Watching him, Katlyn’s heart beat faster and harder

She didn’t know whether it was from nerves or from a growing sense of annoyance with the arrogance radiating from the man.

He made his way to her in a few long-legged strides, offering her a curt nod of his head and a cool handshake in welcome. “I’m Case Durham. I own the St. Martin. We’ve corresponded several times.”

Katlyn nodded in reply. This close to him, she could see he wasn’t as dark as the shadows had painted him, with the exception of his expression. His hair was more the color of polished oak, his eyes a deep, mesmerizing green, sharp and hard as gemstones.

As hard as Case Durham seemed to be.

Praise for author Nicole Foster’s first book JAKE’S ANGEL

“An endearing tale…the characters shine.”

—Rendezvous

“…a classic romance…any reader devoted to this genre will love this book.”

—Romance Communications

“Jake’s Angel will charm you from the first page and hold you until the last…you won’t be able to put it down.”

—The Road to Romance

CIMARRON ROSE

Harlequin Historical #560

#559 THE OVERLORD’S BRIDE

Margaret Moore

#561 THE NANNY

Judith Stacy

#562 TAMING THE DUKE

Jackie Manning

Cimarron Rose

Nicole Foster

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Available from Harlequin Historicals and NICOLE FOSTER

Jake’s Angel #522

Cimarron Rose #560

To Nicole and Foster, kindred spirits like their mothers.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Cimarron, New Mexico territory, 1875

A gust of wind rattled the window of the small room, its cool draft sliding inside to brush against Katlyn McLain’s neck. She shivered, drawing her thin woolen shawl a little more tightly around her as she bent over the bed to look again at the woman lying there.

In the wavering lamplight, stripped of her glitter and paint, Penelope Rose seemed small and faded. Katlyn touched her mother’s face, then tucked the blanket more snugly around her. Even without the doctor’s grim news, she had known her mother was ill. Her pale thinness, the dullness of her penny-bright hair, the droop of her shoulders all betrayed Penelope’s sparkling facade.

Katlyn dropped back down onto the wooden chair she’d pulled close to the bed, feeling a little pale herself.

She hadn’t slept since she’d arrived hours ago in Cimarron, cold, wet, aching, and half carrying Penelope, with nothing between them but the clothes on their backs.

A tap at the door brought Katlyn to her feet again. Before she could move to answer it, the owner of the boardinghouse, Mrs. Donaldson, pushed open the door and came inside. She put the tray she carried on the dresser top and then looked sternly at Katlyn.

That expression made Katlyn want to laugh. A thin little sparrow of a woman, Elspeth Donaldson appeared meek—until she spoke and a rich Scottish burr rolled out. “Now, lass, I’ve brought you some tea, and a wee bit of that stew I had left from supper. You won’t be doin’ your ma any good by starvin’ yourself.”

“Thank you,” Katlyn said, smiling a little at Mrs. Donaldson’s fussing. “I am hungry. But I—”

“I won’t be hearin’ any more about you payin’ me,” Mrs. Donaldson said, giving Katlyn one of her daunting stares. “You just eat that. I know you’re hungry, walkin’ all that way after such a terrible experience. You’re a brave lass, and there’s no one can say different.”

Katlyn wanted to say she felt anything but brave. But she only smiled her thanks and went to pick up the steaming cup of tea.

“A nice sleep will do your ma good, you’ll see,” Mrs. Donaldson added, eyeing Penelope with a shrewdness that made Katlyn feel the other woman knew everything about her mother. “She might feel differently about stayin’ though. I don’t suppose she thought it would be like this.”

No, of course she didn’t, Katlyn silently agreed as she shut the door behind Mrs. Donaldson.

Her mother should never have come here. Penelope belonged back on the Mississippi riverboats, where she was flattered and pampered, not in the New Mexico high country.

But Penelope had insisted on coming to Cimarron to sing at the St. Martin Hotel. And when her mother made up her mind, no one could convince her otherwise.

Katlyn hadn’t believed her when Penelope said she needed a rest, a change of scenery to revive herself. Then, when she’d added that it would be lovely, being so near her only daughter, Katlyn knew something was very wrong.

Nothing would have caused her mother to leave St. Louis except failure.

Now Katlyn worried she would also fail. Fail her mother when she most needed her.

The doctor made it clear Penelope couldn’t be moved, perhaps for several weeks, and then only to a hospital that offered a special treatment for her condition. Expensive treatment Katlyn had no idea how she would afford.

The trip here had been cursed from the start. First, by storms. The stage sat mired in mud after the sheeting rains, vulnerable to the three outlaws who had robbed the passengers, leaving them stranded miles from Cimarron. The long walk into town across the rugged terrain had caused Penelope’s collapse. Katlyn felt lucky they had at least been able to find shelter at one of the town’s two boardinghouses, knowing her mother would rather have died than have been carried into the St. Martin, sick and bedraggled.

“Honey, you look fierce enough to scare away a ghost.” Penelope smiled when Katlyn, startled out of her dark thoughts, jumped out of her chair to her mother’s side.

“How are you feeling? Is there something I can get you?”

“Yes, Katie, my dear, you can stop looking at me as if the undertaker is waiting outside the door.”

Katlyn breathed deep. “Mama…”

“Oh, please—” Penelope waved a limp, shaky hand at her daughter. “Don’t go repeating all those dreadful things that doctor tried to tell me. I’ve told you, I just need a little rest. A few weeks and I’ll be ready to sing again.”

“You’re going to be in bed a few weeks, at least. And then…then we’re going to Las Vegas. It’s west of here, in the territory. There’s a hospital there and—”

“And I will not go anywhere! I can’t lose this job, Katie. I can’t.” Penelope’s voice dropped, and she looked away from Katlyn.

But not in time for Katlyn to miss the sheen of tears in her mother’s lovely eyes. “I’m sorry, Mama,” she said softly, taking Penelope’s hand. “I know how much you wanted this job. But the doctor says you need to be at that hospital.”

Katlyn struggled to sound confident, optimistic, to say something to assure her mother she would be taken care of, even though Katlyn had no idea how she would do that. Robbed by the outlaws of the money they’d carried with them, alone in Cimarron, without even the promise now of work—Katlyn forced away the worries threatening to overwhelm her.

“I’ll find work here, until the doctor says you can travel. Then I’ll find something in Las Vegas. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

“I do believe that’s supposed to be my promise, honey. And I’ve done it, haven’t I? All those years, by myself, after your daddy decided to leave me with nothing but a kiss and a baby. I had my singing and that was all I needed to keep us, and keep us well. You aren’t going to be able to do the same washing dishes or teaching school.”

“Maybe Isabel could help,” Katlyn said doubtfully. She’d stayed with her half sister for a little more than a year, elated to find her after growing up apart. But Isabel was now recently married, with two boys, a baby on the way, and her ailing grandmother living with them. Every cent and every inch of space in the household were spoken for, and then some. Katlyn knew even as she said the words that apart from offering a sympathetic ear and a recipe for a soothing balm, there was nothing Isabel could do.

“I’m sure your sister is a fine woman, but she’s not my daughter.” Penelope echoed her thoughts. “No, Katie, I’m not the kind to take charity. You ought to know that about me by now. And we don’t need to. Why, it’ll be so simple.”

“Simple?” Rain slashed the window, the rhythm of it pounding in Katlyn’s head. She was tired, worried, afraid if she dared to admit it. What could her mother be thinking?

“Of course. I already have a job here.”

“Mama, you can’t—”

“No, darling, but you can.”

Katlyn stared. Triumph had put a delicate flush into Penelope’s pale cheeks. Katlyn wondered if fever had made her mother delirious.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, her spirit reviving at the mere idea of taking her mother’s place. “I’m not a singer. All I’ve ever done besides follow you is a little teaching. No one would ever believe I was you, even if I was crazy enough to agree to do it. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the hotel and tell them the truth. Then they can look for someone else to—”

Katlyn suddenly stopped, appalled as the tears started spilling down her mother’s ashen face. Her mother, who always laughed her way through hardship and pain.

