Montana Sky_An Unlikely Marriage Page 5

  Had he been wrong to hope that in being wedded he could count on the same loyalty?

  One look at her set expression put a knot in his gut. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his bride held tight to a secret.

  Loneliness like he’d never known while sleeping alone under the stars settled over him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After helping to build the corral, Nola removed herself from Torin’s immediate vicinity to avoid the temptation of breaking the silence. Keeping quiet while she did routine tasks allowed her to finalize the plans running through her head. Since the idea first popped into her head, she could think of no other scheme. Dog acts performed in the saloon had the potential for big money, depending on the size of the crowd and especially on how long the men had been drinking.

  She puttered around the wagon, tucking Torin’s belongings from his saddle bags into cupboards and drawers. Maybe if she made the living space look and feel like it was being shared, the relationship could return to normal. No matter how many times she replayed the argument in her mind, she couldn’t think of Torin’s suggestions for solving their money problem as anything but offensive. Experiences in life had burned into her being the need to make her own decisions and be responsible for herself. These hours of not speaking had been some of the hardest she’d ever had to endure.

  Planning ahead, she folded her scarf and gloves, dance slippers, and the dogs’ skirts and their smallest props into a cloth bag and stuffed it under a blanket in the linen cupboard. Rather than face down Torin in another angry argument, she would indulge in this one little subterfuge. Uppermost in her mind was the bright smile he’d give her when he spied the fistful of coins from one night’s performance. Enough to repair the wagon and then some.

  After listening to five minutes of Torin’s light snores, Nola felt convinced he had fallen asleep. She eased from the hammock, slipped her feet into her boots, striped off her night rail to reveal her costume of tights, tea-length skirt, and form-fitting jersey then donned her coat. Whispering to keep them quiet, she unhooked the crates and leashed the dogs. The walk to the door was only a couple of feet but seemed to take forever. Fear of being discovered gnawed at her nerves. Nola snuck from the wagon, easing the door closed without making a loud click. Thankfully, the moon, moving from its full to half phase, cast enough light for her to find what she needed. She moved to the tool box, pulled out the oil lantern, and quickly lit the wick.

  Making her way over the uneven prairie was more difficult than she imagined. In one hand, she clutched the bulging bag and the dogs’ leads, and in the other, she held aloft the lantern while the wooden barrel prop outlined her arm like a stiff sleeve. Across the prairie, all was dark, but a light shone in the livery’s loft. She sighted on that fuzzy square like a lighthouse beacon.

  By the time she reached the outskirts of Sweetwater Springs, she was out of breath and irritated at the playful dogs. Although she’d only visited this town on one other occasion, she remembered Hardy’s Saloon being a two-story building with a hitching rail in front. As she drew close, she pinpointed the saloon’s exact location by the tinny piano music and bursts of raucous laughter. Pausing at the side of the building, she set the lantern in the dirt and leaned a hand on the wall to catch her breath. Then she changed her boots for the delicate dance slippers and undid all but the top button on her coat. At the last moment, she remembered to remove her wedding band and stuff it deep into a pocket.

  The first step around the corner of the building was the hardest. Her mouth dried. When she’d first thought of performing in a saloon, she’d pictured having the security of Dorrie at her side. Butterflies circled in her mid-section, threatening to rise into her throat and choke her. Entering this realm of males alone frightened her like nothing before had. Think of our goal.

  After a deep breath through her nose, Nola squared her shoulders and pushed aside one of the swinging half-doors. The heavy scent of cigars and alcohol wafted up her nose. She set down the bag and her shoes near the entrance then strode toward the long polished bar. Shooting sideways glances around the room, she counted a dozen or so men at the round tables scattered through the room and standing along the bar’s length. Not a very big audience.

  A burly man with a hooked nose stood behind the bar, pouring shots of amber-colored whiskey into short glasses. Big men, still wearing coats made of denim with sheepskin lining and broad-brimmed hats, waited, hands braced on the wooden surface.

