September's Dream Page 7

  "I know. But I want to take a bath."

  Aggie gave a grunt of laughter. "You’ve been acting jumpy all morning. I should have known."

  "Known what?"

  "When a woman wants to smell good and it ain’t even Saturday night, it’s got to be because of a man."

  "No. It’s not a man. I’ve got ..." September hedged. "I’ve got a job."

  "A job? Tonight?" Aggie looked suspicious. "What kind of job do you do at night? After a bath?"

  September became defensive. "I’m going to sing."

  "Sing? Where?"

  "At Rawlins’ Saloon."

  The sudden silence in the room said more than any of Aggie’s curses could have.

  "So you met Snake."

  "Yes."

  "I told you to watch out for his charm."

  September’s face flamed. "I’m not doing this for his charms. I’m doing it for the money."

  "How much?"

  September’s voice lowered. "One hundred fifty dollars a week."

  "A hundred . . ." Aggie studied the bowed head. "To sing for a bunch of grizzled miners?"

  September tried to fake a careless shrug. "That’s what Snake said."

  Aggie’s voice hardened. "He may want you to do a whole lot more than sing. There’s another rumor about how Snake got his name. They say he’s crawled so low, he’d cheat his own grandmother, if the price was right. Watch out for snakes, girl. Some of the most dangerous don’t even hurt when they strike. The hurting comes later."

  September’s face lost all expression. She knew that kind of snake intimately. It was the lowest, the slimiest of all the creatures on the earth. And she’d already felt its sting. She wondered if the hurt would ever go away.

  Her voice was a cry of pain. "Oh, Aggie, don’t you think I know better than to trust him? But a hundred and fifty dollars a week. Think of it. I can have enough saved to be out of here in a couple of weeks, and on the trail of my father."

  For the first time, Aggie’s voice softened. Touching a hand to September’s shoulder, she murmured, "Okay, kid. But take a good look at Snake’s girls tonight. The lure of big money is what got them all started in the first place. And the thought of that money is what keeps them going. Don’t make the mistake they did, of staying around too long. If you have to, grab the money and run."

  September offered her a weak smile. "Thanks, Aggie. That’s just what I intend to do." She sighed. "Now, where’s that tub?"

  * * *

  All afternoon, September worked on the dress she had taken from the rack of gowns in Rawlins’ Saloon. The dress had been made to fit someone much larger. By the time dusk settled over the town, the dress was finished.

  Hauling four large buckets of water to the stove, September heated them, then filled the washtub. In the privacy of her room she washed her hair until it gleamed, then, wrapping her hair in a thick towel, she settled into the hot water and soaked for nearly an hour.

  At a knock on her door, she peered through the haze of steam.

  "Who is it?"

  "Aggie."

  "Come on in."

  The big woman waved away the steam as it rolled about the room.

  "Thought you might use this." She held up a small vial.

  "What is it?"

  "French perfume. An old beau gave it to me."

  Smiling, September arched an eyebrow. "And old beau, hmm? What happened to him?"

  With a chuckle, Aggie said, "Looks like he didn’t last as long as his perfume. Know how to use this stuff?"

  September shook her head.

  "After you dry yourself, put a little drop at your throat, the bend in your elbows or knees, even between your breasts. Wherever you think you’ll get warm tonight. That way, the heat of your body will give off the scent of the perfume."

  September looked at the big woman with new respect. "Where did you learn that?"

  "Women have to have their little tricks, kid. I see it as my duty to pass some of them along to you." She walked to the dresser and set down the vial. "Call me when you’re dressed. I want to see how you look."

  "All right. Thanks, Aggie."

  September toweled herself dry and applied the perfume as her friend had instructed. Brushing her hair until it crackled with electricity, she caught the sides back with clips and left it to cascade in soft waves down her back.

