Charlene Sands (12 page)

Bodine wouldn’t sleep now. He’d listen for Emmy on the other side of the wall. If she went out, he’d follow her.

He’d know all of young Emma Marie Rourke’s daily routines. He’d shadowed her once already, before the incident with Red Hurley, and he’d do it again.

From now on she was his job, he told himself.

Nothing more.

Emma walked out of the Golden Dollar Saloon, unable to hide her glee. Her request to sing a compilation of songs tomorrow evening had been instantly refused by the proprietor. But Emma had learned a thing or two since setting out on this venture, so instead of quarreling with Mr. Dickson, she simply walked over to the bar and let her voice do the arguing. She sang a cowboy’s lament first, putting all of her heart into the sad song and capturing the proprietor’s full attention. Then she sang a pleasant ditty she’d written by her own hand, showing Mr. Dickson the full range of her resilient voice.

Humbled, Mr. Dickson had stared at Emma for a long few seconds, his eyes blinking away his disbelief. “All that coming from such a wisp of a girl.”

She’d gotten the job for two nights running
and
he’d agree to pay her a small sum of money, as well.

Content that she’d accomplished her goal, she headed toward Mademoiselle Carlotta Dubois’s dressmaking shop.

The only sadness she experienced now was in Bodine’s leaving. He was off to capture the outlaw who’d taken his brother’s life. She couldn’t shake the sense of dread she experienced, thinking of him hunting that murdering outlaw. She told herself he was a man more capable than any she’d met before, except perhaps for her grandfather, Captain Miles Rourke of the Union Army. He’d been as strong, powerful and headstrong as Bodine.

Emma realized that she’d miss Bodine in the same way she missed her grandfather. Both had irritated and taunted her to no end, yet she’d changed simply from knowing each of them.

An overhead bell chimed when Emma entered into the dressmaker’s shop. She closed the door slowly and greeted an older woman who approached wearing a smile, her deep blue eyes dancing with warmth. Mademoiselle Dubois, if Emma assumed correctly, moved gracefully, her clothes impeccable on a body with a little too much thickness around her curves. Yet, the woman was lovely, with auburn hair stylishly piled atop her head and only a few age lines marring a beautiful face.

“Good afternoon,
mademoiselle.
I am Carlotta Dubois. May I help you?”

Emma glanced around the shop, her heart thrilling at all the beautiful fabrics surrounding her. At last she’d have a dress made to her own specifications, one that suited her stature and form, a gown that she would wear only to entertain. She needed more than calico and simple lace.

“Yes, hello.” She put out her hand. “I’m Emma Marie. I’ve been engaged to put on a show for the Golden Dollar Saloon. I’ll need an appropriate gown.”

No immediate condemnation entered into the dressmaker’s eyes, only assessment, the subtle scanning over her body. “You have such deep eyes,” said Mademoiselle Dubois with a charming slight French accent. “We shall concentrate on colors that will make them sparkle, yes?” She continued to assess Emma, thoughtful as she looked her over. “Such slight curves and wonderful shoulders.” She nodded. “Lovely. What form of entertainment, may I ask?”

“I’m a…vocalist. I’ll be singing two collections per night for at least two nights at the Golden Dollar.”

“Ah, yes, I see. You will need something that flows as you move.”

Mademoiselle Dubois showed Emma a book of designs and she made suggestions that suited Emma’s tastes. Before long they’d agreed on the style and colors. Emma waited while the dressmaker cut out the pattern and was only too happy to stand for a fitting.

More than two hours later, the seamstress smiled and nodded her approval. “You will be charming in this gown. I will start on this immediately and promise to have it ready for you by tomorrow evening.”

“Thank you,” Emma said with joy and delight. This was the first step in achieving one goal, and if she were to get lucky at all on this trip, perhaps she would achieve both of them. “And I do accept your dinner invitation. I don’t really know…” she began, thinking about Bodine and wondering if he’d made it to the next town yet, “anybody in this town. It’s very nice of you to invite me, Mademoiselle Dubois.”

“Please, call me Carlotta. And it is my pleasure. We’ll dine at the finest establishment in Bridgeton and get to know one another.”

