Just After Midnight: Historical Romance (2 page)

“Sure it has, Lovey. You lie down, and I’ll come back to get you when the dance hall opens. You can just watch things tonight. Later we’ll move you into your papa’s rooms. You can stay there while you’re here.”

Megan frowned. “What do you mean ‘while I’m here’?”

Queen shrugged. “I don’t figure that you’ll be stayin’ overly long. This is a tough town, a hard life.”

“I’ve lived in boomtowns for the past ten years. I may not look strong, but I am.” Megan lifted her chin. “I’ll be staying.”

“You can sell out and make a tidy profit, go back to an easier life in San Francisco.”

“I’m not a quitter. This dance hall is the only thing I have left of my father, and I don’t plan to sell it to the highest bidder. I’m not going to disgrace his faith in me by turning tail and running when things get a little rough.”

“Hmm . . .” Queen stared at her for a long moment, blood-red nail tapping equally bright lips. “Well, we’ll see. You’ll learn soon enough that Dawson City’s not like the rest of the world. Get some rest now.”

Megan gritted her teeth. She’d had to prove her worth in each and every town they’d done business in; why should Dawson City be any different?

After thanking Queen for her help, Megan closed the door and climbed into bed. She tossed and turned for several moments before giving up. Reaching into the pocket of her dress, Megan withdrew a worn piece of paper.

June 1, 1897

Dearest Daughter,

I am sure the incredible news has reached you in San Francisco by now. Gold has been struck in the Klondike. Yes, gold, dear girl. Your papa’s luck has come in at last. But Brian Daily is not so foolish as to break his back searching for the glittering dust. No, I have opened a saloon and dance hall for the hard-working miners. Their newfound wealth has made me a rich man.

Come immediately, Meggie, my girl. I need your help and “The Celebration” could use your organizational skills. Sell the eatery and use the funds for your trip. I instruct you to travel by water route to Dawson City as quickly as possible. Do not, under any circumstances, proceed by land. Dead Horse Trail awaits the unwary. Since the rivers freeze early in the land of the midnight sun, you must hurry to the Klondike with all speed. If all goes well, I hope to set eyes upon your lovely face before winter sets in.

Your papa

The paper swam before her eyes, then fell to the floor as Megan raised her hands to her face and wept.

As afternoon gave way to evening with no visible change in the brightness of the sun, Alex strode down the mud-soaked main street of Dawson City, angry with himself and Megan Daily. When she had literally fallen into his arms, his surprise had quickly given way to interest when his gaze took in the smooth perfection of her skin. She looked so young lying unconscious in his arms that he had felt an overwhelming urge to protect her. But when she awoke and told him who and what she was, his male regard had wavered on the edge of disgust. Still, there was something about her eyes that haunted him.

Alex shook his head. He didn’t have time for a woman, especially that woman. He’d asked to be placed on the force in the Yukon because he had a purpose here. He needed to concentrate on that purpose.

Reaching his quarters in the barracks of the mounted police, Alex undressed and threw himself onto his bunk. He stared at the sun’s reflection across the plank wall and remembered Joanna. Pretty, innocent, trusting Joanna. Why had she run away from home? Who had killed her?

He had traced his sister to The Celebration and then to Paradise Alley. She had died a prostitute in a filthy, backwater street—his sweet Joanna. Rage filled him at the thought. He had been too late to save her; but he was not too late to make whoever had abandoned her in Dawson City pay for that mistake.

Unless, of course, that man had been Brian Daily. If his suspicions proved correct, the only revenge Alex would have would be the hope that Brian roasted in Hell throughout eternity.

CHAPTER TWO

Megan spent the remainder of her first afternoon in the Klondike berating herself over the death of her father. If she had only reached Dawson City before the ice set in, she would have been here to prevent his ill-fated trip to the outside. If she had come with Brian on this trip, rather than remaining behind, she could have stopped him. If, if, if . . . Her head ached from the tears and the guilt and the memories.

Hours later Megan sat up wearily. Glancing at the clock, she jumped to her feet. Queen would be along any minute to take her downstairs, and she wasn’t even dressed yet. The way the blasted sun shone day and night, it was a wonder anyone knew the time.

Since her trunks were nowhere in sight, Megan used the cool water in a pitcher on the dresser to bathe her tear-sore eyes, resolving to change her travel dress when she located her clothes. Her hair had come loose sometime during the afternoon, and she deftly smoothed the long, red tresses into the severe bun she’d adopted long ago to offset her youth.

“Well, Lovey, I must say you do look worse for the wear.”

Megan started. The woman had a knack for catching her unaware. Obviously Queen never entertained the notion of knocking before she entered a room.

“I need to change my dress. Do you know if my trunks have arrived from the ship?”

“Sure thing. I had them put in your pa’s room.” The immense woman looked Megan up and down. “I hope you have somethin’ in those trunks more presentable than that.”

Her earth-toned traveling costume was the height of fashion in San Francisco, but she could see how the dress would be out of place in a dance hall. “I do have a few more colorful dresses to wear when I’m working.”