“Katie, please. You can’t tell them I’m—like this. If anyone knew, if anyone would see me now…Katie, I would rather die.”

Penelope grabbed at her hand when Katlyn opened her mouth to try to comfort her. “Don’t say no. I’ll be well again soon and then it won’t matter. Just don’t let them know. Please, do this for me. Promise me you will. And think of the money. It’s more than you could ever make in some little teaching job or worse, cleaning or cooking. Why, what do you know about that, anyway? We need the money, and you can get it for us. I know you can sing and that’s all that matters. I’ll teach you anything else you need to learn.”

Katlyn sat back down and tried to think of an argument that would persuade her mother of the impossibility of what she was asking. Katlyn McLain, become the St. Louis Songbird? She nearly laughed out loud.

And yet…She thought of the money she could make to help her mother. Penelope was right—the salary the owner of the St. Martin had promised was far more than any money she could make at a menial job even if she worked day and night.

And, though it chafed to admit it, Penelope was also right about her skills. What work could she do? She had grown up on riverboats and in hotels, watching her beautiful mother charm with her golden voice. Penelope had never taught her anything about cooking or sewing or keeping a house. Knowing how to dress for a performance, paint her face and arrange her hair, Katlyn was sure, were skills not in great demand in Cimarron.

But far more compelling was the fact that her mother needed her—desperately. No one had ever actually needed Katlyn McLain before. All her life, until this very moment, Katlyn had felt that fate had misplaced her. Growing up she was a burden of responsibility to her mother. And when she’d gone to live with her sister, she was an extra mouth to feed.

If by some miracle she succeeded as a singer, she could take care of Penelope without having to depend on charity from anyone. She could finally be of some true value to someone she loved and cared for. And she could carry on her mother’s tradition of independence with pride.

“You have my hair, that won’t be a problem,” Penelope was saying, her voice trembling. “Those blue eyes are your daddy’s but no one will take notice of that. If you use a little paint they’ll believe you’re older. I’ll dress you, tell you how it should be done. Thank goodness you’ve inherited my curves! You’ll do fine, Katie, I just know it.”

“It would be a lie,” Katlyn said more to herself than to her mother.

“We’re not hurting anyone.”

“Aren’t we? They’re expecting the St. Louis Songbird.”

“Well, I’m giving you my name. That’s what they’re paying for. They’ll have their singer and I’ll have my reputation. We’re not cheating anyone of anything. They need me and I need you. It’s that simple.”

Katlyn couldn’t help but laugh. “It won’t be simple at all. I’m not you, Mama. I’m just plain Katlyn.”

“Not anymore,” her mother said firmly. “Now you’re the St. Louis Songbird.”

Case Durham paced the wide length of the St. Martin’s lobby, looking over the four people who made up most of his modest staff at the hotel. Stern appraisal marked his sharp emerald gaze. He lifted one dark brow and looked down his nose at his employees. “I trust everything is in order for her arrival?”

“Oh, yessir, Mr. Durham, sir,” the young girl he’d paused in front of blurted out nervously. “Spit and polished everything top to bottom.” The girl motioned to the left of the lobby. “And our town’s band—what there is of it—they’re all tuned up and ready to play.”

Case took in the ragtag-looking group of makeshift musicians greeting him with jagged toothy grins and what looked like from the faded wear and ill-fit of them, second-or third-hand uniforms.

What they lacked in skill, at least they might make up for in enthusiasm, he told himself.

A gangly boy, with a stray piece of straw lodged in his mussed hair, anxiously twisted a worn cap in his hands as he nodded toward the balcony. “And I painted the banner up there on the railing, just so she knows fer sure she’s welcome here.”

Case turned toward the bright red letters splashed across a huge white banner that read Welcome To The St. Martin Hotel St. Louis Songbyrd.

Suppressing a smile at the misspelling, Case turned back to the young man. “Bucky, I’m sure she’ll appreciate that very much. I didn’t know you could read and write. Who taught you?”

Bucky stopped twisting the cap in his hands and straightened. “My ma did, ’fore she passed on.”

“Well, I’m glad to know that. In time, there may be a place for you under this roof.” Case flicked the straw out of the lad’s hair. “Unless you’re particularly partial to sleeping in straw, that is.”

Bucky seemed to search Case’s unsmiling face, then returned his employer’s serious look. “Thank you, sir. I’d be honored to sleep in a real bed here in the hotel.”

Again, it was all Case could do to hold back a grin, but better he intimidate them a little. Employees were more productive if they harbored a little uncertainty as to their boss’s satisfaction with them. Hard work and respect went hand in hand when it came to making a venture successful.

And, damned if he wasn’t going to see this disaster through until it was precisely that.

He’d sunk his last dime into this gamble. Taking a calculated risk, Case relied on his keen business sense, which told him that the gamble would eventually pay off in spades. But this place was fast impressing upon him that he would finally be forced to learn what had always gone against his grain: the fine art of patience.

And right now, the key to that success was giving him his first lesson. For the dozenth time, he flicked open the silver pocket watch in his palm. She was over an hour late. And nothing irked him like tardiness. Especially when he thought of the salary he’d had to promise the famed St. Louis Songbird to lure her out West to his godforsaken hotel. She was probably some pampered prima donna, used to making her hosts wait just so she could make an entrance. He’d have to bite his tongue, he was sure, and he would, as long as she pulled in the customers the way everyone swore she would.

He’d never tell her as much, but the truth was the renowned singer was his last hope in saving his hotel. Unlike his other ventures, nothing had seemed to work when it came to trying to clean up this place and draw decent folks in.

It had seemed a reasonable gamble at the time he’d chosen to buy the hotel, but of late he’d begun to question whether his instincts for investing had abandoned him. Cimarron, positioned advantageously on the Santa Fe Trail, had begun to thrive with the profits of ranching, mining and trading. There was plenty of money being made to be spent, and few places to spend it.

But after six months in business, Case saw that his best customers were still renegades, gamblers and assorted desperados on the run from the law. Not only did that kind scare other customers away, but more importantly, they made the hotel unsafe for his six-year-old daughter Emily.

After all it had cost him to clear the debts Emily’s mother had left him to face, if this hotel failed, he’d lose everything. Everything but what mattered most, that was. He would not risk losing his little girl. Not after the fight it had taken to keep her with him.

He kept telling himself leaving Emily in Colorado would have been far worse for her. But in truth, he had to accept the fact that he couldn’t keep her here with him safely much longer if the St. Martin continued to draw trouble like flies to honey. He guarded Emily with his life, but this was no way for a child to live.

If the St. Louis Songbird didn’t turn his luck and do it quickly, he’d have to swallow his pride and his pocketbook and give the whole thing up.

Case clicked his silver watch open and closed, his polished boots slapping hard and fast across the glistening pine floors. His small staff waited in a line, barely daring to breathe as he strode past.

“She’d better be worth the wait,” he muttered to no one in particular.

“Oh, Mr. Durham, she’s supposed to be the best! Just the best!” the girl declared. “I ain’t never heard her sing, mind you, but some of the folks who come through here from out East say her voice puts a hold on you like a magic spell.”

“We’ll see, Becky,” he murmured impatiently. “But if she doesn’t get here soon, we may never find out if she can even carry a tune.”

Or rescue a hotel, Case added silently, wondering with growing cynicism just how impressive a woman this St. Louis Songbird really was.

Katlyn smoothed sweaty palms down her mother’s yellow satin skirts as she stood in front of the St. Martin Hotel.

The plain two-story beige frame building didn’t look like much, even compared with the more ruggedly built storefronts and saloons. In fact, rather dusty and neglected-looking, it would be easy to ignore.

Katlyn wished she felt the same. Instead, she felt ridiculous. All this face paint and these fancy frilled clothes felt as foreign to her as her sister’s Mexican food had tasted when she’d first come out West.