Emma already knew plenty about Mademoiselle Dubois. The elegant woman had a way with words, between cutting fabric and pinning Emma into her gown, and hadn’t been shy about revealing the adventuresome life she’d had and the many lovers she’d taken.

Emma found her fascinating and wondered if her life would turn out just the same as the dressmaker’s. She had never married, instead enjoyed a life filled with doing things she loved. Emma couldn’t miss the light in Carlotta’s eyes as she concentrated and calculated, working the designs in her head.

Would Emma’s destiny be much the same? Would she take on lovers to enjoy for a time but never settle down? Would she find solace in her songs and lead such a shocking life as Carlotta Dubois? Emma looked forward to their dinner later in the evening to learn more about this intriguing woman.

After all, she was on her own now.

Bodine was long gone.

“I
know what you are thinking, Emma. How shall I spend this evening with you and finish your gown before tomorrow evening, yes?”

Heat seared Emma’s throat and climbed up her face. She’d never ask such a thing, but she had to admit the notion had crossed her mind several times tonight.

They’d dined on a tasty French dish called cassoulet, a stew made up of slow-cooked white beans, pork and goose and had sipped red wine at Carlotta’s oval dining table. Emma couldn’t deny the food was delicious. The French woman had cooking abilities that matched her talent as a dressmaker.

“I believe that you’ll have my gown ready on time, Carlotta.” Emma hoped she sounded convincing.

“Well said, but still, you wonder how I shall accomplish such a task in a short time, no?”

Emma remained silent and the woman’s smile broadened as she took up their dinner plates. “It is my secret.”

“You have help then, Carlotta? Workers you keep hidden in this pretty cottage?”

Emma had never seen a home quite like this one. Bordering the outer edge of town, the small stylish house filled with rich furnishings and exquisite artwork seemed to fit only in some foreign land. Carlotta had explained she’d designed the home, paying a small fortune for the construction to replicate the house she had grown up in as a child in the French countryside.

“No, my dear. I would never allow another hand in the creation of my gowns. You see, Emma, I am a night owl. I do not require a good deal of sleep. I work by lamplight in the evenings and at times well into the hours before dawn. Tonight will be such a night. I have already made good progress and, so now, we will have pastries and coffee. Then I shall introduce you to a few more patrons of the Golden Dollar as we take the walk back to your hotel.”

“That is very kind of you. But you have already introduced me to so many people here.”

Earlier this evening, Emma had met the dressmaker at her shop and, as they walked the length of the town to her home, Mademoiselle Carlotta had introduced Emma as a talented new songstress, Miss Emma Marie, to the banker, the smithy, an attorney-at-law and several prominent ranchers. She’d made sure to inform them of Emma’s performance at the Golden Dollar and they had all looked Emma in the eye and promised to spread the word. She said that a gifted performer was always well received in town and that she knew that Donald Dickson would never hire someone unless they could draw a crowd.

Emma’s confidence waned some. She knew she could sing, but to entertain such large numbers of men, many of whom would be rowdy and imbibing, would surely test her courage. As of this moment, Emma had only sung to large masses in the church choir. But she couldn’t forget her mission and the reason for this performance. With such a hearty group of cowboys in attendance, she would have ample opportunity to seek the answers to her questions about her father’s whereabouts. In doing so, she would also discover the thrill of performing. She could only hope it would be all that she believed it to be.

After devouring several mouthwatering pastries called petits fours, which Carlotta explained meant
small oven
in French, Emma strolled arm in arm with her along the sidewalk, heading back to the hotel. Fresh cool night air wakened her senses after such a big meal and the walk back to town was both an invited and welcomed way to stretch her legs. “You might have to make adjustments to my gown now, Carlotta. After eating such a scrumptious meal and those little cakes, I think I’m wider around the middle.”

Carlotta shook her head in disbelief. “You have a shape any woman would envy. A few pounds here and there does not matter as much.”

“I always thought I was too thin,” she said, revealing her innermost thoughts without compunction.

Carlotta waved away that notion. “Pooh. Who’s to say that so much is too thin, so much is too large? Your body is how God created it. You have good health, no?”