Queen sniffed. “Good thing, too. You look like a little, brown bird in that rag. We’d best hurry now if you want to get downstairs before the music starts.” She turned and left the room quickly for a person of such girth.

Hurrying to keep pace with Queen, Megan nearly bumped into the woman when she stopped abruptly in front of a set of double doors a few yards down the long hallway. Opening them with a flourish, Queen stepped back and allowed Megan to enter.

Taking several steps into the room, Megan looked around for her belongings, but stopped abruptly, her mouth falling open in amazement at the opulence of her father’s suite.

Electric light reflected off the polished wood floor. Draperies of scarlet velvet obscured the windows. Dominating the chamber, a magnificent four-poster bed stood covered with a blanket of white fur. On the far side of the room, a Turkish bath was visible backed by a wall of mirrors. Megan found the decor of the suite masculine but for the fresh wildflowers that filled several vases. Their fragrance floated to her on the warm air. To her right, another set of double doors opened onto a sitting room, complete with a fireplace. Above the mantel, a large painting of a frail, flame-haired woman occupied the position of honor.

“Mama,” Megan whispered.

“She was right beautiful, your mama,” Queen said, her voice quiet for the first time since Megan had met her.

“I’ve never seen that painting before.”

“Your pa had it painted right here in Dawson City once The Celebration began to make money. He must have loved her somethin’ fierce.”

“He did.” Megan paused, staring transfixed at the image she had nearly forgotten. “I thought he’d go to pieces when she died. I was only thirteen.”

“You were what kept him goin’ through those tough times, I’m sure. He loved you. Talked about you nonstop.” Queen made a shooing motion with her large, painted fingers. “Get dressed. The curtain’ll go up in fifteen minutes whether I’m on stage or not.”

Megan crossed to her trunks beneath the window. Opening one, she pulled out the first dress she found and was pleased to see her favorite deep-lavender silk with the leg-of-mutton sleeves and godet skirt.

Glancing toward the door, she found Queen lounging against the wall, her gaze on Megan. The woman couldn’t expect her to change while she watched, could she? Megan raised her eyebrows while nodding at the door. Queen hoisted her huge frame upright. “All right, I’ll go. But I can tell you, there ain’t nothin’ beneath that brown disgrace for a dress that I haven’t seen before. Many times.”

When the door closed behind Queen, Megan gave a sigh of relief. “Maybe so, but I’ve never undressed in front of anyone in my life, and I don’t plan to start with you.”

Quickly removing her traveling costume, Megan slipped into the dress. The cool, smooth silk felt wonderful and the familiarity of the oft-worn fabric soothed her. She rubbed both hands up and down her shoulders, breathing deeply to calm herself. She could think of nothing she wanted to do less than face people with her heart bruised and battered. But her father would expect her to do her job.

When Megan opened the door, she found Queen leaning over the wood railing observing the dance hall below. “Got a full house for your first night.” The woman turned and her mouth dropped open with surprise.

“What’s the matter?” Megan asked, looking down to see if anything were amiss. Finding nothing unbuttoned or torn, she turned her bewildered gaze upon Queen.

“You’re not going to wear that?” Queen’s mouth curled in distaste.

“Of course. This is my favorite dress, and it’s perfect since I’m in mourning.”

“Mourning? You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious. My father is dead. Just because we’re in the wilds of the Yukon doesn’t mean I shouldn’t show proper respect. Though I may have spent the last ten years working day and night for profit, my mother taught me what’s right.”

Queen bit her lip as though she didn’t know what to say next. But she didn’t remain silent for long. “Proper respect is one thing; business is another. Brian would understand what needs to be done to keep up appearances, and that ain’t it.” Queen came closer and lowered her voice as though to share a secret. “Lovey, you look like a spinster schoolteacher with that gown buttoned all the way to your chin and no skin a-showin’ anywhere, not to mention the color. My dead aunt has clothes with more zip. And I wasn’t goin’ to say anything about your hair, but I guess I’d better. Why do you put such pretty red hair up in an old woman's bun? Take advantage of youth, girl; it don’t last forever.”

“I’m not a dance-hall girl, Queen. I’m the owner of The Celebration.”

“That don’t make no difference. I know the men that come in here, and you’ll make them squirm lookin’ like their ancient Aunt Hattie. It’ll ruin business; mark my words.”

Megan frowned. The clothes she wore and the way she did her hair had never put off any of the customers in her other establishments. Sure, Brian had been around then to smooth over any rough spots between her and the men. He had always made his meaning clear—his daughter was off limits for courting; she was present merely as a manager. She just had to make the same rules understood here at the outset.

“Queen, what I wear is of no consequence, I’m sure,” Megan said in the no-nonsense tone she’d found worked best with employees. “Let’s get downstairs or you’ll miss the first dance.”

Queen grumbled all the way down the wooden staircase. But the dancer kept any further opinions of Megan’s appearance confined to that.

The Celebration was geared up for a night of revelry, the dance hall full of men waiting for the show to begin. Queen abandoned Megan at the foot of the stairs and hurried to her place behind the curtain while Megan drifted toward the entryway between the dance hall and the middle room designated for gambling. That room was also full. A glance through to the front room, or saloon, revealed a crowd of men there, as well. Megan smiled—nothing better than a full house.