  She stopped at the end of the bar, unsure of how to get the man aside to discuss her business proposal. Thankfully, the dogs were a bit tired from the walk and remained quiet. They plopped down at her feet, resting their chins on their front paws. As she waited to be noticed, Nola glanced at the two women—because even from this distance, she saw they couldn’t be called “girls”—leaning over card players at the back gaming table. The blonde with two rouged circles high on her cheeks wore a red gown accented with black lace. A buxom red-haired woman in an emerald gown threatened the indecency laws with every gesticulation.

  “Are you lost, ma’am?”

  A soft-spoken stranger stood at her side. Nola looked up into his thin face and pale green eyes. “No, but I do need to speak to the bartender.”

  “Glad to be of service.” He raised a hand and waved. “Hardy, your presence here, please.”

  “Be right there, Taylor.”

  “Thank you, sir.” This man’s simple gesture settled her nervous stomach. Taylor? “Do you own the livery? I believe I heard my…” She remembered the scene in Morgan’s Crossing regarding Wallace and Helen Foster. Performers were supposed to be unmarried. “Friend Torin Quaid mention your name.”

  “That I do. So you’re the new missus?” His brows lowered. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

  Shaking her head, she opened her mouth to warn him against using her married name, but she heard approaching footsteps.

  “Whatcha need, ma’am?”

  Nola turned her attention to the man with the heavy jowls and the drooping mustache. She flashed a bright smile. “Mr. Hardy, I’d like your permission to hold a performance of my dog act here.” She waved a hand at the empty space next to the piano where a thin man sat, moving long fingers over ivory keys. “All I ask is to place a small cup nearby to receive tips, should your kind patrons wish to show their appreciation in a monetary fashion.” Five years spent listening to the loquacious H.P. Thomas introduce the vaudeville troupe might have taught her a thing or two about salesmanship.

  “Sure enough.” The bartender nodded, making his moustache bob. He stretched forward to look past the bar toward the small dogs sitting at her feet. “This place could use a few laughs.”

  Inwardly, she cringed at his assessment and struggled not to let that emotion show in her expression. “Thank you.” She rushed to gather the props and remove her coat, and then hurried to a position next to the piano. Both dogs stood while she fastened on their skirts and strapped the pointy hats to their heads. The open space was much smaller than she was used to, but she was determined to make this performance work. Normally, as soon as she was in her spot at center stage, the crowd quieted. Not so here. Grumbling voices rose in argument from the back table, and a man slapped a hand on the bar and guffawed loud and long.

  Suddenly feeling conspicuous and wondering about the success of her scheme, she leaned toward the piano. “Can you play a few notes to introduce me? Something that will draw attention.”

  The highly recognizable seven staccato beats repeated throughout the “1812 Overture” resounded through the room, and all conversations hushed.

  Nola nodded her thanks and spreads her arms wide to encompass the saloon. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight my little dogs, Gigi and Queenie, will delight you with their canine tricks.” With a flourish, she bowed from the waist and snatched the pewter tankard she normally used for wildflowers from the cloth bag and set it on the floor behind the piano bench. Launching into her routine meant handing off one dog while the other
performed. But no Dorrie stood behind her to claim the lead. Momentary panic froze her muscles. Then Nola held Gigi’s leash out to the piano player, and thankfully, he took the leather strap.

  Even running through Queenie’s tricks as slowly as she could, Nola estimated the performance lasted no more than seven or eight minutes. Too late, she remembered how Dorrie’s acrobatic movements of cartwheels, handstands, and little dances interspersed with the dogs’ tricks had stretched their acts. “Can I get a round of applause for the little terrier’s display of agility and obedience?”

  A smattering of hand-clapping sounded followed by a few plinks of coins landing in the metal vessel.

  “Forget the dog.” A thick voice slurred from a nearby table. “I want to see the pretty lady dance.”

