Courting Trouble (18 page)

She shook her head. ‘‘I arranged to play piano for the orchestra tonight, so I had to come early.’’

His face fell. ‘‘The whole time?’’

‘‘No, no. Just between acts.’’

They stood on the steps, adjusting to the newness of what was happening between them.

‘‘Did ya tell your folks where you were goin’?’’

‘‘I did. They’re playing cards with some friends out in Pinkston tonight. They don’t suspect a thing.’’

‘‘When will they be back?’’

‘‘Late.’’

The words settled around them like the last brush of sunset before night falls.

‘‘I wanna kiss ya right here. Right now.’’

She surprised herself by answering, ‘‘Me too.’’

He slipped his hand into hers. ‘‘Come on, Miss Spreckelmeyer. We’d best be joinin’ the fun, else we might miss the show altogether.’’

‘‘What if someone sees us?’’

He cocked his head. ‘‘Would you join the fun if you were with Jeremy?’’

‘‘Yes, I’m sure I would.’’

‘‘Then we’ve nothin’ to worry about.’’

He pulled her by the hand, down the steps and into the street. She savored the intimacy of it. Never, ever, had a man led her around in such a way. Always, they took her elbow. Occasionally touched her waist. But this—this was so much more personal.

She lifted her skirt to keep up with his long strides. The orchestra now played ‘‘Daddy Wouldn’t Buy Me a Bow Wow,’’ and the crowd of revelers had grown larger and noisier. Adam took the two of them into the thick of it. Folks bumped and jostled her from all directions.

Adam kept his hand in hers, hiding them within the folds of her jacket. She checked the men and women crowded around them and caught the attention of George Bunert, the harness maker, staring at her from a few feet away.

She shook her hand free. ‘‘Hello! How are you?’’ she shouted above the noise, waving.

He wove around a few people to reach her, then removed his hat. ‘‘I didn’t expect ta see ya, Miss Spreckelmeyer.’’

They had to shout to be heard. ‘‘My father had to be in Pinkston this evening, so I am here on his behalf to visit and greet his in-town constituents.’’

‘‘By yerself?’’

‘‘No, no. Mr. Currington, my father’s driller, is here with me.’’

She tried to introduce the two men, but the noise level made it nearly impossible, and the crowd ended up separating Mr. Bunert from them. She lost sight of him as Adam tugged at her jacket and bent his head to her ear.

‘‘You wearing all this stuff to protect you from me or the weather?’’

She smiled. She’d chosen to wear her three-quarter-length coat, knowing it would be dark when the show was over and the ride home on Cocoa would be cold.

Instead of answering, she indicated his shirt-sleeves. ‘‘Aren’t you cold?’’

He reclaimed her hand. ‘‘No, ma’am. Not when I’m with you, sugar. Not when I’m with you.’’

His thumb drew a circle on her palm. She darted a quick look around, but no one gave them any notice. And they wouldn’t see anything untoward if they did. His hidden caress continued and though it was no more than a simple gesture, its very secretiveness in such a public place was in many ways more potent than what they’d shared underneath the tree.

He winked and began to sing with the crowd.

‘‘I’ll be so glad when I get old,
To do just as I likes,
I’ll keep a parrot and at least,
A half a dozen tykes;
And when I’ve got a tiny pet,
I’ll kiss the little thing;
Then put it in its little cot,
And on to it I’ll sing:
Daddy wouldn’t buy me a bow wow! bow wow!’’

He raised her hand above her head and simultaneously spun her at the waist. When she completed her turn, he positioned her directly in front of him, face forward. The crowd had grown and become more packed together. Adam placed his hands at her waist, his thighs bumping against the back of her legs as they walked in unison to the music.

The orchestra began to make a horseshoe turn and head back to the Opera House. She reveled in the festiveness of the men. The excitement of having this cowboy with her. The anticipation of what the evening would bring.

When they reached the steps, the orchestra stayed out front, continuing to draw more folks in. She turned her face toward Adam. ‘‘I have to go. Where will I meet you?’’

‘‘What?’’
he said.

She saw his mouth form the word but could not hear him over the noise.

He leaned down and put his ear next to her lips, his cowboy hat concealing her from view. Instead of repeating her words, she took his earlobe in her mouth and tugged. His hold on her loosened and she slipped from his grip, running up the stairs and glancing back just before entering the Opera House.

