Between Love and Lies (2 page)

“Only here as a favor. Mr. Adams owns the herd.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at his friend, Lewis. “If you want to buy the cattle, talk to him. This time ’round, I’m no more than a trail boss.”

Noah hoped that’d be enough to discourage Wardell. He didn’t like him, didn’t want to talk to him. The man was too full of himself, loud and showy as a jaybird. Nothing was overstated about Wardell’s countenance however. His eyes were a watery blue, his chin nonexistent, the flesh of his neck loose and sagging, like the wattle of a turkey.

Luckily, Noah’s words had the desired effect. Wardell dismissed him, turning his eager eyes and broad smile toward Lewis. “Welcome to our town, good sir,” he said. “We’re honored that you chose our humble rail stop for shipping your herd.”

Lewis laughed. Noah had known him since they were boys growing up on neighboring ranches. Lewis had always matched him in height and muscle while somehow appearing lighter. He retained the unflappable spirit of his youth, plus his windswept blond hair. Not once had Lewis lost his temper during the two months it’d taken them to inch up the six hundred miles of the Western Trail.

Noah couldn’t say the same for himself.

“How could I resist after your trail agents arrived in Texas, enticing us with tales of Dodge’s unrestrained hospitality?” Lewis flashed the perfect grin that never failed to draw everyone to him like a stampede.

More often than not, Noah was left standing in their dust. With Wardell, he welcomed the experience.

Wardell thrust out his chest like a bantam rooster. “Did they exaggerate?”

The town hadn’t changed much in the year since Noah had last seen it, had only gotten more crowded. The streets swarmed with life: a handful of bankers, blacksmiths, merchants, grocers…and a horde of Texas drovers with their wide-brimmed hats and stack-heeled boots inlaid with a lone star. Fresh-faced youths, hardened trail bosses, dandified cattle barons. Men of all sorts but mostly that—men.

Since their arrival yesterday, Noah had been searching Dodge’s streets, but he hadn’t found her. No slender-boned redhead with mesmerizing freckles and blazing emerald eyes.

In the last miles before Dodge, they’d ridden right by her farm. He hadn’t been surprised to find the homestead abandoned and sinking back into the earth. Last year, he’d had no idea how destructive the cattle drives could be on the small farms between Texas and Kansas. He’d heard that many went under when their crops were trampled and their cattle fell ill with fever from the longhorn tick. It ate at his conscience that he’d destroyed someone’s livelihood and, more than likely, their dreams as well.

Hoping to find Timothy Sullivan’s daughter in Dodge was a long shot, yet he couldn’t stop himself from searching.

He cleared his throat, reluctant to engage Wardell in further conversation now that he’d shifted the man’s focus to Lewis. “How’re your local folk holding up?” he asked, continuing to scan the crowd.

“As you can see, our town’s prospering.”

“Was wondering more about those
outside
of town.”

“The sod busters?” Wardell’s voice overflowed with scorn. “Don’t concern yourself with them. They’re a dying breed in these parts. Better to do business with a free-thinking Texas rancher than an uncouth Kansas farmer.”

“Free-spending, don’t you mean?” Noah grimaced.
Leave it alone
, he told himself and prayed for the good sense to say no more. He wasn’t here to argue about right and wrong. He was here to ensure he’d righted a wrong.

Wardell shrugged. “One has to make a living. Mine is buying and selling cattle. I’m a businessman first and foremost, and there’s no business to be gotten from a farmer. They’re a worthless lot. Clear your mind of them and turn your thoughts to our saloons. I recommend the Northern Star. I’m sure after those long months on the trail, you and Mr. Adams could use some womanly comfort.”

Lewis looped an arm around Noah’s shoulders. “Mr. Wardell makes an excellent suggestion. Let’s get off this dusty street. Whatever you’re searching for…surely it’ll survive the next hour without your attention?”

Noah shrugged off his hold. “I’m not searching for anything.”