“Yes, I have good health.”

“You have talent.”

It was a statement. She had taken Emma at her word. Already, after knowing Carlotta just one day, she felt great camaraderie with this woman. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Carlotta lifted her lips in a knowing smile, her eyes meeting Emma’s with warmth. “The talent is your passion, Emma. I see it in your eyes and hear your eagerness even as you speak to me. You will perform and you will be a huge success.”

Mademoiselle Carlotta Dubois had a keen sense, it seemed, when it came to knowing something of passion. Emma nodded, unable to deny the claim. “It appears I have a new friend.”

Carlotta continued to smile. “Yes, we are friends. Now, I will introduce you to others and you will make many new friends.”

Bodine gnawed on a chunk of jerky, following the two women from a long distance. He’d shadowed Emma since the moment she’d left her hotel room this afternoon. She’d walked straight into the saloon and, when Bodine thought she’d be tossed out quickly, he’d heard the lulling sound of her voice coming from inside the saloon.

Hell, he hadn’t expected it. She’d learned how to cozy up to the proprietor, giving the full range of her voice a chance to persuade him. Bodine figured she’d not be refused anywhere she ventured if she continued to use that tactic.

He didn’t like it.

If Emma Marie Rourke could find one thing, it was trouble.

Wearing a satisfied expression, she’d traipsed into the mercantile next, spending twenty minutes there before returning to the hotel with her small purchases. She’d spent some quiet time in her room and Bodine had closed his eyes during those moments.

Just before dusk, she left the hotel once again to enter the dressmaker’s shop. Shortly after, both women left together and headed to the outskirts of town on foot.

For two full hours, from a point just beyond the neighboring schoolhouse, Bodine had watched the house they entered. Leaning against a tree until his bones ached, he waited, seeing smoke release in puffs from the home’s chimney as he peered inside a window. Only dim images appeared through the lace curtains and, from what he could tell, the women entertained no other guests.

Emmy had made a friend.

No harm in that, he figured. But they’d stopped along the sidewalk so often this evening, with the dressmaker introducing Emmy to every person they had encountered, it was beginning to chafe his hide.

Only when she had walked into the hotel again did Bodine let down his guard.

It had been a long day. Hardly seemed like this morning she’d been begging him to teach her how to shoot a gun. He hadn’t the time or inclination. A girl like Emmy could get herself in a fix if she tried aiming a gun at someone. With her petite size, she’d be too easy to overpower. At least, that’s what he told himself.

He waited until Emmy had time enough to enter her room, watching the door close from the downstairs lobby before he turned on his heel and left the hotel.

He headed for the Golden Dollar Saloon.

A few minutes later, Bodine braced his arms against the bar, gulping down a shot of fine whiskey. Sure beat the berry wine he’d had at Big Ed’s place. The liquor slid down smooth and warmed him, easing away the ache in his shoulder some.

He caught the barkeep’s attention. “A young woman came in here this afternoon,” he stated matter-of-factly. “What’d she want?”

“You mean the little gal who could sing like a satisfied wh—”

“Like an
angel?
” He narrowed his eyes on the man wiping a glass clean inside and out with a cloth. Bodine wasn’t sure where in hell his protective urges came from, but he wouldn’t allow anyone disrespecting Emmy.

The man eyed him. “You’re that bounty hunter, right? I’ve seen you in here before.”

“Yeah, I’ve been in here.”

“So, why are you asking about our new entertainment? Is she in trouble with the law?”

Bodine chuckled and sipped his drink. “That little gal? Nah, just wondering is all.”

“Mr. Dickson hired her on for two nights starting tomorrow.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Hard to imagine such a big sound coming from such a little gal. But I was in the back room and, soon as I heard that voice, I came out, sorta struck.”

Yeah, Emmy had that effect on people.

The barkeep went on, his expression one of awe. “Don’t mean any disrespect, but one minute she’s singing like a woman whose had ten lovers, the next she’s singing a little jingle that puts a silly smile on your face. The boss had his doubts when she walked in, but soon as she sang, he didn’t hesitate to hire her. Miss Emma Marie is her name. Come by tomorrow night and hear for yourself. We’re expecting a good crowd.”

