Naughty Marietta
Marietta took a spine-stiffening breath and raised and opened her bronze silk parasol. She stepped up to Conlin Burnett, the older of the two brothers, and told him, “I am going to take a walk. By myself. I do not want either one of you getting in my way. I do not want you dogging my every step. In fact, I want you to just stay right here where you are. Will you do that?”
Con Burnett, twisting his battered hat in his big, callused hands, frowned and said, “Now, Miss Marietta, you know we can’t allow you to go off on your own. Lightnin’ would have our hides. We’re supposed to look after you.”
Marietta gritted her teeth. She was wasting her breath and knew it. Maltese swore he had hired the Burnetts to watch after her. She knew better. He had hired them to watch her.
Marietta whirled away and headed up the alley. The brothers exchanged worried looks and hurried behind her. She reached the sidewalk, looked up the street, then down. The parasol shading her delicate skin, she turned and sauntered up Eureka Street with no particular destination in mind.
Passersby, mostly men, recognized the lovely opera star. They stopped to speak to her, to tell her they had seen her perform. Pleased, Marietta smiled politely, shook some hands and graciously accepted praise and compliments. Her presence caused quite a stir on this still, summer afternoon. Everyone she passed warmly acknowledged her, spoke to her, lauded her.
Except one man.
The block ahead was empty, save a lone man leaning a shoulder against the striped pole in front of Duncan’s Barbershop. He did not look like a miner. He looked like a gentleman. He wore a pair of snug-fitting buff-hued trousers and a starched white shirt, open at the collar.
He was not looking in her direction, so Marietta had the opportunity to study him while he remained unaware. She stopped a few feet from him and stared. The man was tall and lean with broad shoulders, deep chest and slim hips. His hair, neatly brushed and shining in the sunlight, was as black as the darkest midnight. His smoothly shaven face was so deeply tanned it was almost swarthy.
But oh, what a handsome face it was.
High forehead, proud roman nose, full, sensual lips and strong, harshly cut chin. She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but she could see the long, black lashes that shaded them.
Marietta, feeling strangely faint, was half-afraid to move closer to the tall, dark stranger. Why, she didn’t know. She swallowed hard and moved cautiously forward. She was holding her breath by the time she reached him.
And she was confused. He had to know that she was approaching him, had to see her moving in his side vision. But he didn’t turn his head to look at her.
Not until the very last second. When Marietta passed directly by him, the man finally looked up and met her gaze. And Marietta thought her heart would beat its way out of her chest. Startlingly sky-blue eyes staring up from under improbably long eyelashes touched her, assessed her, frightened her.
Then quickly dismissed her.
Marietta was nonplussed. She hurried away, flustered and insulted. This darkly handsome man had looked directly at her, but was apparently not the least bit interested. Those beautiful blue eyes did not light up at the sight of her. Those sensual lips did not lift in a flirtatious smile. That lean, masculine body had not shifted, muscular shoulder had not left the barber pole. She had had no visible effect on him.
None whatsoever.
She wandered aimlessly up the street, both disappointed and excited. She was extremely frustrated that the handsome stranger had paid her no attention. At the same time she was strongly intrigued by his utter nonchalance. His obvious lack of interest made Marietta all the more interested in him.
That and the fact that he was a sultry, sexually suggestive, highly threatening male and just the sight of him had made her tingle all over. She wanted the feeling to last. She wanted to be close to him again. She wanted him to make her tingle. And she especially wanted to make him tingle.
Marietta paused half a block past the barbershop and the tall, dark, indifferent stranger. She lifted her chin defiantly, turned about and almost bumped into the lumbering Con Burnett. Her anger flared and she loudly berated him.
“I told you to stay out of my way!” she hissed.
“Sorry, Miss Marietta.”
Cole heard the exchange and grinned. He knew what she was going to do. She was coming back his way. She had noticed him. She wanted him to notice her.
So he wouldn’t.
Not yet.
Her heart in her throat, Marietta nervously approached the tall man who still stood there leaning against the barber pole. Cole waited until she was a few steps from him. Then he pushed away from the pole, turned his back on her and stepped down off the sidewalk. He unhurriedly crossed the street.
Marietta couldn’t believe her eyes. It was all she could do to keep from calling out to him and ordering him to come back. She was filled with anger and despair as she watched him casually walk away from her. She continued to stare, longing to know who he was and where he was going and wondering if she would ever see him again.
She blinked when he turned into the silver-floored entrance of the Teller House Hotel and disappeared. She was tempted to follow him, took a tentative step forward, and caught herself. She couldn’t go running after a stranger. Besides, even if she could, the Burnett brothers would tell Maltese.
Marietta sighed, her slender shoulders slumping.
The excitement of her afternoon adventure was gone. She had no particular interest in shopping or having a late lunch. She just wanted to go home. Parasol raised, she walked dejectedly back to the opera house, ignoring the passersby who smiled and called to her.
Back in her private quarters, Marietta undressed, drew on a satin robe and paced restlessly. She was agitated. Fidgety. Unable to relax. She had seen an incredibly attractive man who’d set her pulses to pounding and she wouldn’t rest until she saw him again.
Marietta abruptly stopped pacing, snapped her fingers and said aloud, “I will see him again. I will go to the Teller House tomorrow and have lunch.”