  Nola cringed but ignored the jeer. “Now, here’s Gigi, a French poodle with amazing balance and dexterity.” Quickly, Nola switched leashes with the skinny piano player. She pulled out the thin metal hoop and directed Gigi through a series of jumps, alternating them with spins the poodle performed on her hind legs. A glance at the audience showed a few men now formed a ring around the closest tables. Having Gigi walk the miniature barrel across the saloon floor and back proved to be the crowd favorite. As Nola set up the dogs for their final trick, she was gratified at the sound of multiple metallic clinks.

  Leading the dogs a couple of feet away, she glanced into the tankard and spotted only bronze pennies on the bottom. Disappointment dragged at her limbs. Sneaking out of the wagon, trekking to town, and performing alone was only for the sake of a few cents? Repressing a sigh, she placed Gigi’s front paws on Queenie’s back. Next Nola scurried to face the terrier then bent at the waist so she could grasp Queenie’s paws and lift them. Without the ball normally used for the act, Nola had to provide the movement.

  Gigi dropped to the floor and sniffed at a puddle of liquid.

  In the background, feet shuffled and voices murmured.

  I can’t lose their attention. Whispering commands, Nola again positioned the dog’s paws and returned to Queenie’s head then started the chorus of their regular exiting song.

  “Home sweet home

  Home sweet home

  Yeah, I'm on my way.” But Dorrie’s voice didn’t chime in with the echoing line so Nola transitioned to the next lyric.

  “I'm on my way…I'm on my way

  Home sweet home.”

  Applause burst out followed by a few sharp whistles.

  “Do another.”

  “Encore.”

  Nola jerked up her head and looked around, noticing that every man stood and clapped. So this crowd appreciated singing. Pleased at the attention, she straightened and dipped her chin in acknowledgement.

  Several men moved forward, and lamplight flashed on a silver coin or two falling into the mug.

  A tall, dark-haired man pushed his way to the front of the crowd. His features were well-balanced and handsome. “Hey, miss, what about joining our table? I bet a pretty little lady like you would bring a man some luck.”

  Nola spotted the saloon women inching forward, frowns marring their painted faces. Uh oh. She did not want to make enemies, so she graced him with a wide smile. “I appreciate the invitation but need to get my star performers home.” She tossed a glance toward the bartender, hoping for rescue, but that was a wasted effort.

  He stood with arms crossed over his burly chest and watched.

  The redhead tugged on his sleeve and pressed next to him. “Come on, Frank.” Her rouged lips forming into a pout.

  “Yeah, McCurdy. We got a game to finish.” A player standing in the shadows waved a beckoning arm.

  “Leave me, Ruby.” The man in demand squared his stance and eased back his hat with the tip of his finger. “I want to hear the lady sing another song.”

  “How kind of you, sir.” Nola knew her voice was pleasant, but it was not practiced or cultured. Usually, she performed only short verses as segues to cue the dogs on and off the stage. Her thoughts warred, one superseding the other. She’d been gone quite a while from the campsite. What would Torin think if he awoke to an empty wagon? But what vaudevillian walked away from a command performance?

  “Let me sweeten the request.” Mr. McCurdy slipped a coin from his front pants pocket and held up a dime for the crowd to see before tossing it into the tankard. The smile he sent her way didn’t reach his eyes, and an eyebrow cocked in challenge.

  The clunk of the coin echoed within Nola. Ten cents closer to the repair cost. Honoring this request felt like she’d be risking more than performing alone had. Suddenly, she was aware of the costume that hugged her body a bit too tightly and how vulnerable she felt without the distance provided by a raised stage and a buffering space between the seated audience. Blood pounded in her ears. Perhaps she should have let Torin know about her plan to be the entertainment in a saloon.

  “Maybe the lady needs encouragement,” Hardy yelled out and started a round of applause which slowly built throughout the room.

