leashes to move the dogs, who back pedaled with all their might, toward the
exit. She pulled open the door and stomped down the steps to the ground. Too bad nobody was around to notice how she hadn’t tossed the mutts on their furry little behinds. Instead, she inhaled the cool night air to calm her roiling emotions.
“Cinnia, what in the world are you doing?” Dorrie scurried around the corner of the meeting hall, the cracker tin tucked under her arm and the tails of her dressing gown flapping around her stocking-covered legs. “Oh, you poor little dears.”
The dogs perked up at the back-up handler’s voice and strained in that direction.
“Obviously, nothing right.” Tightening her hold on the fabric, she strode forward and tossed the ends of the leashes toward Dorrie. “Let’s switch jobs. You tend them, and I’ll collect the admissions.”
“But, everyone who enters will see you in costume. Usually you don’t like the effect spoiled.”
She hated having her own words thrown in her face. Yes, she’d made the same statement, but that was when they’d been performing in a theater with the appropriate waiting areas backstage. Cinnia bit back a snarl. “Right now, spoiling my recitation is the least of my worries. Nola is spitting mad in there, and Helen just threatened not to dance.”
After giving a sideways look, Dorrie ducked her head. “Nola doesn’t really have much of Mr. Thomas’ showmanship style. But she’ll do all right…with some practice.”
“I know she will. Nola always figures out a way.” Cinnia wrested the tin from Dorrie’s grasp and proceeded to the front of the hall. Just as she rounded the corner, she spotted Mr. Andrews and Mr. Quaid at the foot of the stairs. And my evening just gets better. She pasted on the best smile she could manage under the circumstances and nodded. “Gentlemen, I’m glad to see you at the performance. The program is longer tonight, and admission is a dime apiece.”
“My lovely Miss York.” Mr. Quaid dragged his hat from his head and swept it out in front of his body. He executed a bow over his wrapped wrist that crossed his chest in a tight sling. “May I be so bold as to say you are a wondrous vision?”
Montana Sky_Laced By Love Page 8