  The gown she had fashioned for herself lay on the bed. Pulling it over her head, she felt the soft fabric whisper over her hips, then flutter softly to her ankles. With trembling fingers she buttoned the row of mother-of-pearl buttons that she had sewn from the waist to the high collar. Matching buttons adorned each sleeve, from elbow to wrist. Walking to the dressing mirror Aggie had brought her, September studied her reflection.

  She couldn’t believe the vision staring back at her.

  The lush red velvet was the perfect foil for her pale ivory skin and ash-blond hair. The dress molded itself to the curves of her body, accentuating her delicate figure. For long silent moments she studied herself, then bent to pull on her badly scuffed, high-top shoes. Luckily, the gown covered all but the toes of her shoes. Picking up her shawl, she walked to the kitchen.

  Hearing her footsteps, Aggie turned.

  "Oh my goodness," she breathed. "Is that really you?"

  September laughed almost shyly. "I’m not sure." Pinching her arm, she nodded. "It’s me."

  The older woman studied her carefully. "Snake Rawlins discovered something the rest of us might have overlooked."

  "What’s that?"

  "A diamond in the rough, kid. You’re beautiful."

  "After that hot bath and your French perfume, anybody would be beautiful."

  Aggie shook her head. "You don’t understand. If that’s all it took, we’d all be spending our days soaking in water and pouring on perfume. No, kid, you’ve got something special. And Snake recognized it right away." Catching September by the shoulders, she stared down into her eyes. Her tone grew serious. "Watch out for him, September. He’s like all the rest in this town."

  September gave her an awkward hug, then hurried across the room. "Wish me luck, Aggie."

  "Go break a few hearts, kid."

  * * *

  Avoiding the swinging doors of Rawlins’ Saloon, September walked to the back door and let herself in. The room was empty. Peering through the door which led to the saloon, she watched the activity, wondering just how she fit into the picture. This place was alien to everything she’d ever known. She was out of her element and knew it. A saloon singer. One of Snake Rawlins’ women. No, she thought angrily. I’m my own person. Her hands clenched at her sides. She was here for the money. She’d stand on stage and recite the words to songs. Nothing more. And when she had enough saved to buy the gear she needed to find her father, she would leave this life behind her for good.

  In the saloon, two girls stood by the bar, talking and laughing with the men who were there drinking. The big, brassy-haired woman stood near a poker table, her arm around one of the men. Each time the bets were made, she bent and whispered in his ear. When another player won the hand, the man pushed back his chair and casually dropped his arm around the woman’s waist. Together they walked to the stairs which led to the second floor.

  Spotting Snake, September took the time to study him. He seemed deep in conversation with the man beside him. Yet all the while the man spoke, Snake’s eyes scanned the room. She wondered if it was possible for anything to occur in this saloon without Snake’s knowledge.

  From his pocket he lifted a watch which hung on a gold chain across his vest. Studying the time, he replaced the watch, then glanced toward the swinging doors as several laughing customers arrived. Purposefully he stalked across the room and threw open the door to the room where September waited.

  "So. You’re here. You should have told me."

  She stepped back.

  He smiled. "Right on time, too."

  "You said eight."

  He indicated a chair. "Leave your
shawl there."

  She removed it and folded it neatly over the back of the chair. As she turned, she saw Snake’s eyes narrow as he studied her.

  "Where’d you get the dress?"

  "Off the rack. You told me to take any one I wanted."

  "None of my girls ever had a dress that buttoned clear up to there."

  She lifted her chin. "It was too big. I had to make it over."

  His tone grew sarcastic. "Couldn’t you have added a few more buttons? We wouldn’t want those men out there to know you have a body, would we? And a bonnet maybe, to hide the hair?"

  He saw the flash of fire in her eyes. "This is what I’m wearing. If you don’t like it, I’ll be happy to leave."

  "Hell, we wouldn’t want all that work you put into that dress to go to waste now, would we?" He nodded toward the door. "Go tell the piano player what songs you want him to play. Then climb up on stage and get started."

  She hesitated. "Aren’t you going to introduce me or something?"