  Nola gave the sign for the dogs to lie down and stay before stepping beside the piano. “Do you know “Jeanie With the Light Brown Hair”?” Seeing the man’s nod, she composed herself, hands clasped at her waist and her chin tipped down until she heard the first notes. For the next three minutes, Nola focused on spots on the wall above the tallest man in the crowd and sang. Into the words she put all the emotion of this frustrating day—of having to turn back to town, of the cost of the needed repairs, and of the fight over Torin’s handling of the arrangements. Plus she hadn’t known how much she would miss spending time with Cinnia and Dorrie. The song’s last word rose on a plaintive note and wavered in the air before she dropped a curtsey and then cast a glance around the unmoving crowd.

  For long seconds, silence reigned then tempered applause sounded, finally growing louder. Men stamped their feet and raised dirt clouds as they brushed a sleeve over their cheeks.

  The ovation went on long enough to bring a flush to Nola’s cheeks. She scurried over to the dogs, busying herself with removing their hats and skirts before changing her shoes. As she buttoned her coat, she moved close to the piano player. “Thank you for your help.”

  A couple more audience members dropped in coins.

  When she picked up the tankard, she pulled out two dimes and laid them on the piano top. “These are for you. I’m Nola…” Again, she hesitated over using her last name then just smiled. “What’s your name?”

  The man’s response was interrupted by the bar owner’s heavy-footed arrival.

  “Miss, I’m in the market for fresh entertainment.” Hardy rubbed his hands on the towel that hung from his waistband. “You interested?”

  Nola realized she’d been staring at the flowing, fluttering movement of his long moustache as he spoke. She shook her head to concentrate on his question. “I’m only in town until my wagon is repaired. Are you offering me a job?”

  “Leave the dogs to home. Be here tomorrow at nine in the evening. I’ll pay you two dollars to sing for an hour.” He grabbed her hand and shook. “Tips extra, of course.”

  Two dollars for an hour’s work? “You’ve hired a singer, Mr. Hardy. And thank you.” Feeling like she floated over the floor, she gathered her possessions, lit the lantern, and walked into the chilly night air. A variety of song line-ups filtered through her mind as she trudged over the prairie grass that crunched with each step. Only when she noticed that the windows of the showman’s wagon shone yellow with light did her euphoria wane.

  Torin was awake.

  Uneasiness crept along her skin, but her steps didn’t falter. Cold air nipped at her nose and the tips of her ears. She couldn’t very well linger outside any longer than needed. The three of them would freeze.

  From the darkness, a horse nickered at their approach, and one of the dogs gave an answering bark.

  The wagon door swung out, casting a long silhouette of a tall man onto the prairie. “Where in tarnation have you been, Nola?” Torin clambered down
the stairs and stomped toward her.

  Sucking in a breath, she stopped and braced herself. “I performed the dogs—”

  “I was worried.” He engulfed her in a tight one-armed embrace. After huffing out a deep breath, he relaxed his hold and escorted her up the metal steps.

  Sensing his concern, she finally allowed herself to acknowledge that her scheme may not have been the smartest decision she’d ever made. Thankfully, on a Sunday night in a small Montana Territory town, the saloon patrons had not been too rowdy nor had she endured any untoward gestures. Blessed warmth enveloped her, and Nola leaned against the closest cupboard. A look around the space reassured her she was indeed safe again. The hammock no longer hung in the aisle, but instead, lay tossed on the mattress.

  Torin fumbled with the buttons on her coat. “Do you know how I felt when I awoke to total silence in the wagon? No breathing, no doggy grunts. First, I thought you had to take the dogs to answer nature’s call. But then your absence dragged on and on. And you didn’t answer when I called.”

  Concern deepened his voice to a rumbling rasp, and Nola swallowed past a lump in her throat. Truly, she assumed he’d sleep through her little sojourn. They’d only shared sleeping space for two nights. How could he have gotten used to their noises? “I’m sorry, Torin. Let me undo my coat. Could you unleash the dogs, maybe give them a sip of water, and put them to bed? They have been real troupers tonight, but they aren’t used to such long walks.” Nothing in her adult life prepared her for knowing he’d get this worried. No one at the orphanage had much cared about her whereabouts as long as she completed her chores. Once the sisters were on their own, she’d always been the one who bore the concerns about how life affected her and Cinnia.