Nicole Foster - Cimarron Rose

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.”