  He smiled and she felt a thread of fear course along her spine at that deadly smile. "You don’t need any introduction. If you’re good, they’ll remember you. If you’re not . . ." He shrugged expressively. "Then you’d just as soon they not know your name. Right?"

  She licked her lips and turned away to hide the fear she was feeling. "Right."

  "Go on then."

  He leaned against the wall as September crossed the room and bent to whisper to the piano player. She stepped up on the stage, smoothed down her skirts, then stood quietly while the first notes of a familiar song rippled through the room.

  At the bar, a rowdy miner ordered drinks for himself and his friend. In the center of the room the poker game became less friendly. One of the players cursed and tossed his cards on the floor before stalking out. In the corner a skinny miner let out a whoop as he won, then loudly ordered drinks for the house.

  In the midst of all the confusion, September stood quietly and began to speak the words she had memorized. One of the men at the bar began to talk of his experiences at White Pass. His friend turned toward the stage, then ordered the other to be quiet.

  Several heads lifted toward the stage. The shouts became murmurs. Laughter faded, then died. The poker hand was dealt, then lay forgotten as the crowd at the table turned to watch the slender figure on stage.

  The faro players were the last to notice September. Gradually the raucous men found themselves drawn to the strange, husky voice coming from the vision on the stage.

  Clamping an unlighted cigar in his mouth, Snake leaned a hip against the wall and studied the reaction of the crowd to September. At first, they simply looked and listened. But gradually, their reaction changed. They stared intently, with a rapt expression on their haggard faces. Some of them smiled. Many of them looked as if they were seeing an angel. Slowly they were being caught up in her spell.

  Striking a match against the wall, Snake held the flame to the cigar. Through a haze of smoke he studied the slender figure on stage. Her instincts about the dress had been right. She would have looked all wrong in a low-cut, slinky dress. Standing there, almost shyly, she reminded him of a prim little missionary. But beneath that proper little girl there was a hint of smoldering sensuality. Lush red velvet was the perfect backdrop for that porcelain skin and silver hair. She reminded him of a bright shooting star in the midnight sky. She was a delicate beauty. There was no one to match her in this town.

  The song ended. She stopped speaking the words. The room fell silent for long minutes. Then the crowd erupted into enthusiastic applause. When it died, someone called, "Hey, Velvet. Sing us another. Make it a sad one."

  She moved to the edge of the stage and whispered to the piano player. As she bent, her hair fell to one side, cascading over her shoulder and spilling across her breast. Snake caught his breath, and felt as if the entire roomful of men had collectively held theirs as well. She straightened, moved to the center of the stage, and began a second song.

  Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Snake closed his eyes a moment, letting her rich husky voice wash over him. Velvet. That miner had called her Velvet. He smiled. Why not? It suited her. He would bill her as the Velvet Voice. He’d have Blackie make up a sign tomorrow. He opened his eyes and gazed around the room at the rapt audience. His smile grew.

  Snake Rawlins, you lucky devil. You’ve just found your gold mine.

  His eyes narrowed as he flicked the burned out match on the floor. He was staking a claim to her right now. And no one had better try to take this little nugget. He had big plans for her—and for him.

  Chapter Eight

  Alone on the stage, September fought down her first few moments of panic by concentrating on the words of the song. Noting her discomfort, Blackie, the piano player, ran through the opening notes of the music twice, to give her time to pull herself together. She gave him a grateful smile and began to speak.

  A miner standing near the stage spilled his drink down his shirt while watching her. He never even noticed. Another struck a match, then stared at her, mesmerized, until he burned his fingers. Letting loose a string of oaths, he dropped the match and continued staring.

  September felt like Aggie’s stew. The men in the saloon had the same hungry looks as the starving miners at the grub tent.

  Forcing herself to avoid their eyes, she concentrated on the words of the song. Gradually, she became so deeply involved in the sad tale of unrequited love which the song detailed, she forgot about the coarse voices and raucous laughter drifting about the room. Alone in the midst of all these men, she poured out her heartfelt sorrow, unaware of the effect it had on her audience. Her interpretation of the words touched them deeply.