All this pretense was her mother, not her.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the hotel window, she adjusted her hat with its jaunty yellow plume and scolded herself. “Well, Katie, my girl, like it or not, it had better be you if you’re going to pull this off. You’ve promised her and you can’t turn back now.”

Straightening her shoulders, she hitched up her flagging courage along with her petticoats and shoved open the hotel door.

The door barely had time to close when Katlyn froze in utter surprise. Nothing her mother had told her had prepared her for this!

“She’s here!” someone shouted, and the room swelled with sudden applause and cheers of welcome. A little brass band launched into playing some festive tune she couldn’t quite make out, nearly unnerving her. At one boy’s prompting she gazed up to a balcony and saw a sweeping banner painted especially for her mother. Loud clapping and smiling faces filled the lobby with welcome. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the sad irony of it all. Everyone there seemed truly delighted she’d come.

Everyone except for him.

Off to the side of the little gathering, a dark imposing figure of a man towered above the others. He stood still and in silence, as though merely an observer, not part of the celebration.

Katlyn’s eyes met his razor-sharp green gaze, and the look he gave her made her nervous heart skip a beat.

This she hadn’t counted on. The patrician nose, the arrogant lift of his chin, the expensive cheroot at his lips, the tailored cut of his clothes told her he must be Case Durham, the hotel owner.

He might be just a little demanding, darling, her mother had said.

But one look told Katlyn he was far more than that. Impossibly tall, his angled face and stern glare stripped her of her remaining bravado. She instinctively wanted to run.

In the same instant an image of her mother, desperately pale and weak, intruded. And Katlyn heard her own voice, vowing she would do anything to help Penelope. Anything. Even face Case Durham.

The object of her fear quieted the fanfare with a single sweep of his palm. His staff took a step back and waited while, in a leisurely ritual, he doused his cheroot and buried it in a tray.

Watching him, Katlyn’s heart beat faster and harder, whether purely from nerves or from a growing sense of annoyance with the arrogance radiating from the man, she wasn’t sure.

He made his way to her in a few long-legged strides, offering her a curt nod of his head and a cool handshake in welcome. “I’m Case Durham. I own the St. Martin. We’ve corresponded several times.”

Katlyn nodded in reply. This close to him, she could see he wasn’t as dark as the shadows had painted him, with the exception of his expression. His hair was more the color of polished oak, his eyes a deep, mesmerizing green, sharp and hard as gemstones.

As hard as Case Durham seemed to be. An image of the many dashing gamblers and fancy gentlemen who, upon first meeting her mother, had swept Penelope’s hand in theirs, bowing deeply into it with gentle kisses, made this first introduction sorely lacking by comparison.

Mister Durham, it seemed, wasn’t impressed by reputation.

“We’re glad you’ve finally arrived. It’s so late, I was beginning to worry for your safety.”

Katlyn bristled, but bit back her temper. How dare he make a comment about being late after all she and her mother had gone through to come to his wretched hotel?

“I’m late, Mr. Durham, because my stagecoach was attacked and robbed before I reached Cimarron. I suppose you could have found that out if you had bothered to inquire.”

A wry smile almost teased at one corner of his mouth, but in the next instant it vanished. His eyes riveted on her and he laid the palm of his large hand on her arm, commanding her full attention. “Tell me. Were you hurt in any way?”

Surprised, Katlyn shied back. “Thank you for your concern,” she said, not quite sure whether to believe in his sincerity or not. “I was shaken, naturally. And many of my belongings—and all of my money—were stolen or destroyed. But, I feel lucky. From what I’ve heard, it could have been far worse.”

Katlyn glanced past Case to the openmouthed stares from several of those in the welcome party that told her her fears were justified.

Case released her arm. “I’m sorry. This can be dangerous country.”

“So I gather.”

“Well, then,” he said, resuming his cool distance, “we’ll have to see to a new wardrobe, won’t we?” He turned to Becky, hovering close by. “You help her get what she needs right away. She’ll have to look her best.” With that he turned back to Katlyn, appraising her from the feather on her hat down to her kid boots.

She looked much different than he expected. He’d imagined a red-haired siren, brassy and bold. She had the red hair, an abundance of it, defying her attempt to bunch it into a tame roll. Case couldn’t see any signs of a siren in her, though. The paint stood out boldly on skin as pale as milk, and blue eyes so dark they were nearly violet, looked back at him with an odd mixture of defiance and apprehension he didn’t understand.

“Do I pass inspection, Mr. Durham?”

Case snapped his thoughts back to the job at hand and focused on her face. “You’re every bit as lovely as I’ve heard, Miss Rose. Though, I have to say, you’re younger than I’d expected. You’ve accomplished quite a lot for your age.”

As she felt heat rise to her cheeks, Katlyn was glad for all the makeup to hide it. “I started singing as a child, Mr. Durham.” That part was true at least. “And I’ve never stopped.”

Something unnerving—was it disbelief?—flashed across his face, settling in a single arched brow. “We’re all extremely anxious to hear you. I know you won’t disappoint us.”

Katlyn resisted the urge to fidget with something. “Of course, I’ll need to rehearse before I perform.”

Case looked at her speculatively. “Naturally. Take the entire weekend to rehearse, if you’d like. I’ve scheduled your first performance for Monday night.”

“Monday?” This time Katlyn couldn’t hide the panic. That was only three days away!

“Is there a problem?”

“I—of course not.”

“You must realize, Miss Rose—is that your name by the way?”

“No!” Katlyn blurted before she could stop the word. She forced herself to meet Case’s intimidating gaze. “Penelope Rose is the name I use as a singer. My name is Katlyn. Katlyn McLain.”

“I see,” Case said, sounding as if he didn’t. “Well, as I said when I wrote to you, Miss—McLain, the salary we finally agreed on is based on your ability to draw in new customers. I was completely honest with you in my letters regarding the status of my hotel.” He stepped inches closer. His deep bass voice seemed to resonate through the whole room. “All I ask of you is that you give me the same honesty. Then, Miss McLain, we’ll get along fine.”

Honesty! Katlyn nearly let go a hysterical laugh.

She struggled over a murmured reply, at the same time thinking that of course she could manage to get along just fine with Case Durham. It wouldn’t be difficult at all.

If she stayed as far away from him as possible.

Chapter Two

Case broke the awkward silence between them, summoning Becky with a sharp gesture.

“Show Miss McLain to her rooms, please.” He turned back to Katlyn. “I’m sure you’re exhausted from your ordeal. Becky can bring dinner to your suite tonight, if you’d like.”

“M-my suite?”

“Of course.” Case narrowed his probing gaze. “It was one of your requirements for taking the job.”

Katlyn avoided his eyes and busied herself pulling off her white kid gloves. She waved them in a little flirtatious gesture she’d seen her mother use hundreds of times to avoid awkward situations. “Yes. Indeed it was. I must be comfortable if I’m to survive this wild country any length of time at all, mustn’t I?” she said, managing an uncomfortable laugh.

“By all means. We want you to feel at home here.”

The edge of sarcasm in his voice told her he didn’t appreciate her weak attempt at levity.

Glad to escape his unnerving presence, Katlyn eagerly fell in behind Becky as the girl motioned toward the stairs. Katlyn lifted her heavy skirts and petticoats and began the ascent, but halfway up the staircase she stopped cold.

What was she doing! She couldn’t possibly stay here and leave her mother at the boardinghouse. Couldn’t and wouldn’t. That’s where she’d draw the line in this farce.

She turned back around to find Case standing at the foot of the stairs like a centurion looking up after her, back straight, feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed over his broad chest. He stood watching her, staring actually, his expression offering nothing but a handsome mask of cool politeness.

Only his eyes, deep and searching, held any hint of emotion. Annoyance, Katlyn thought.

Case waited impatiently, wondering how a woman who seemed so lacking in poise had managed to become so successful before an audience. He supposed she must be a better actress than she seemed. Perhaps the trip here had unnerved her more than she admitted.

