The Marshal's Rebellious Bride (13 page)

But Morgan was very much alive. He was very much a
man, so darn handsome, even when he sported a day-old beard or even when he
scowled at her instead of smiling. Then there had been that incident with the
picnic and the flowers. If she’d let herself, she could easily fall hard for
him. But she couldn’t let him into her heart. She didn’t want to be hurt again.

So she would just keep on telling him “no” about
getting married. She would keep on doing exactly as she wanted to. It didn’t
matter how irritated he got with her.

With that in mind, she shoved open the doors and walked
inside. The big marshal had no right telling her what to do, how to behave. “A
lady shouldn’t go into a place like that,” she muttered under her breath,
repeating his words. Well, maybe most of the women in town wouldn’t set foot
even on the sidewalk outside. She
wasn’t
most women
, but she did consider herself a
lady
no matter her occasional acts of
rebellion. Maybelle, Abigail and Ham were her friends. They needed her.

A few of the men she knew from ranches in the area
yelled out a greeting. The town’s barber grinned at her, slicked down his
spattering of hair, and motioned her over with his usual look of interest.

She smiled and shook her head. You would have thought
he’d heard the rumor by now of her being Marshal
Rydell’s
intended—not the rumor was true.

Shoving aside thoughts of yet another unwanted beau,
she glanced around the room. Wyatt Earp leaned against the long, crowded bar a
dozen feet away and caught her eye. Beneath his long-handled mustache she noted
a big, amused grin. The gleam in his eyes warned her that he’d soon go down to
Keno’s saloon and pass on the news about her being here. Darn him and his
penchant for interfering. But then she imagined that he would probably stick
around to see just what she was up to first.

She put him and the other foolishly smiling men out of
her mind and looked toward the stage. Maybelle peeked around the inner-stage
curtain, giggled and waved to some men who whistled and shouted back at her. She
rolled her eyes at the slightly older woman’s behavior and made her way through
the maze of tables. She swatted at a couple of men who tried to stop her by
reaching for her hand. Then she scowled indignantly at another who dared to touch
her leg.

When one thoroughly drunk man snagged her and pulled
her onto his lap, she rammed an elbow in his flabby stomach. “Are you crazy?
Don’t you know who my brothers are?”

He seemed to consider it with his fuzzy brain while
the other man at his table said, “Her oldest brother is a U.S. Marshal, you
idiot.” He nodded her to keep on moving.

Once she finally made it backstage Abigail pulled
Maybelle back away from the curtain and said, “I swear every man in the county
must be out there tonight.” She reached up to smooth her long coils of barely
tamed hair, coils much like the ones in Whiskey’s hair just for the night that
Camelia had reluctantly helped her with.

She knew of at least three men who weren’t out there:
Taos, Keno and Morgan.
Thank the good
Lord
. She wasn’t nearly as excited about a big audience as her friends
were. Ham stood a few feet away bouncing on the balls of his feet in happiness.
When they’d discussed this idea a few hours ago, it had seemed logical,
brilliant even. Now it seemed…well, maybe too daring, even for her.

Again her thoughts turned to her brothers…and Morgan.
They were going to be so upset with her. She didn’t doubt for a moment that her
backside was going to pay dearly for this madness. But she’d given her word.
When a Wakefield gave his or her word, they stood by it.

She tried to force aside those troublesome thoughts
and concentrate on the present. She moved closer to Ham. “What if we make fools
of ourselves?” Not that it would be the first time she’d done something a tad
foolish. After all, she’d come back to town flying in a balloon,
crash landed
actually.

Ham smiled at her and gestured at the costumes both
Abigail and Maybelle already wore, one she would soon be wearing as well. “In
those dresses it won’t matter what you do. Believe me.”

Abigail thrust the black satin dress with the short,
multi-layered red petticoats and a pair of black fishnet stockings at her.
“Hurry up and get changed.”

Whiskey took the items, listened to the men pounding
their glasses on the tables, listened to them yelling for the advertised
special entertainment. Word had sure spread quickly around town. The place was
packed, standing room only.

A glance at her friends with their eager faces did
nothing to settle her nerves. She shouldn’t be doing this, absolutely shouldn’t
be doing this. Her brothers… Morgan…

No!
She refused to think about what consequences she
might suffer. Ham needed her help. She’d promised her friends.

Resigned, she hurried to the small dressing room.
God, help me get through this.

* * *

The sky was nearly black and the trail only lit by
moonlight while Morgan and Taos rode side-by-side toward town. Although there
was a breeze now, it was faint, thick with humidity. It had been a long
miserable day spent mending fences. Neither of them had been in the mood to
head back to the house. When Taos had suggested heading to the Dusty Trails
Saloon for a few drinks with Keno and playing a hand or two of poker, he had
jumped at the idea. He wasn’t ready to bunk down and start having nightmares
about that spunky female he’d soon be marrying. Fact was
,
he didn’t want to think about her at all. So he’d been encouraging Taos to talk
about the building he’d bought for his new law practice.

“It’ll take some work, but—” Taos was saying
when suddenly one of the younger ranch hands who’d been in town earlier came
riding up fast.

Instantly Morgan and Taos reined in their mounts and
stiffened. He had a gut feeling the man had bad news. “What happened?”
Rafe
. Had the bounty hunter shown up in
town already? He wasn’t ready for a final showdown.

The cowboy avoided looking directly at Taos and only
glanced up at Morgan. Nervous, worried.

“Speak up,” he
prodded
as he
grew impatient.

“Nothing has happened. Yet.” The man’s voice was
little more than a whisper. “I was in Varieties…and…”

Taos leaned forward, clearly uneasy. “And what?”