She smiled to herself. Judging from his expression, no meeting place would be necessary. He’d find her.

chapter FOURTEEN

MR. MIRUS TOOK Essie’s coat and waved her up the steps of the wide stairway that led from the street level to the mezzanine. Several offices and club rooms opened off this second floor and were divided by portable walls that could be taken down to form a large dancing area for the annual Fireman’s Ball. She expected she’d be attending the next one with Adam.

She continued on up the steps to the third level and entered the theater. All light and gold leaf, it rivaled anything in Dallas or Houston. A carpet covered the entire main floor, giving it an air of splendor. Recessed in the center of the ceiling was what everyone referred to as ‘‘the sun’’—a large cluster of mirrored electric and gas lights.

Essie made her way down the east aisle, enjoying the stillness of the auditorium. There were no benches, only wicker seats with backs. She glanced up at the box her father owned. This would be the first time she’d view a show with someone other than him and from some other vantage point.

Just as she reached the bald-headed rows and descended into the orchestra pit, the crowd began to enter. The men were noisy, rowdy, and not at all like the patrons she was accustomed to. She didn’t see one single woman.

Feeling awkward and a bit conspicuous, she picked up the sheet music on the upright piano and focused on the pieces she’d be sight-reading. A few minutes later the rest of the orchestra joined her but did not take the time to tune up. Instead, the lights dimmed and Mr. Creiz conducted them in the prelude.

The music moved quickly and robustly. Essie’s fingers flew across the keys, and by the time they hit the crescendo she was out of breath. The men whistled and stomped. The lights went out. The curtain rose.

Essie slipped through a side door in the pit, skirting the auditorium and entering the deserted lobby, where statues and friezes of nymphs, cherubs, and winged figures decorated the hall. The gold carpet cushioned the sound of her heels.

She found Adam by the balcony steps. He beckoned her over and she hurried to his side.

‘‘Come on,’’ he said, ducking under the rope that cut off the balcony entrance.

‘‘It’s closed,’’ she said. ‘‘No one else is up there, are they?’’

‘‘No, ma’am.’’ He lifted the rope. ‘‘It’s reserved. For the two of us.

Now, hurry before someone sees us.’’

She dipped under the rope and followed him up the steps. At the top, the sudden darkness disoriented her. He grasped her hand and tugged. Instead of leading her to the first, or even second, row of seats, he settled them into the buzzard roost at the very back of the deserted balcony.

The stage had been transformed into a fancy ballroom, complete with flamboyant wall sconces, chandeliers, grand paintings, and gigantic windows. A lovely woman in a lavish gown sat center stage, earnestly visiting with an imaginary gentleman.

Her voice was high, affected, and gushingly southern. ‘‘Ah, so kind of you to find me this charming nook, Mistah Rushah. I feel
some
bettah now, thank you. And I believe I
would
like a cup of chocolate.’’ She waved her handkerchief and called after the imaginary man, ‘‘Vewah
light
refreshments, Mr. Rushah,
vewah
light!’’

Adam rested his arm on the back of Essie’s chair, running a finger along her shoulder. She pretended not to notice. But behind her schooled features, she was paying very strict attention.

When the imaginary gentleman left the stage, the southern belle’s manner changed entirely. She leaned back on the settee, sighed, and spoke to the audience in a natural voice. ‘‘Thank goodness that insipid specimen is gone. That ponderous old Smith came down full weight on my foot!’’

She thrust her foot before her. ‘‘These slippers are several sizes too small but so Parisian, you know.’’ Sitting up, she took a furtive look around. ‘‘I don’t believe anyone is looking. I’m going to slip this one off—just
got
to stretch my poor toes a little!’’

The woman crossed her legs and began to slowly lift the hem of her skirt. The men in the audience shouted and whistled. When she’d exposed one stocking-clad leg up to her knee, she bent forward.

The neck of her bodice gaped, causing another roar of approval from the men. She ran her hands down her calf and made quite a show of removing her shoe.

Essie watched with horror and fascination, her heart hammering in her chest. Adam’s hand made its way to the back of her neck. He slipped a finger inside the top edge of her collar and moved it back and forth like a pendulum.

‘‘Gracious!’’ the belle exclaimed. ‘‘I’ve danced a hole as big as a dollar in my stocking.’’ She leaned back and lifted her foot in the air, exposing her toes and rotating her ankle round and round. A profusion of petticoats teased the men, offering them brief glimpses of her legs.