“Is there something else, Miss McLain?” he prompted when she stayed frozen on the staircase, looking down at him as if she expected him to pounce at any moment.

“Actually…there is.”

“Do you intend to tell me, or should I guess?”

Katlyn ran the tip of her tongue over dry lips. “It’s my—traveling companion. She helps me dress and do my hair and makeup. But the robbery and the walk to town had a terribly ill effect on her. Her health has been fragile since the start of our journey and now…well, I’ve secured a room for her elsewhere, but I can’t leave her at the boardinghouse alone.”

Case said nothing, taking his time pondering the situation, much to Katlyn’s irritation.

“She can stay with me,” she said finally, more sharply than she intended. “I wouldn’t ask for another room.” Still he held back, the silence of waiting growing like thunder in her head. “Mr. Durham—”

“Bring the woman here at once,” he answered, his tone an abrupt contrast to his words. “Becky, I’ll have Sally see to the laundry for a time so you’ll be free to help Miss McLain and her companion.”

Becky practically burst with joy. “Yes, Mr. Durham!” The girl leaned close to Katlyn and said, “I’d be right proud to help you and your friend, ma’am.”

Smiling back at Becky in thanks, Katlyn breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She could watch over her mother day and night now. Having Penelope close would make the whole ruse livable.

The doctor would be discreet, she thought. He called her mother Mrs. McLain and neither Katlyn nor Penelope had corrected him. But Penelope had insisted no one else learn of her and Katlyn’s relationship. Lending Katlyn her title was one thing, playing the role of the St. Louis Songbird’s ailing mother was quite another. Katlyn was certain, once the doctor understood her mother’s delicate and volatile temperament, he would agree it was in Penelope’s best interest to keep their secret.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Durham,” she told Case. “I’ll see to having her moved here this evening.”

“I’ll send Bucky along to help.”

“Thank you,” Katlyn nodded, then turned back to climb the stairs to the landing.

“Miss McLain—”

Case didn’t know what impulse prompted him to call her back. Maybe it was the way she kept surprising him. He didn’t like surprises. Or mysteries. And Penelope Rose, Katlyn McLain, or whatever she chose to call herself, was both.

She looked back at him, clearly startled.

“If you’re not too tired, perhaps you’ll join me this evening in the saloon for a brandy,” Case said. “I’m sure you’d like to see the stage.”

Choking back the lump that rose in her throat at the mention of the word stage, Katlyn nodded down to him and hurried after Becky.

They turned the corner out of Case’s view at the top of the stairs and, away from his disturbing scrutiny, Katlyn’s tension ebbed a little.

A dimly lit landing separated one door from the rest of the rooms that lined the other hallway. As Becky motioned her to the landing, Katlyn caught sight of a little flash of white moving behind the railing.

She squinted and looked harder, making out the image of a child’s face pressed through the spindles of railing. The apparition looked like a little dark-haired girl, crouching down, who appeared for an instant then vanished behind a velvet curtain.

“Hello?” Katlyn ventured. When no one answered, she turned to Becky. “Who was that?”

“Oh, just Mr. Durham’s little girl.”

So he was married. Her mother hadn’t told her that. In a way, it was a relief to know he had a wife and child. There must be some trace of warmth in him after all.

“Could you ask her to come out so I can meet her?”

“I can try. But she don’t like strangers. She’s real shy. Don’t say much to no one.” Becky turned toward the curtain. “Emily, this pretty lady wants to meet you. She’s the new singer your daddy told you about.”

After several minutes of coaxing from Becky, at last the heavy drapes swayed and a pair of beautiful, wide-set eyes and pink cheeks peeked out from between the crimson folds.

In that quick glimpse, Katlyn saw the biggest evergreen eyes and the sweetest little peaches and cream face she had ever laid eyes on. She was struck at once by the child’s remarkable beauty—and by the joyless expression that marred it.

“Hello, Emily,” she said, speaking softly and bending to eye level with the little girl.

But in the next instant, the precious face vanished once more behind the curtain.

Bewildered, Katlyn looked to Becky. “Where did she go?”

“She ain’t supposed to talk to guests. Mr. Durham has a playroom fixed up for her in that nook behind the curtain. Only the real fancy guests stay in the suite here. Her room is away from the others, so it’s safer over here for Emily when her daddy’s busy.

“Doesn’t his wife watch over her?”

“Wife?” Becky shook her head. “Mr. Durham ain’t got a wife. Don’t know if he ever did. Never said a word about her if he did and I ain’t gonna be the one to ask. He don’t cotton to no questions about himself or his little girl. Guards her like gold. No one dares so much as talks to her without his sayin’ so. ’Cept me and Bucky, that is. We’re twins,” she added proudly. “Did you know that?”

“Why no, you with your blond curls and he with that brownish mop of hair, you two don’t look much alike. But—” Katlyn appraised Becky more closely “—there is something in your mouth that is similar to his.”

Becky nodded and smiled. “Mr. Durham hired us right away after our ma died and our pa sent us out to find work.”

Judging the girl to be only about thirteen, Katlyn frowned. “You seem a little young to be working in a hotel.”

Becky shrugged. “I’ll be fifteen next spring. And Pa needs the money fer his whiskey. Besides, me and Bucky, we’d sure rather be here with Mr. Durham than at home with Pa when he’s had a bottle or two. Mr. Durham might not be real friendly sometimes, but he’d never lay a hand to us. He treats us mighty fine.”

Katlyn thought of herself at fourteen. Although Penelope had hardly been an attentive mother, Katlyn never feared a beating or wanted for anything. Her image of Case Durham shifted slightly as she considered his willingness to take on Becky and her brother.

“So, Mr. Durham only lets you two talk to his daughter?”

“Mostly. ’Cause we’re like kids, too, I guess. He knows us real good. Knows we’d never lie to him or cheat him or hurt Emily.”

“I’m sure he can count on you both.” Katlyn looked away from Becky, her heart suddenly racing with guilt she feared would show in her eyes.

“Mr. Durham’s a real fine man. But he don’t abide no liars or cheats. And Lord help anyone who gets too close to his little girl! He loves Emily more than anythin’. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

Imagining the child’s angelic face behind the curtain, Katlyn’s eyes turned there, wondering if Emily were listening. Betting she was, she said clearly and with surety, “Well, I think Emily and I might become better acquainted.”

Katlyn anticipated Becky’s protest and waved it aside. “Don’t worry. I just think maybe Emily could use another friend.

“And I know what it is to be lonely,” she added softly, thinking of Emily’s sad eyes and another little girl who’d also grown up in hotels and on riverboats, a lonely little girl who’d also hidden in the shadows, waiting and listening, hoping for a place to belong.

“I won’t discuss it any further.” Penelope clenched her thin fingers together atop the quilt. “My mind is made up.”

“But, Mama, the suite is beautiful, wait until you see it! Much of the hotel still needs work, but Mr. Durham had the suite redone completely for you, and it’s lovely. I don’t know how he knew, but it’s all in pinks and greens. And roses. The colors and the flowers you love most. Bucky is waiting outside with the buggy to help move you there.”

“It sounds perfect,” Penelope said, a trace of regret in her voice. “Perfect for you.”

Sick or not, Katlyn decided it was time to be firm with her mother. “Mama, I will not live there without you.”

Penelope straightened in her bed. “Oh, yes, you will.”

Exasperated, Katlyn started to insist when a light tap sounded at the door and Mrs. Donaldson pushed into the room, her thin arms laden with a tray. “I was thinkin’ you ladies might like some tea and cookies.”

Penelope flashed one of her brilliant smiles. “Do come in, Elspeth, and tell my daughter what a nice arrangement we’ve come to.”

Katlyn bristled. What had her mother done now?

