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