Varieties.
The dance hall
.
Morgan almost told the man not to answer. Instinctively
he knew that this had to do with Whiskey. She’d mentioned going to the dance
hall earlier, although he’d told her not to go. But she didn’t seem to listen
to anyone, especially not to him. Still, he’d
meant
it.

The cowboy swallowed hard and finally spit out, “Your
sister is there. I tried to find Keno to tell him, but the barkeep at the Dusty
Trails said he’d gone back to the ranch earlier.”

Taos sat up stiffly, ground out, “What the hell is she
doing there? What the hell is she even doing in town this time of night?”

“She told me this morning that she was going to town,”
Morgan admitted. “She said something about going to see her friends. We had
words.” They would have more than words firing between them when he caught up
with her. His hand was going to burn her sweet butt.

Before Taos could say anymore the young cowboy said
reluctantly, “Word in town is Ham Bell has promised anyone coming there tonight
a special show. The girls are going to do some newfangled dance from France.”
He hesitated. “I think he means Whiskey, too.”

Morgan blistered the prairie air with curses. Nearby
birds resting in the trees took flight. Animals scurried into hiding in the
underbrush along the riverbank.

Taos added another round of curses as both men urged
their horses into a gallop and left the poor cowboy eating their dust.

All he could think about was his bride-to-be dancing
in a saloon. Prancing around, kicking her legs up in that dance he’d seen once
before. Every man there would be lusting after
his
woman! Every man there would be seeing a hell of a lot of
his
woman. Every man there could
possibly die tonight.

* * *

Ham Bell walked to center stage, grinning from ear to
ear as Whiskey watched anxiously from the sidelines. It took a few minutes, but
eventually the audience of expectant men quieted down. When they did, Ham said
proudly, “I’ve got a real special treat for you all tonight.”

He let the words sink in, let the wild round of cheers
fade off, and then finished. “Three of the prettiest ladies on this side of the
Mississippi are going to show you that new dance sweeping the East, the
Can-Can.”

Whistles and whoops of obvious delight resounded
throughout the chockfull room. Her heart pounded with dread as Ham waved the
men to quiet down again. As soon as they did, he nodded to Pete, the piano
player next to the stage. The skinny man with bulging frog-like eyes started
pounding out the lively tune he’d played for her and her friends this
afternoon. It had sounded like such fun earlier, innocent. Now it sounded like
the forewarning melody of bad news ahead, for her.

She considered high-tailing it out of there when Ham
walked off the stage and the red velvet curtains opened to reveal a large
painted scene. But it was too late. He signaled them to start dancing.

She glanced over at the other girls to see if they
were as worried about this as she was. No. They were smiling, ready.

Maybelle stepped out first onto the stage, then
Abigail. The men went wild and they hadn’t even started dancing.

She forced down her fears. There was no turning back now.

Planting a smile on her face, she walked out to join
her friends. She felt sick, but she sucked in a breath and ignored her shaking hands,
and then lifted her knee-length skirt and the first layer of petticoat.
Maybelle and Abigail followed her action. Then they were dancing and kicking
their way to center stage just as they’d practiced.

The men went crazy. The piano man pounded the keys
harder, louder. Chaos reigned in the dance hall. She danced without really
paying attention, trying to picture herself someplace else. She didn’t mind the
dancing, but she wasn’t all that happy with all those men ogling her. She
didn’t even try to make out what they were yelling. She’d rather not know.

Just keep
kicking. Just keep moving. It will soon be over
.
Never, never would she do
something this stupid again.

* * *

There wasn’t a free spot on any of the hitching rails
anywhere on this side of Front Street. Morgan didn’t care. He slid from the
saddle in front of Varieties and tossed the reins at Taos. “I’m going inside.”

Taos grumbled as he snagged the reins and rode off
with Demon. As they’d ridden to town, they had come to an agreement that Morgan
would handle this matter. Actually, he had told Taos that either he let him
handle his sister or he would call everything off, sell back the ranch, and
head down to Texas tomorrow. Of course, he had no intention of doing that. But
Taos had relented.

He stepped onto the boardwalk crowded with men trying
to see into the building because there wasn’t room for them inside. He heard
the loud clanking of the piano keys. He heard the men’s shouts and catcalls.

Furious, he shoved his way by the men outside and
nearly wrenched the doors off their hinges when he jerked them open. Somehow
Taos ended up right behind him, probably having just abandoned their horses in
irritation.

Smoke rolled over them. The stench of liquor and
sweaty bodies offended his nose. But nothing offended him more than the thought
of Whiskey up on that stage. He shoved men aside, as did Taos. The few men who
dared to look at either of them in challenge quickly realized their mistake. A
fist to the jaw was damn good incentive to get out of the way.

When he caught sight of the stage, he froze. His
stomach twisted. Outrage swirled through him. She was up there kicking her legs
high. Damn fine legs. He felt gut punched. He stood there staring like every
other man in the place at the dress molded to her breasts like a second skin,
at the legs encased in sexy-as-hell black net stockings. His palms began
sweating. His heart pounded.

“I’m going to—” Taos bit out beside him.

“No!” Morgan growled. “
I’ll
handle this.”

Whiskey kicked again, as did the other two women but
he didn’t care about them at all. He fought down the lust firing through him,
found the anger inside him and latched onto it.

“Get the hell off that stage, Angelina Wakefield!” he
bellowed above the din of the crowd.

The other two women froze, looked nervously out into
the audience. Not his woman, though. No sir, if anything she kicked her damn
legs higher, flipped the skirt around even more.
Defiant
little minx.

“
Aww
, leave the women
alone,” some man to his right commented in a drunken tone.

Taos punched him in the mouth and he fell over
backward in his chair as the men around him moved out of the way.