“Why, your ma told me all about your troubles,” Mrs. Donaldson said. “And pleased I’ll be to have rent from a regular boarder. Besides, it’ll do me old soul good to have another woman ’round the house to talk with now and again. And you’ll be just a wee walk away, so you won’t have to be worryin’ about her.”

Bestowing a beaming smile on Katlyn, Mrs. Donaldson bustled out of the room, leaving Katlyn to confront her mother.

“Don’t say it. It’s settled.”

“Mama, I need you with me. It’ll be so much easier, don’t you see?”

“No, I do not. And I won’t hear any more about it. I’ve told you, I won’t have anyone pitying your poor, ailing companion, and you certainly won’t tell anyone I am your mother. You promised me, Katlyn. Remember that.”

Penelope’s voice betrayed her exhaustion, fading to a near whisper. Katlyn decided it best not to argue further with her. “Whatever you want, Mama,” she said, patting Penelope’s hand to calm her, “for the time being.”

“There won’t be a time when I agree to go to that hotel. Now—” Penelope stubbornly forced her weakened body up a little farther against her pillow and leveled a sharp glance at Katlyn. “We’ve got work to do, Katie, my dear.”

Katlyn stood in the middle of the saloon and stared at the stage. Small but elegant with its dark gold velvet hangings, mahogany-cased piano, and polished pinewood floor, it was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen. On Monday, she would have to stand there, pretend to know everything about pleasing an audience with her voice and her smile, and pray that no one saw Katlyn McLain behind the borrowed glitter.

Sitting at one of the round tables pushed close to the stage, Katlyn drew a long shaky breath and let it slowly go. She had made her decision, there was no going back.

If she broke her promise, it could cost her mother her life. She had to earn enough to take Penelope to the hospital in Las Vegas as soon as she was well enough to travel. Her mother depended on her and Katlyn vowed to not let her down.

She distracted herself wondering where Mr. Durham was and if he remembered his invitation to meet her here this evening. He didn’t seem the kind of man to forget—or forgive—anything. The thought jerked Katlyn to her feet and set her pacing the room.

If he ever discovered her charade…

She was on the verge of leaving Case Durham to drink alone when a sudden commotion of raised voices sounded just outside the saloon doors. Before she could react, the crack of a gunshot resounded off the walls, followed by a grunt of pain and a string of cursing.

Instinct sent Katlyn bolting for the doors. She flung them open—just as a second shot whizzed over her head, hitting the wall behind her.

“Get down!” Case shouted at her.

Katlyn dropped to her knees, more in surprise than in response to his command.

A few feet in front of her, Case confronted a hulk of a man waving a six-shooter in one hand and a whiskey bottle in the other. The man swung the Colt in Case’s direction. But before he could fire another shot, Case knocked his arm up and at the same time slammed a fist into the man’s jaw.

Case’s motion was so quick and supple, Katlyn scarcely believed she’d seen it until the man crumpled and fell face-first to the floor.

Case kicked the Colt across the foyer. Then he grabbed the man by the collar, hauling him up.

“I told you, you’re not welcome here, Charlie. I’m tired of you shooting up the place after you’ve had a few too many.” Yanking the befuddled man to the front door, Case shoved him outside. “Next time, I call in the sheriff. Now get home before you hurt someone.”

He jerked the doors closed behind the unfortunate Charlie and swung his glare to Katlyn.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed or do you make a habit of running toward bullets?” He didn’t give her time to answer but strode over and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Are you hurt?”

A strange breathlessness attacked Katlyn, though from anger at Case’s rough tone or his sudden nearness, she didn’t know. He had shed his jacket and, in his shirtsleeves, his smoothness ruffled by the scuffle with Charlie, he looked a different man.

At first, he had unnerved her because she feared he would see through her pretense. Now, he disturbed her with this new image of a man as adept at protecting his property as he was at operating it. Her initial impression had been of a polished and intimidating businessman.

Her impression of him now was something very different. He unsettled her on another level, somewhere deep and private. The aggressive anger in his eyes, his mussed hair, disheveled clothes, the power written in the taut muscles straining against his rolled-up sleeves revealed a strong, rugged and terribly masculine side she found herself completely unprepared to face.

“Well?”

“Well what?” she asked, baffled.

“I asked you if you are all right.”

“Oh. Of course. Yes, I’m fine,” she said, realizing he still held her hand and looked at her as if he worried the close encounter with the bullet might make her turn and run. Instead, she banished the flash of fear at the idea she might have been shot, pulled her hand and her eyes away, and stepped back. “Interesting customers, you have. Does this happen often?”

Case shrugged. “Fourth one this week,” he said, taking a closer scowling look at the bullet hole. “There are so many holes in this place it’s a wonder it didn’t start leaking long ago.” He laughed shortly at Katlyn’s dubious expression. “This isn’t St. Louis, Miss McLain. Did you think it would be?”

“I didn’t think I would be dodging bullets,” Katlyn snapped back. “Are these the kind of people you expect me to entertain?”

“Charlie is relatively harmless. He dips a little too far into the bottle and decides to come here and fire a few shots at the woodwork. That’s all.”

“He nearly took a shot at you.”

“He would have missed. And to answer your question, the kind of people I want you to entertain won’t set foot in here because they’re afraid of the guests that have been here in the past. I need you to change that.”

Katlyn looked away and Case frowned a little. For a woman who earned her way and her reputation catering to audiences, she seemed oddly inhibited when he made any reference to her singing. From her letters he’d expected a pretty, vivacious woman, decidedly vain, experienced at flattery and expecting her share of honeyed praise in return.

Katlyn McLain seemed someone else entirely.

“Sing for me,” he said abruptly.

The color drained from her face, leaving two spots of rouge staining her pale cheeks. “Now?”

“Why not?” Case shoved open the door of the saloon. “I’d like to hear what I’m paying for.” Holding out a hand, he invited her inside.

Or ordered her, Katlyn thought, tempted to refuse him. But if she did, she would only give him another reason to suspect her.

Slowly she walked in, acutely aware of Case behind her, watching. Katlyn sat at the piano. She flexed her fingers a little, trying to keep them from shaking, and blessed her mother’s insistence that she learn to play. At least this way she wouldn’t have to look at Case while she tried to convince him performing came as naturally to her as breathing.

She chose the first song that came to her, a sweet, sad Irish ballad she’d learned as a girl. At first the notes and words came tentatively. Then, gradually, without her being aware of it, the music flowed into her and out in her voice. For a few moments she closed her eyes and she was Katie again, sitting alone in her mother’s hotel room, singing romantic ballads to herself and dreaming of true love.

Case stood at the bar, his hand arrested in the motion of reaching for glasses, and stared at her.

She sang like an angel, the sweet clarity of her voice weaving magic into the air like pure gold threads in a tapestry. There was nothing contrived or practiced about her singing. Nothing he ever expected to hear from a woman who had earned a reputation from entertaining on riverboats.

Instead, her song touched him, warm and true, and caught him in a moment of enchantment.

When she finished, Katlyn sat with her hands on the piano keys for a moment before she came out of her dream and slowly turned to face Case.

He looked almost stunned and her heart plunged. “I—I haven’t practiced,” she stammered. “I’m sure once I’m able to—”

“Practice, yes, I know,” he said, his voice low and rough. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure your reputation alone will make you a success.”

Katlyn opened her mouth, closed it, and finally managed to find her voice. “I don’t want to be a disappointment.” To anyone, she added silently.

“Why should you be?” Case shifted as if throwing off some troublesome feeling, the edge back in his voice and demeanor. Moving behind the bar, he poured out two glasses, offering one to Katlyn.

“A toast,” he said, raising his glass to hers when she stepped up to the bar to take the drink. “To Penelope Rose, my new songbird.”

Katlyn acknowledged the toast with a forced smile. She took a sip of the brandy and tried not to cough. She had always hated spirits.

Case laughed at the slight grimace she couldn’t quite curb. “I have no idea why you’re here, and I can’t picture you on a riverboat stage. What a puzzle you are, Miss McLain.”

