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,