Lewis snorted good-naturedly, then leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Save the bullshit for someone who hasn’t known you most of your life. You haven’t been the same since you came home from Dodge last year. Confounds me why you agreed to help drive my herd north.” He blew out an extended breath. “Whatever the reason, I’m grateful. I’m not complaining. But how about taking a break?” Lewis’ familiar grin returned. “Who knows, maybe we’ll find what you need in one of the saloons.”

Noah shook his head. “Not a chance in hell.” He needed to find a farm girl, not some strumpet.

* * *

Heaven help her
, the saloon was packed tonight. Sadie had seen the Northern Star busy, but this was ten times that. Every chair was occupied, every wall lined. Patrons were three deep to the bar, calling for whiskey in voices as grating as the bawling longhorns they’d been herding an hour before.

The one difference was the men were all scrubbed clean, after a mad dash down to the barber and bathhouse. Otherwise, the dusty, trail-smelling drovers would’ve been barred from the saloon. One had to keep up standards. Madam Garrett insisted.

Forget standards, what about survival? They’d all be lucky if they lived through the evening with this mass stampede for entertainment. The men may have been all tidied up, but their manners were unchanged.

Sadie stood hidden behind the ruby curtains framing the stage, considering turning tail and running. She wouldn’t get far, though. Not with Handsome John standing so close.

Among other things, John was the Star’s box herder. He kept the ladies in line and fetched them back if they took any ideas of independence. Moments ago, Gertie Garrett had instructed her right-hand man to keep watch over Sadie. He was to protect her from the crowd, and from her own self. He’d have to punish her if she ran. Those were the rules.

John turned, looked her straight in the eye and she realized with a jolt that he was nervous as well. Rightfully so. A giant of a man with a battle-scarred face, he towered over everyone and outweighed most men two to one, but he was only one man against a hundred. His gaze dropped to the floor, his lips compressing into a resigned line before disappearing beneath the snarl of his beard. He drew himself up and stepped onto the stage and out of Sadie’s sight, entering the lion’s den.

“Settle down now, boys,” he hollered.

Nothing happened. If anything, the noise increased.

Her guardian tried again. “I said, pipe down!”

Curses and jeers turned the air blue, followed by the shattering of glass. Close by. On the stage where John stood. His calls for order had their attention.

Sadie flattened her spine against the wall. The rough-cut boards dug into her flesh, reminding her that the men couldn’t see her. Still safe. Still a coward. She squeezed shut her eyes, gulped a breath of air and began to sing.

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…”

She grimaced, but didn’t stop. Why had she chosen such a song? Was it because this morning she’d been pondering her past, both before and after she’d come to live in Dodge? Was it because she’d decided God would never forgive her for all the sins she’d committed of late?

Whatever the reason, her selection didn’t matter. The men were too busy kicking up a ruckus to listen to her.
Damn them and their gracelessness. Damn them all to hell.
If it was possible to send them there with a song, then she’d give it her best.

She raised her chin and her voice as well.

On the other side of the wall, all went quiet. She kept singing as if her life depended on it. And it did.

Her every move at the Northern Star seemed a step deeper into hell. The role she’d concocted to slow her descent was a precarious one. She’d saved herself with a series of lies that now might lead to her death. But the lies were all she’d had.
Too late to do anything differently,
she reminded herself.
Keep lying…and singing.

Heart hammering against her ribcage, she opened her eyes and midsentence stepped onto the stage. A sea of faces stared up at her, unmoving. Liquor bottles and glasses hovered in their hands. Forgotten. A new indulgence had captured their attention.

All too soon, the last line in her song slipped from her lips. She drew the words out, trying to hold on to them, dreading their departure. Without her song, she feared chaos would return.

And then there was silence. Not a word. Not a footfall. Nothing.

“God in heaven,” a man standing in the front row said. His words echoed in the stillness, making her flinch. “You sing like a preacher’s daughter. But if I’d wanted a sermon, I’d ’a gone to church.”