“Do you think so?” Katlyn walked away from the bar. She went around the room, idly touching a table here, a curtain there. “You’re more the puzzle. You don’t seem the kind to invest so much here, in Cimarron of all places. Why not Denver or Las Vegas or even Santa Fe? And why a hotel where bullets in the walls are as common as nails?”

Case walked around the bar and went through the ritual of cutting and lighting a cheroot and taking a long draw before answering her. He leaned back against the ornately carved oak bar, appraising her with that calculating glint in his eyes Katlyn found so disturbing. “Why not?”

“Your daughter. It’s not exactly the place for a child.”

“Touché, Miss McLain. Except my daughter is not your business. I’m here because of her and that’s more than you need to know.”

“And I’m here because I choose to be and that’s more than you need to know,” Katlyn snapped, stung by the brusqueness in his voice. “Now that we have that settled, I’m going to bed. I have a lot of practicing to do before Monday.”

She stalked toward the doors, intending to leave with the last word. But before she could push her way out into the foyer, a long, low moaning sounded through the room. It might have been the wind, though it had a peculiarly human quality to it.

Katlyn’s determined stride faltered.

“Is something wrong?” Case asked.

Katlyn whirled on him. “No, only I should have expected this place to be drafty considering you admit the walls are used for target practice on a regular basis.”

“Oh, that’s not the wind.” Case saw the flash of uncertainty cross her face. He knew he shouldn’t risk unnerving her any more tonight. But her bravado seemed forced, a part of the persona of the St. Louis Songbird, not the real Katlyn McLain.

That made it irresistibly tempting to tease her into revealing more of the woman hiding behind all of the theatrical trappings. The warm, passionate woman he had heard when she sang.

He gave her a wicked smile. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s harmless. It’s only one of my resident ghosts.”

Chapter Three

One hour. The clock on the writing desk ticking off the seconds sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Every tick grated at Katlyn’s nerves until finally she snatched up the clock and jammed it under the bed pillows.

She hardly needed another reminder of what she had to do tonight.

Turning back to the full-length mirror, she fidgeted with the shoulder of her dress, wondering how her mother ever felt comfortable wearing so much flounced satin and lace. The emerald satin did compliment her coloring. But Penelope had painted her face and arranged her hair so elaborately, Katlyn felt like a stranger to herself.

A stranger she didn’t particularly like.

Very soon, though, that stranger would have to stand onstage and pretend to enjoy singing to an audience. Katlyn, countless times over the last two days, had come close to confessing all to Case Durham and offering to wash dishes, or scrub floors, anything but pretend to be the St. Louis Songbird.

Then she would look at her mother, pale and fragile, and see the hope in Penelope’s eyes, or the satisfaction when Katlyn successfully copied one of Penelope’s mannerisms, or echoed her singing style.

So she stayed. In this blasted hotel, where the guests shot holes in the walls, the staff teased her about the ghosts of dead gunfighters haunting the halls, and Case Durham watched her as if he had known all along she was a fraud.

“Miss McLain?” the voice foremost in her mind called through the door.

Katlyn jumped. The man must be a devil, reading her thoughts.

“Miss McLain?” Case said again. “I’d like to speak with you a moment.”

Wonderful, Katlyn thought, just what I need now. She could hardly refuse him, though.

Tweaking the shoulder of her dress one final time, she breathed deep and flung open the door. “Yes, Mr. Durham?”

Case, confronted with an image of emerald ruffles and a defiant blue glare, could only stare at her for a moment, struck by the picture she presented. Although the dress and the rouge and the piled-up curls fit the image he’d had of Penelope Rose, it all looked wrong on her.

Except for the defiance. Somehow, he had the feeling he wasn’t the first man to see that fire flash in her eyes.

“I see you’re ready,” he said finally.

“Of course,” Katlyn said. Her nervousness receded in a tide of indignation. He had assumed his polite mask, but not before she saw his obvious disapproval. “Now that you’ve satisfied yourself I’m not still in my petticoats, is there anything else?”

Case smiled a little at her flushed face and the mutinous cant of her chin. No meek little sparrow, his songbird. “I came to wish you luck.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you. I can sing.”

“Yes, I’ve heard you.” He had, many times over the past few days. She had spent numerous hours closeted in the saloon or her rooms, practicing song after song. Case appreciated her willingness to work, and he couldn’t fault the quality of her voice. But her lack of polish puzzled him.

He didn’t like it. Something about Penelope Rose rang false, and it was more than just the wrong clothes and the overdone curls.

“You can sing,” he added, almost to himself. “I’m still waiting to see you perform.”

“Oh, please, don’t overwhelm me with your compliments,” a combination of nerves and annoyance caused Katlyn to snap. She resisted the urge to fidget with her dress or her hair once again. “If you’re done with your inspection, it’s nearly time for me to go downstairs and perform.”

Case didn’t seem inclined to move. “Not quite yet. Are you satisfied with the piano player I hired?”

To Case’s surprise, Katlyn burst out laughing, the unrestrained, joyous sound filling the room. Suddenly she seemed to come alive, not his singer in fancy flounces, but the woman behind the carefully painted facade.

“Jack Dakota is no piano player,” Katlyn said finally, breathless with laughter. “He’s a gambler who happens to know how to play piano. If he hadn’t bet his last dollar on a queen-high flush, he’d be sitting at one of your tables trying to fleece your customers instead of behind your piano trying to entertain them. But yes, I like him. And considering your clientele right now, he’s perfect.”

Her teasing words drew no answering smile from Case. “I’m expecting you to change the clientele.”

“You make it sound so desperate, Mr. Durham,” Katlyn said, forcing a lightness she didn’t feel. “I’m not a miracle worker. All I can do is sing.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Case said slowly. He looked her up and down, slowly appraising. “If you’ll just be yourself.”

They locked gazes. Katlyn felt the force of his aura of command in his steady, faintly sardonic focus on her. She wanted to shift away from it but held her ground, determined to not let him unnerve her any more than he already had.

“You hired the St. Louis Songbird. And that’s who those people downstairs have come to see.”

Something hard struck his expression and for a moment Katlyn had the wild notion he intended to expose her then and there. She didn’t consider how he knew, only that he did.

Then the moment passed and Case stepped back with a wry smile, gesturing toward the stairs.

“Well, then, my songbird,” he said. “Your audience awaits.”

Katlyn swept past him, her flush of bravado carrying her down the long staircase and to the doors of the saloon.

Then, as Case opened the doors for her, a tremor of fear spiraled through her heart, settling as a lump in her stomach. She refused, though, to let Case know how terrified she really was, so she put her chin up and walked into the room as if she had done it a thousand times before.

Case touched a hand to her waist to escort her to the stage and felt her tremble. It surprised him, even as he admired her proud walk through the room, looking as if she expected nothing less than adoration from her audience.

As she stepped up onto the stage, Jack Dakota turned on his piano stool and grinned at her, then blew her a kiss. Katlyn’s smile flashed out and Case felt a stab of irritation. He forced it back to introduce her, but it scratched at him as she barely seemed to acknowledge his announcement or the audience awaiting her.

Her eyes instead kept flitting to Jack until Case stopped talking and a few seconds of awkward silence filled the room.

“Well, is she gonna sing or ain’t she?” a harsh voice called from the back of the room.

It jolted Katlyn and for the first time she looked fully at her audience.

She doubted these were the kinds of people Case expected her to entice to the St. Martin. Most of the men looked like the gamblers and roughriders she’d seen around the hotel, and the few women couldn’t even charitably be called ladies. None of them looked particularly impressed.

Case stepped down from the stage and left Katlyn standing there, staring back at the audience. She might have stood there until Case pulled her offstage if Jack hadn’t started playing a lively tune they’d practiced just that morning.

Almost automatically, Katlyn responded and took up the words, her mind racing to remember not only the lyrics, but all the little mannerisms her mother had insisted she use. Jack started up another song as soon as she’d finished, giving her no time to gather her wits.

