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,