Laughter slipped from her lips, a bubbling carefree sound that took her by surprise. When was the last time she’d laughed? She couldn’t remember. Didn’t want to remember. The past was gone and the future uncertain. All she had was today.

“Well—” She drew in another breath for courage. “We can’t have you thinking this is a house of the Lord.” Or that she was pure. She needed to maintain the appearance of a seasoned saloon girl.

She forced herself to lean forward and prop her hands on her knees, so she could stare directly into her reluctant disciple’s eyes.

His gaze fell to her cleavage and stayed there.

“Now you see what you want to see.” Bit by bit, she straightened, sliding her hands up her legs until they settled on her hips. She assumed one of the poses she’d observed the other girls at the Star employ…and put some thought into her next song.

“There’s a yellow rose of Texas

That I am going to see.”

Shrill whistles and a volley of shouts greeted her choice. But it was the abrupt intake of breath behind her that drew her attention. Handsome John’s jaw hung so low it rested on his chest.

Didn’t think I had it in me, huh? She gave him a mock salute. Wasn’t certain I did either.

With a shake of his head, John settled the contours of his scarred face back into its usual scowl and lumbered off to tend the bar. Sadie turned back to her audience and strove to make the next line of her song as sultry and breathless as she could.

“No other fellow knows her,

No other, only me.”

The men’s appreciation grew louder.

Texans. One of their statesmen had started her descent. The one with eyes like fine whiskey.
Nothing fine about him.
He’d destroyed everything she had. Then he’d left. His memory didn’t deserve to linger in her thoughts.

By God’s hand— No, by her own hand, she’d get out of Dodge. She’d be beholden to none. She’d be free. Completely free.

But first she’d give these Texans something to remember.

Strident piano music, so unlike Edward’s masterful playing, joined her song. He’d insisted she had her own talents, hidden ones waiting to surface. A surge of confidence made her buoyant, lifted her voice above the clamor. She was pulling it off, holding the men’s attention and more. They’d bought her act. They believed she was one of Gertie’s girls, just another prostitute with only her wits and her will to keep her alive.

Her gaze skimmed the sea of faces: clean-shaven and bearded, young and old, drunk and sober—then jerked to a halt on one she knew. Disbelief stole the strength from her voice.

Lord in merciful heaven, it couldn’t be.

The face from her past. A face better left there. She kept singing, but every fiber of her body begged to retreat from the stage, to crawl away so she could hide her wounds. Unwelcome memories—her father’s betrayal, Madam Garrett’s ownership, Edward’s death—surfaced, so vivid they could’ve happened yesterday rather than during the last year, making her voice more breathless, her song more emotional.

She closed her eyes, opened them again ever so slowly. She wasn’t dreaming.

The face remained, solid and unmoving. A face so compelling it was sinful. She cursed every line of his features, from the straight slant of his nose to the robust square of his jaw…and his whiskey-colored eyes.

You took my home. You took my future. You cannot be trusted.
The sorrow constricting her chest splintered into anger.
May the devil take
you
straight back to hell.

* * *

Awareness prickled the nape of Noah’s neck as he and Lewis stood in the doorway of the Northern Star Saloon.

“Jesus,” Lewis whispered. “An angel is singing about Texas. I must have died and gone to heaven.”

Sweet Jesus, indeed
. He’d never heard a voice as compelling as the one that washed over him now. The husky rawness awakened every nerve in his body. It drew him like a parched man to a watering hole.

His step quickened as he pushed through the crowd in search of the voice’s owner. Cowhands, trail bosses and wealthy cattle barons pressed shoulder to shoulder, all focused on one thing—the redhead on a raised stage in the far corner.

His redhead.

The air abandoned his lungs in a rush. He blinked, forced himself to take a second look. Nothing had changed. She was still onstage…but oh, had
she
changed since he’d last he’d seen her. Gone was the tangle of red tresses, replaced by a mass of curls artfully arranged atop her head. Her pretty gingham dress had been swapped for a shiny sapphire creation with a high hem, tight waist and a plunging neckline.