Bodine winced. His suspicions were correct. Emmy had been hired at the saloon. The next two nights would be the busiest for the saloon—the cattlemen and their ranch hands never missed coming into town at the end of the week. He finished his second whiskey and slammed down the glass. “Plan to.”

Pulling coins from his pocket, he laid them on top of the bar. “You ever hear anything about a man named Jake Trundy?”

The barkeep thought for a second, pouring a whiskey for a man down a ways from Bodine. He returned, shaking his head. “Nope,” he said, before furrowing his forehead. “Seems that little gal had the same question for me.”

“That right?” Bodine feigned ignorance. “What’d you tell her?”

The barkeep shrugged. “Same thing. I haven’t heard of him. Not in the five years I’ve been working this bar.”

“And Rusty Metcalf?”

“Yeah, I sure have heard of him. Most folks have. He’s a killer and a thief.”

“With a high price on his head,” Bodine added. “I’m looking for him. If you ever hear of his whereabouts, I’m sharing a percentage of my bounty when I get him. Could make someone a rich man.”

The bartender’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then he looked Bodine directly in the eyes. “You want him that bad?”

Hatred he’d been living with for the past few months surfaced and he couldn’t keep pure venom from his voice. “Yeah,” he rasped out. “I want him that bad.”

The next afternoon, Emma stood in the dressmaker’s shop and viewed herself in the big cheval mirror. She wore a new white petticoat that hugged her small waist, with layers of ruffles filling out her backside and giving her a true womanly form.

Carlotta had done up her hair, just as her mama had years ago, piling the tresses atop her head and bringing strands to come down in ringlets. “I could never thank you enough for this, Carlotta. I doubt I’d be able to curl my hair in such a way without your help.”

Carlotta stepped back and away, assessing her with sharp eyes. “Yes, I helped. But,” she began, nodding her head, “now you know how simple it is. A little heat and a rod to wrap around your hair is all that is needed. The curls are lovely against your face.”

Emma glanced once again in the mirror. Carlotta had put a little dotting of ash on the line of her eyelids and the result made her large eyes appear even more distinct.

“Now it is time for the gown.” Carlotta revealed the gown she’d hidden behind the patterned dressing screen. In a sweeping motion, she swung the finished garment up and held it before Emma’s astonished eyes.

“Oh,” she gasped, touching the silken fabric, her hands trembling. Emma had worn lovely clothing before, having had some gowns made for her by a seamstress, but nothing compared to Mademoiselle Carlotta Dubois’s creation. “It’s stunning. I can’t wait to put it on.”

Carlotta didn’t hesitate. “Well, I am anxious to see this on you, as well. I have worked all hours of the night and morning on it. Go ahead. Put it on, Emma.”

Emma stepped into the gown carefully, and Carlotta helped draw it up and fasten the tiny pearl buttons in the back. She glanced at her from above her shoulders, staring into Emma’s reflection. “Now, you look like a true songstress. No one shall doubt it.”

Emma stared at herself in the mirror. The gown fit her form to perfection, showing just a hint of her shoulders in a swoop design, tapering in at her waist and flaring out with ample layers of lace-edged material. The silken ecru gown fringed with brown cord did indeed accent her dark eyes and complement her complexion.

For one instant, Emma wished Bodine could see her in this gown. She’d lost her trust in him, that much was true, but everything feminine inside wanted him to see her this way, looking less the bedraggled peasant in tattered rags and more the sophisticated woman in a charming gown. It was a foolish notion, but was it so wrong to want a man to look upon her with desire and appreciation?

Bodine
had
wanted her.

She would take some consolation in that.

There was no denying the lust in his eyes and the tremor in their bodies when they touched. There was no denying his brazen arousal when he pressed himself close, awakening another passion in her—one she had never experienced before.

The memory of those times in the cabin swamped her with heat, her lower regions stirring from the recollection. She couldn’t dwell in the past. Bodine had moved on and she must do the same. Her plan, her mission was coming to life. She would see it to fruition. She wouldn’t think of the small piece of her heart the bounty hunter had taken when he said farewell.