‘‘My, what a relief to have that shoe off,’’ she sighed.

Adam leaned closer, placing a kiss on Essie’s neck. She caught her breath, then closed her eyes as he continued his foray, only to reopen one eye when the actress continued with her monologue.

‘‘Here comes an English lord,’’ the actress said, ‘‘strutting with importance, like the peacock he is.’’

Adam touched her chin, turning it toward him and gaining her full attention. He lowered his lips to hers.

‘‘I’m going to shock him,’’ the actress said. ‘‘Shatter his delicate English nerves. I’ll play the wild, woolly Western girl.’’

Their kiss deepened and he slipped his arms about her. She touched his face, exploring it as if she were blind. Learning the texture of his skin, the angle of his jaw, the softness of his eyebrows.

‘‘We believe in women’s rights out West, Lord Catchum.’’ The actress’s voice had turned loud and nasal. ‘‘Disgusting? Not a bit. Did you ever see any Western women? Didn’t? Missed the experience of a lifetime. They’re awful smart. I’m a specimen.’’

The armrest bit into Essie’s side. Adam took her hands and placed them behind his neck, then he began to explore
her
face, but with his lips.

‘‘Why, they know as much about business as the men do. Yes, sir, they doctor, practice law, and extract teeth without pain. Then they make things red-hot for the saloon people—especially in Texas.’’

The men in the main gallery below them hooted and bellowed. Adam’s hands roamed, igniting an intense, deep desire. She didn’t scold him for his boldness but instead wondered what he’d do if she were just as bold with him.

‘‘How do they look? Purty well, as a whole. Most of them got rather big waists, but then, there’s lots o’ air out there in Texas that’s got to be breathed, and they couldn’t do it harnessed in an eighteen-inch belt.’’

Adam groaned and rested his forehead against hers. ‘‘I don’t know how much more o’ this I can take, sugar,’’ he whispered.

‘‘You want to stop?’’ she asked. ‘‘Why?’’

He grasped her head between his hands and kissed her hard on the lips. ‘‘Let’s get outta here.’’

‘‘The orchestra.’’

‘‘Leave it. You shouldn’t be playin’ for this kinda show anyway.’’

He picked his hat up off the seat next to him, put it on, and ushered her to the exit. Pausing, he pulled her against him and kissed her soundly one last time while cloaked within the theater’s darkness.

‘‘I’ll overlook your breach of propriety in not proposing to me,’’ the actress scolded. ‘‘You look startled, Mr. Catchum.’’

Adam released her. ‘‘Come on,’’ he whispered.

They’d almost made it down the stairs when Adam stopped short.

Uncle Melvin stood in the lobby, his widened gaze tracking their descent, his sheriff ’s badge twinkling in the gaslight. For a moment he was frozen like one of the statues, but he quickly came to life.

‘‘Just what do you two think you’re doing?’’ he hissed, striding toward them, displeasure evident in his expression.

Essie caught her breath, her pulse shooting up to an alarming level, and she quickly touched the back of her hair to make sure all was in place.

Adam held up the rope.

Forcing down her panic, she slipped under it. ‘‘Good evening, Uncle.’’

‘‘Don’t ‘good evening’ me. What’s going on?’’

‘‘Why, nothing. I’m playing incidental music with the orchestra, but Adam came to tell me he didn’t think it a good idea for me to stay.’’

‘‘What were you doing in the balcony?’’

‘‘I couldn’t very well sit in the auditorium with the men.’’

Uncle Melvin glanced between the two of them. ‘‘Why didn’t you stay in the pit?’’

‘‘I tried, but when the woman on stage began to remove her slippers, I became uncomfortable and retreated to the balcony.’’

He absorbed this bit of information and she hoped the barrage of questions was over and that he wouldn’t catch her in her lies. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could create answers without tripping herself up.

‘‘What about you?’’ he asked Adam.

‘‘I saw her outside during the before-show parade. When she left the pit, I followed to make sure she was all right.’’

Mr. Garitty, president of the Opera House, joined them. White hair encircled the sides of his head, leaving the top shiny. ‘‘Is there a problem, Sheriff?’’

Uncle Melvin turned. ‘‘Did you know Essie was playing in the pit tonight?’’

He shook his head. ‘‘Not until I saw her during the overture and asked Mirus about it.’’

‘‘She has no business being here.’’

‘‘I agree. If I’d known earlier, I would have warned her.’’