Silence slowly descended and every eye turned in her direction. Feeling uneasy for the first time she could recall, Megan returned to the dance hall, but the pressure of countless eyes bored into her as she left.

In the dance hall proper, the attention of the men remained on the stage, and Megan took a position at the rear of the room. After a flourish from the musicians, the red-and-gold curtain moved upward and the feet, then legs, then bodies of the women on stage became visible. The crowd hooted, hollered, and stamped their feet as, for the next several hours, dancing girls entertained them.

Megan kept out of the way, observing the crowd and her employees. She was amazed at Queen’s dancing ability and the men's response to her talent. The woman hadn’t been exaggerating her appeal to the opposite sex. When the show was over and the girls mingled with the customers, men surrounded Queen, begging the boon of her first dance.

After a short intermission to wet dry throats, the dancing began. For one dollar a song, a lonely miner could dance with the girl of his choice; and for every dollar spent at the bar, the girl received a circular disc to represent her share of the profits. An energetic dancer with a persuasive attitude could make her fortune in the Klondike.

Megan stood at the end of the polished wood bar and watched the bartenders serve drinks. A small scale was available so gold dust could be weighed for payment.  She was impressed with the speed and accuracy of the bartenders’ measurements. After she had observed for nearly half an hour, the room began to empty.

“Why is everyone leaving so early?” Megan asked one of the bartenders. “I thought the dance halls were full until morning.”

He cleared his throat, swallowed. “Well, miss, I don’t know how to say this.” He reddened before continuing in a rush of words. “You make the men uncomfortable. They’re used to seein' the girls here. They don’t know what to make of you.”

Megan peered at her reflection in the wall of mirrors behind the bar. Nothing was amiss. Maybe she was a bit pale, but that was to be expected after the long journey and the horrible news that had awaited her upon arrival.

“The men come in here to blow off steam,” he continued. “They drink and dance. Have a good time. They don’t like to be reminded of their wives and mothers by lookin’ at you.”

Had Queen been right? Was she bad for business? But what could she do? She didn’t know how to be anyone but herself.

As the night wore on, a steady stream of men left The Celebration. Toward morning, Queen made her way to where Megan sat in a darkened corner of the dance hall. Resting her ample bulk on the remaining chair, Queen leaned back and kicked off her shoes. “Hate to say I told you so.”

Megan straightened, suddenly angry. No one had a right to pass judgment on the way she looked. What difference could her appearance possibly make to her ability to manage The Celebration?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. People are tired, that’s all. Tomorrow will be better.”

At Queen’s doubtful expression, Megan stood. “I want to meet the rest of the girls.” She strode across the room toward the stage where the other dancers perched on the structure’s edge, their stocking feet swinging above a neat row of shoes below. Varying degrees of distrust and dislike appeared on each of their faces. This was not going to be easy.

Queen introduced each of the colorfully adorned women. Their names were a kaleidoscope of sound: Blue Mary, Sassy Sue, the Lightning Bolt, Gilded Lily. It seemed that everyone had an alias in Dawson City. The more unusual the name, the better. Would she ever be able to place each face with the odd monikers to which they belonged?

“As you’ve probably heard, I’m Megan Daily, Brian’s daughter. I’ll be running the place from now on. I hope we can all work together to make The Celebration a success.” Her smile felt stiff, but she used it anyway.

A tall, painfully thin woman jumped down from the stage. “If you’d stop driving off the men with your old-maid’s ways, we might have a chance.”

“Ah . . . Skinny . . . um . . . Nell,” Megan stuttered, unfamiliar with the strange form of address. “I’m sure that in a few days the men will get used to me and business will go on as usual.” Megan glanced at the other women. Skepticism shrouded every face.

“We’ll see, Miss Daily.” Skinny Nell took her measure, before continuing. “If’n things don’t improve by next week, we’ll all have to go somewhere’s else to do our dancin’.”

Nods of agreement from the others had Megan opening her mouth to argue the point, but a commotion from the front bar drew her attention.

“Aw, hell,” groaned Queen, putting her hand to her forehead.

“What is it?” Megan demanded.

“Thought he’d be gone for a while yet. I didn’t want to have to burden you with more bad news after you learned about your pa.”

“Who are you talking about? What bad news?”

“Big Ian McMurphy’s who, and he’s enough bad news for the entire Yukon.”

Megan followed the woman’s gaze. The man wasn’t addressed as “big” just for conversation. He filled the doorway, ducking his head to enter. Mammoth shoulders strained at a coat of silver fur while legs the size of unsplit logs pushed at the seams of his black pants. McMurphy’s black beard, shot through with silver that matched the fur, obscured the lower half of his face; but his bright, black eyes shone with a feral intelligence. Their light turned to Megan and she gulped.

“Owns nearly everything in the territory,” Queen whispered, “and he’s got his eye on this place since Brian died. He doesn’t look too happy to see you.” For once Queen’s voice was unamused, her high-pitched cackle glaringly absent.