  By the time the song ended, the room had grown strangely quiet. The sudden eruption of applause startled her. Surprised, her eyes widened, as if waking from a trance. As the applause grew, she smiled. When a miner called out for another song, she was pleased. They liked her. She didn’t look silly, standing here speaking these words. The crowd had gone from rude and coarse to almost respectful.

  From then on, time seemed to stop. She moved from sad songs to happy ones, from songs about the love of a man for a woman to songs about home and family love.

  When she had run through the songs she had memorized, and the crowd continued to ask for more, she conferred with Blackie.

  He shrugged. "I guess we’ll just start over, honey."

  Running through the opening notes, she began to recite her first song again. When she was finished, she was surprised to see Snake threading his way through the tables to the stage.

  "That’s all for tonight, gentlemen," he called in a loud voice.

  The audience began to shout him down.

  Holding up his hand, he climbed on the stage. "If you want to hear more, you’ll have to come back tomorrow night. The Velvet Voice will entertain on and off during the course of the evening. Pass the word. Tell all your friends. If they want to hear the fabulous Velvet Voice, they’ll have to do their drinking at Rawlins’ Saloon."

  To September he whispered, "Wait for me in the back room."

  As she lifted the hem of her skirt and walked from the stage, a dozen men’s heads swiveled to follow her movements. Smugly, Snake puffed his cigar and watched their reaction. When she was gone and they turned back toward him, he said, "The Velvet Voice will be entertaining nightly. Hope you enjoyed the show."

  He nodded to Blackie, who began pounding out new music. The men at the bar ordered another round. The poker table once more became a rumble of coarse voices. In the corner, the faro game was enlivened by one miner calling the other a cheat. Guns were pulled. Snake intervened, then reminded the miners that anyone found drawing a gun in his saloon would be refused entrance the following night while the Velvet Voice was entertaining. Immediately both men returned their guns to their waistbands and resumed the game.

  When Snake walked to the back room, he found September standing quietly, her shawl already about her shoulders.


  He touched her arm. "You were great, kid."

  She flinched and moved away from him. "Thank you." She swallowed. "When will I get paid?"

  He cursed himself for forgetting his promise not to touch her. "I told you I’d pay you a hundred and fifty a week. One week from today, you’ll get your money. I’m calling you the Velvet Voice. I don’t intend to use your real name. If you want it known, that’s your business."

  "No," she said quickly. "I’d like to keep my name a secret. I’d just as soon not have my father know I’m singing in a saloon."

  "Your father?" He’d had the idea she was alone in this godforsaken place. That’s all he needed; an irate father getting in the way of his plans.

  "Where is this father of yours?"

  She stared at a spot on the wall, avoiding his eyes. "I came to Skagway to find out. I know he’s out there somewhere searching for gold. That’s why I need the money. As soon as I have enough to buy the proper gear, I’m heading for the gold fields."

  He leaned against the table, watching her. "Most of my women earn enough in a week or two to buy not only gear but their own pack train."

  She whirled on him. "Let’s get something straight, Snake. I’m not one of your women. I’ll sing in your saloon. But that’s all I’ll do."

  "Hey." He held up a hand, then gave her a boyish grin. "Did I ask you to do anything else?"

  She shrugged, then turned toward the door. "Same time tomorrow?"

  He nodded. "Yes. But you’ll have to stay a lot later from now on. I’m only going to let you sing one or two songs at a time. Then the men can drink and gamble for a while, until they have another chance to hear you. You’re my teaser, kid. We’ll keep those miners hanging around spending money all night."

  As she turned away, he added, "And September. See that you wear only that dress. It suits you."

  Surprised, she opened her mouth to speak, then, thinking better of it, clamped her mouth shut and walked out the door.

  Alone in the room, Snake held a match to a cigar and thought about September. A strange, fascinating little thing. He’d have to remember not to touch her—yet. She looked like she was ready to run for the woods each time he even got close.