After finishing the fourth tune, Katlyn sensed disaster looming.

Only half the audience paid her any attention and a few of the men jeered and snickered, not bothering to hide their contempt.

Jack tried to encourage her with a smile, but Katlyn stumbled through the next song, wishing all the while she could simply vanish into the woodwork.

She glanced toward the back of the room as she finished and saw Case. His gaze fixed on her and she caught her breath. The blackness of his expression should have stopped her cold.

Instead, inexplicably, it gave Katlyn a rush of courage. He expected her to fail. All at once she determined to prove him wrong.

With a quick word to Jack, she moved back to center stage and forced herself to ignore the restless audience, the smoky, close air, and to focus on the sweet, soulful music. It wasn’t a song her mother would have chosen, but she decided at that moment, Penelope’s choices weren’t doing her much good.

Katlyn forgot all her carefully memorized lessons and gave herself to the music, all the while keeping her gaze on Case.

“‘I wander lonely, lost,

searching for what’s true

afraid I’ll never know it,

and then I look, and there is you

beckoning me home.

But when I reach out,

there’s only longing,

and truth I cannot doubt,

for I am left alone again

with only the dream of my heart.”’

Case found himself unable to look away.

With a song she had transformed herself. Minutes ago, watching her awkwardly stumble through her repertoire, he’d been certain he’d made one of the biggest mistakes of his life in gambling his future on the St. Louis Songbird.

Now, listening to her, he could almost believe Katlyn McLain was a miracle.

He had never been fanciful, but the magic she worked made him imagine she had opened her heart and let the feelings there pour out through her voice. It softened her, lent her a grace not even green satin and rouge could overshadow.

Katlyn scarcely noticed anyone but Case until she let go the last lingering notes of the ballad. Then she breathed deeply, breaking their locked gazes—and became suddenly aware of the almost awed silence.

Everyone stared at her. Katlyn had the feeling she wouldn’t have shocked them more if she’d stripped to her petticoats and danced a jig.

Her eyes went almost involuntarily back to Case.

He looked back, his face expressionless.

Before Katlyn could try to decipher what that meant, a loud, raucous applause started, interspersed with whistling and demands she sing again.

Katlyn hesitated, then caught up in the warm flood of approval, complied with two more songs, not any of her mother’s, but songs she loved and felt comfortable sharing. By the time she finished, she felt almost giddy with the appreciative response from the audience.

Moving off the stage she went over to Jack to thank him and he caught her hands, bringing them to his lips. “I’d say a celebration is in order. You were wonderful.”

“Hardly that,” Katlyn said, laughing. “It was very nearly the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“I’d gamble on your success, sweetheart. If I had anything left to bet.” Jack winked at her, flashing that rogue’s grin.

His smile was infectious and Katlyn found herself grinning back. “Maybe you’ll get lucky tonight.”

“Only if you agree to join me later for champagne.”

“Oh, Jack, I—”

“Already have an engagement. With me,” Case finished for her smoothly.

Katlyn jerked around to find Case standing beside them. He didn’t look any more pleased than he had when she’d started singing and Katlyn’s high spirits took a plunge. His stance seemed easy but she saw him fingering the cheroot he held as if he needed some outlet for his tension.

What if he asked her to leave? Her heart clenched. She couldn’t lose this job, not now. It meant everything to her, and to Penelope.

But she wouldn’t grovel for him, nor would she allow him to bully her.

“I don’t recall us having any plans together,” she said, facing Case squarely.

Case nearly smiled at her show of defiance. For a woman experienced in pleasing men with her voice, she didn’t hesitate to challenge him, given the chance. “I want to talk to you,” he said. “We can have a late supper in the dining room.”

Jack made a move as if to object, but Katlyn touched his sleeve in warning. Neither of them could afford to be out of work now. She turned to him with a smile, saying lightly, “I know you’re anxious to find a game. I’ll collect my champagne tomorrow, if your luck is good.”

“Count on it,” Jack said. He gave Case a sharp nod before moving off toward one of the crowded gaming tables.

Case watched him for a moment, frowning, and Katlyn couldn’t help contrasting the two men. Jack, with his sun-gilded hair and carefree smile, was all lightness, while Case, dark and imposing, seemed to command her attention just by his presence.

Looking at him, she had a sick feeling he’d arranged this little supper to tell her nicely to leave his hotel. When he turned back to her, Katlyn decided to fling caution aside and confront him. “If you intend to tell me to go, I’d rather you do it now.”

Case raised a brow. “I intend to have supper.” Grinding out the cheroot on the tray at Jack’s piano, he told her shortly, “In two hours, in the dining room. I’ll be expecting you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a word with one or two of my guests.”

He left her before she could refuse and as Katlyn watched him go, she wondered if her short career as Penelope Rose was over before it had really ever begun.

Katlyn retreated to her rooms to strip off the emerald satin, yank the pins from her hair, and wash away her heavy makeup. After a short rest, she hesitated, then put on the simple dark blue dress she’d worn on the trip to Cimarron. It wasn’t exactly elegant, but it was hers, only one of two that had survived the stage robbery. If she had to wear her mother’s frills to perform, at least she would be comfortable when she stepped offstage.

Downstairs, she glanced into the saloon on her way to meet Case in the dining room. A few stragglers stood at the bar, tossing back the last dregs from a whiskey bottle. Seeing her, Case snuffed out his cheroot then moved to ease the men out of the saloon. He draped his arms over their shoulders and led them toward the door. Amiably, they swayed out of the saloon, leaving Case and Katlyn alone to face each other in the hallway.

Case looked at her, momentarily caught off guard by her transformation. Dressed plainly, with her hair loose and her face scrubbed clean she looked so completely different he wondered if she were the same woman.

The change in her reminded him of her performance, affected and awkward at first, natural and engaging at the end. Except which image was the true Katlyn McLain?

“Are you hungry?” Case said suddenly, breaking the awkward silence between them.

Katlyn chose to ignore his scrutiny of her. It was obvious her change in appearance confused him, and she didn’t want to encourage unwanted questions. “Starving. I was too nervous to eat all day.”

“You? Nervous?” He cast her a doubtful glance. “I find that hard to believe. Though I suppose that would explain your testiness before your performance.”

“If I was testy, it was only because this was an important night,” Katlyn retorted. “I wanted to do well.”

“But this can’t be new to you, you must have sung in places like this countless times.”

“No, Mr. Durham, I can honestly say I’ve never sung in a place like this. And besides, believe it or not, some things just don’t get any easier.”

Case gave her a wry smile. “That much is true.” He offered her his arm. “Dinner is ready. Let’s go celebrate your first performance at my hotel.”

“I’m not sure a celebration is in order,” Katlyn muttered under her breath. But she laid her hand on his arm and let him lead her toward the dining room.

Katlyn tried to appear cool and poised as she walked alongside Case. Inside, she quaked. The flex of hard muscle under her fingers reminded her too forcibly of Case Durham’s strength, both in body and will.

Beside him, she felt an unsettling combination of vulnerability and reassurance. With a word, he could leave her desperate. Without saying anything, he made her feel strangely secure, as if she could trust his strength to protect her.

It made no sense and Katlyn didn’t try to figure it out. All she wanted now was to get through dinner with her job and her secret intact.

As they walked into the formal dining room, she saw only one table was still draped in crisp white linen, set with fine china and crystal champagne goblets. Three silvery roses blossomed out of a cut-glass vase that picked up glints of light from the lamps and chandeliers, completing the elegant setting.

Katlyn glanced from the table to Case. “This is lovely. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Case said as he pulled her chair out and seated her, then took his place across the small round table. “Except I’m afraid I’d be less than truthful if I said this was especially for you.”

“I see…After my performance, I suppose I should consider myself lucky to be sitting here at all.” As soon as the words left her lips, Katlyn inwardly groaned. She had to find some way of harnessing her tongue instead of impulsively blurting out the first thing that came into her head, or she’d soon find herself giving up all her secrets to Case Durham.

