take her place on center stage.
The men’s raucous voices stilled, and all eyes were upon May Kettering, the tall, blond beauty whose voice rivaled that of an opera singer Lily had heard in New York City. The woman was statuesque, voluptuous, and knew the power she wielded over her audience. Following her into the spotlight would be like wandering into an arena after the lions had devoured the Christians, Lily decided. Definitely an anticlimax, no matter how well she could carry a tune.
She listened from the side of the saloon as May sang, knew that the men listening had no idea of the meaning of the words that soared from the woman’s throat. And yet, there was something about the music that spoke to the soul, and even those who had never seen or heard of an opera were touched by the magnificence of the music.
A burst of applause greeted May’s final note, and she nodded at the piano player, a man whose talents were far beyond what one usually found in a place such as this. A saloon was still a saloon, no matter where it was, and although a riverboat might boast a decent piano player, this one was beyond decent. May paused, then lifted her head as the music began, and her voice lifted in song, this time in English, the words of love and sorrow and an aching heart.
For a moment, silence greeted her final notes and then, as she swept from the stage in a swirl of skirts, the men exploded with applause and whistles. “Can you sing like that?” Ham stood beside her, had managed to approach without gaining her notice, and Lily glanced at him with a quick shake of her head.
“Not even a little bit,” she admitted. “My voice is pleasant, and I sing ballads mostly, but I’ll look like a schoolgirl next to May.”
“Not in that dress you won’t,” Ham retorted, eyeing her with a grin. “Honey, you don’t look like any girl I ever met in school.”
She felt a blush rise to cover her cheeks, and glanced to where Morgan sat, watching from narrowed eyes. “How long before I can leave?” she asked.
“Another half hour or so,” Ham told her. “I’ll let you go early tonight, since Morgan paid in advance.”
She inhaled sharply. “What do you mean? Who did he pay?”
“Me, sweetheart. And for what he handed over for your time, you’d do well to keep the man happy for the whole night.”
She met Ham’s gaze. “And if I don’t measure up? What then?”
“Then you don’t get to sing for me tomorrow, and I’ll have to put out the word that your services are available after the saloon closes at night.”
“That’s blackmail,” Lily said quietly. “I didn’t hire on as a whore, Mr. Scott.”
“And who are you going to complain to, Miss Devereaux?” he retorted quickly. “I own this boat, and what I say goes. We won’t be docking anywhere for another couple of days. I’d say it would behoove you to measure up to Mr. Morgan’s expectations.”
Lily stalked toward the bar, blindly making her way on feet that protested, fearful of tripping and falling over the multitude of men who managed to block her way with outthrust hands and vile suggestions. Tears threatened to fall as she reached the relative safety of the walnut bar, and she leaned against it, barely able to conceal the trembling of her hands as the bartender, a man named John, pushed a loaded tray in her direction.
“That table by the door, Lily,” he said quietly. “Are you all right, honey?” he asked, not releasing his hold on the heavy tray as she would have lifted it.
“No, but I doubt it’s going to get any better,” she said harshly.
“Uh-oh,” the barkeep said softly. “Here comes trouble.”
“I’ll give you a hand with that, Lily.” Gage Morgan stood behind her, and the barkeep met the man’s gaze with a look of query.
“Lily don’t need any trouble, Mr. Morgan,” John said quietly.
“I’m not going to give her any,” Morgan returned. “Just thought I’d lend a hand.”
His warmth behind her was a revelation, Lily decided. Though they stood inches apart, the heat from his big body touched her from nape to knees, and she resisted the urge to lean against him for just a moment. Wouldn’t that bring every eye in the place in her direction?
Morgan’s hands were strong, his fingers long and he lifted the tray without a trace of effort, then nodded at Lily to lead the way to their destination. The men whose drinks he carried watched in bafflement as the duo neared their table, and then Lily smiled and sorted out each drink with its intended owner.
“That’s two bits each,” she said pleasantly, and smiled nicely as the men responded quickly, placing their cash on the tray, three of them adding a bit extra for her. Morgan stepped aside and nodded at her, ushering her back to the bar with a small ceremony that was the center of attention in the smoky room.
“Thank you,” she whispered as he placed the empty tray on the bar. She transferred the cash to John’s hand and tucked the extra coins into her bodice. A choked sound from Morgan brought her eyes in his direction and as she watched, his gaze fastened there. Not only was the dress too small, but the neckline was lower than anything she’d ever worn, and her breasts were in dire straits, almost overflowing the red fabric. She tugged at the ruched edging that rimmed the sweetheart neckline, to no avail, for it was already stretched almost beyond bearing.
Morgan cleared his throat and faced the bar. “Give me a shot of whiskey, straight up,” he told John, his voice strained.
John grinned. “Quite a woman, ain’t she?” he asked, pushing the glass across the bar and into Morgan’s grip.
“More than most,” Morgan said bluntly. “And certainly more than these clowns deserve to have delivering their drinks.”
“I think I mis-spoke myself,” John said quietly. “She’s a lady, Morgan. I recognized that right off, first time she opened her mouth this afternoon.”
Morgan lifted his shot glass and drank deeply, downing the whiskey as if it were bad-tasting medicine and he was in dire need of a cure. And then he glanced again at Lily and his gaze touched her face and hair, his eyes a darker gray than she’d first thought. He pushed the glass back toward the bartender and shook his head as John would have refilled it from a bottle behind the bar.
Lily listened to the two men, her eyes traveling from one to the other as they discussed her attributes and decreed her a step above the position she held here. It was almost too much for her patience to bear, she decided, that these two should speak of her as if she could not hear their opinions, and certainly should not be concerned with them.
“I’m not a lady, Mr. Morgan,” she said finally. “No lady ever dressed like this or served drinks in a saloon.”
“Ah,” he said softly, touching his brow with his index finger, as if he saluted her. “But I suspect that at one time you were a most respectable woman, Lily. And I think that you still carry yourself as a lady, no matter what you’re wearing or what your job is.”
“I’m not very good at some things,” she said boldly. “You may be sorry you paid Ham Scott for my time.” She felt, as she spoke, the warm flush of crimson that touched her cheeks and proclaimed her embarrassment.
Morgan