She looked at Case, half expecting to see his intimidating scowl directed fully at her. Instead a corner of his mouth twitched up in a half smile, and Katlyn had the distinct impression he was laughing at her.

“It’s clear I’ll never have to guess at what you’re thinking,” he said.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not? You’re direct, I like that. It’s honest.”

Honest…Katlyn felt hot color burn her face. She tried to laugh in return, acutely aware of how strained it sounded. But before she could think of any reply, Case, for the first time since she’d set foot in the St. Martin, smiled fully at her.

The gesture drove any thought from Katlyn’s mind. Warm, for once lacking that faint sardonic edge, his smile made her suddenly aware of how many facets there were to his attractiveness. It betrayed a certain kindness and understanding he hid well behind the impression he usually projected as a commanding employer and ambitious businessman.

“I should explain, about dinner,” Case said. He leaned back in his chair. “This is something of a ritual with me, my peace after the saloon closes. After Emily is in bed and the hotel is quiet, I come here to relax.” He laughed wryly. “Call it my one indulgence.” He pulled a chilled bottle of champagne from a silver cooler. “But this is in honor of you. To congratulate you on your first performance at the St. Martin.”

“It’s very generous of you. But I hope you don’t feel you’re wasting it. I know tonight was less than impressive.”

Case took his time filling their glasses, appraising Katlyn as he handed her one. She obviously expected his criticism, or worse. Sitting stiffly in her chair, her color bright and her chin high, she kindled a reluctant admiration in him.

She might be afraid of whatever he had to say, but she wouldn’t cower or plead. If he knew anything for certain about her it was that Katlyn McLain was a fighter.

“At times, you were very impressive,” Case said, remembering how she had sung that sweet, haunting ballad to him alone. He lifted his glass. “To the St. Louis Songbird.”

“To the success of the St. Martin,” Katlyn amended as she touched her glass to his.

She tried to feel relief at his words. Yet she hated accepting any praise as Penelope Rose or the St. Louis Songbird, no matter how slight. She wasn’t Penelope.

And she wondered if she could ever successfully pretend to be. How she wished her mother had been here this evening. Penelope could have accurately judged the audience’s reaction. Katlyn could have trusted her critique.

Instead, she had to trust her debut hadn’t been a complete disaster by Case’s reaction. At least he hadn’t fired her.

Katlyn took a small sip of her champagne, just kept herself from wrinkling her nose at the taste, then put the glass back. As she did, a flash of white caught her eye.

Through the partly open door Katlyn guessed led to the kitchen, she glimpsed a small barefoot figure in a ruffled nightgown. Emily peeked inside, darting back when she saw Katlyn look her way.

“So, your daughter is tucked in for the night?” she said, turning innocent eyes to Case.

“She’s been asleep for hours. With all the chaos around her, I insist she stick to a strict schedule.”

Before Katlyn could respond the cook shoved into the dining room holding fast to Emily, who all but refused to put one foot in front of the other.

“I don’t want to go, Tuck,” Emily whispered fiercely to the burly man.

“Well, I think your daddy wants his supper before midnight. I had less trouble gettin’ a meal done when I was feedin’ twenty hungry cowhands,” Tuck muttered, depositing Emily at Case’s side. “Found her in my kitchen again, spyin’ on you, Mr. Durham.” Muttering about supper being late again, Tuck lumbered back to his domain.

Emily stared hard at the floor. Katlyn bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Case looked at Emily a full minute before pulling her into his lap. He lifted her chin with one finger to turn the little girl’s eyes to his. “What are you doing down here this time of night? You know the rules.”

“I wanted to hear her sing,” Emily said so softly Katlyn barely heard the words. “Becky said she sounded like an angel. I’ve never heard an angel before.”

“Well, this is not the time or the place,” Case said firmly. “You should be in bed.”

Emily sniffled loudly and scrubbed at her nose with the back of her sleeve. She ducked her head, her face hidden by a tangle of dark curls.

A rush of empathy flooded Katlyn. She remembered all the times she’d been scolded for sneaking out to hear her mother sing, all the times she’d been escorted back to bed by a convenient chambermaid or her mother’s dresser.

Penelope made it clear work supported them and so work came first. Her mother scoffed at the idea of wasting time playing games or simply sitting and talking with her young daughter when there was always practicing and more practicing to be done.

Growing up, Katlyn recalled having everything she needed—except the one thing she wanted most, a sense she belonged in her mother’s life.

“I would be happy to sing for her,” Katlyn said softly, her eyes on the little girl. She felt Case’s scowl turn on her but she refused to back down. “It’s a special night. I’m sure Emily would like to share it with you.”

For the first time Emily lifted her head and pushed the hair away from her big green eyes. She looked up to Case, blinking away tears. “Please, Daddy?”

The rigid lines softened in Case’s face as he gently brushed a strand of hair from Emily’s forehead. “It’s hours past your bedtime, sweetheart.”

“And?” Katlyn risked provoking him further. “She can sleep a little later tomorrow.”

“Don’t make this your business, Miss McLain,” Case said sharply. “I understand my daughter’s needs far better than you do.”

“That may be true, but couldn’t you make an exception just this once?”

They stared at each other in a silent standoff, Emily, eyes wide as saucers, glancing from one to the other.

Case’s first instinct was to flatly refuse Emily’s request and to make it clear to Katlyn McLain just how unwelcome her interference was in his decisions.

Except when he honestly looked at his reaction, he knew it was also because he didn’t want to give the woman across from him any foothold in his daughter’s affections.

“All right, Emily, one time,” he said finally. “This one night you may stay up late. But if you ask again, I’m warning you now the answer will be no.”

Katlyn looked at Emily, making no attempt to hide her smile. Emily stared back at her, unsmiling, but with a distinct sparkle in her beautiful eyes.

“Would you like to sit on my lap while I sing to you?” Katlyn asked her.

Emily responded by shoving closer to Case, laying her head against his chest so she could just peer at Katlyn from the corner of her eye.

Suppressing a smile, Katlyn began to sing a lullaby her mother’s old dresser had taught her, a gentle, soothing melody about a brave princess’s journey through a magical forest to find her prince.

With her attention focused on Emily, Case could watch Katlyn freely. His irritation with her ebbed as her voice spun out the lilting notes, bringing to vivid life knights in shining armor, fire-breathing dragons and tall castles. Case wasn’t given to flights of imagination. But when she sang like this, it seemed to him she changed the very texture of the air with her song, making it warmer and softer.

He realized suddenly how beautiful she was. The lamplight favored her ivory skin and wove fire into the dark auburn mass mantling her shoulders. Even Emily seemed entranced by the picture his songbird made, and his daughter was rarely captivated by anything.

Emily obviously missed having a mother. Case had known from the beginning he could never fill that place in his daughter’s life.

But he knew also he didn’t want Katlyn McLain filling it, either.

Katlyn or Penelope or whatever she called herself had secrets, of that he was certain. Just like Emily’s mother.

He’d been a fool then. But never again. He would never be so gullible as to allow either Emily or himself to be hurt by lies. Women were deceptive. That lesson he had only to learn once.

As Katlyn finished the last of her song, Case gathered Emily close and stood up.

“Thank you, Miss McLain,” he said, steeling himself against responding to Katlyn’s look of hurt confusion. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put Emily back to bed. Go ahead with your supper, I may be awhile.”

Katlyn barely had time to nod before Case whisked his daughter out of the dining room. As they rounded the doorway out of the room, Emily peered at her once over Case’s shoulder, her hand lifting in a small wave.

Returning the gesture, Katlyn forced a smile. Inside, though, a cold emptiness settled around her heart, quelling the warmth the three of them had shared when she sang. A familiar voice reminded her why.

You’re an outsider, Katie, you don’t belong here any more than anywhere else, and you never will.

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