Marietta did just that.
But to her disappointment, there was no sign of the dark-haired stranger. She hurried through her meal and left the hotel. She walked up the street toward the barbershop, hoping to find him leaning against the colored barber pole.
But he was not there.
From the front window of his fourth-floor suite in the Teller House, Cole watched Marietta leave the hotel, walk up the street. Her head was bare and her glorious red-gold hair, dressed elegantly atop her head, blazed in the sunlight.
He watched as she approached the barbershop. And he smiled when she stopped, reached out and touched the barber pole.
She was looking for him.
Soon he would let her find him.
Seven
Cole knew it wasn’t going to be easy to catch the lovely Marietta alone. When she was with Maltese, the scar-faced Lightnin’ hovered nearby. If Marietta went out alone, she was closely shadowed by those two big bruisers, the Burnett brothers. Maltese saw to it that his ladylove was well guarded at all times.
Still, Cole was confident he could find a way around the bodyguards. Impatiently he bided his time, waited and watched. And he smiled when, three days in a row, he saw Marietta venture out. From his fourth-floor Teller House suite he watched her stroll up Eureka Street, pausing before shop windows.
But her interest was not really in the merchandise displayed. She didn’t gaze longingly into the plate-glass windows of the stores. Instead, she covertly glanced around, as if looking for someone.
She was looking for him.
Each day Cole waited until Marietta returned to her private quarters. Then he went out. He explored every inch of the little mountain hamlet, walking up one street and down another. He spoke to no one, attracted as little attention as possible. He hunted for the ideal place for a private rendezvous with Marietta. He found it on his third day out. The Far Canyon Café. A cozy little out-of-the-way restaurant nestled in the sheltering slopes near the top of the hill. The food was good, the wine cellar exceptional, and the high-backed banquettes afforded total privacy.
It was, Cole decided, time to end the little game of cat and mouse. The very next afternoon he dressed in a freshly laundered blue cotton shirt and a pair of dark twill trousers. Cleanly shaven, his hair neatly brushed, he left the Teller House resolved to carry out his mission. His mission was Marietta. Cole stepped out into the scorching June sunshine and looked up the street.
And there she was.
Marietta and her shadows were only a couple of blocks ahead. Cole proceeded cautiously, ducking into doorways, mingling with the milling crowds. All the while advancing, determined to meet Marietta, to talk with her.
He knew his opportunity had come when he saw Marietta enter a little shop on the corner at the far end of the block. Cole picked up his pace, hurried toward the store where the sign above read Lilly’s Ladies Apparel.
The Burnett brothers stood on the sidewalk a few feet from the shop’s front door. But neither noticed when Cole went inside. Their attention was momentarily diverted. An altercation had broken out across the street in front of the Golden Nugget Saloon. A crowd quickly gathered and bets were being placed on the bloodied pugilists. Con and Jim Burnett whistled and applauded, liking nothing better than watching a good fistfight.
Inside Lilly’s small shop, Marietta was alone. There were no other customers. And the shop’s owner, the diminutive Lilly, was in the back storeroom. She’d gone there after telling Marietta about the new shipment of lacy underwear that had just arrived that morning.
“Stay right here, Marietta,” Lilly had said. “I’ll go unpack some of the prettiest things for you to choose from. Shall I?”
“Definitely,” Marietta had replied. “You know how I love the feel of silk or satin against my skin.”
Alone now, Marietta was lifting a delicate white shawl from a display table, when she felt a presence behind her. A chill skipped up and down her spine. She turned, looked up and saw Cole. The shawl slipped from her hand and her heartbeat quickened.
For one long instant they inventoried each other and there was a definite challenge in their glances. Snared by his arresting blue eyes, Marietta automatically smiled and almost imperceptibly nodded to this darkly handsome man for whom she’d been secretly looking for the past four days.
Cole smiled back and asked, “Did you nod to me?”
“Did I?”
“I’m certain that you did.”
“Well, perhaps,” she admitted with a radiant smile.
Cole cautiously approached her. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said in a low, pleasing baritone. “I’m Cole Heflin, one of your legion of admirers, Miss Marietta.”
He offered his hand. Marietta accepted it and felt a quick jolt of excitement race through her as his tanned fingers closed warmly around hers. She knew she should withdraw her hand. She didn’t. She allowed him to continue holding it securely in his own and derived a strange thrill from the innocent act. She was certain this mere touching of hands had affected him too, because a muscle in his firm jaw moved as if he was clenching his teeth. Neither spoke.
They just stood there holding hands, looking at each other. It was a moment of electric silence. But although Marietta delighted in the firm pressure of his hand, she finally made an effort to withdraw her own. Cole tightened his grip. She was secretly glad.
“Then you have been to the opera?” she said, her emerald eyes aglow.
“Every performance since opening night,” he lied.
“Ah, so you enjoy my singing, Mr. Heflin?”
“Words cannot describe,” Cole said with an engaging smile. He gave her hand one last gentle squeeze, released it and asked, “I know it’s awfully forward of me, but would you consider having lunch with me, Marietta?”
She was tempted. He was so compelling, so masculine, so attractive. The good-looking deeply tanned face, the jet-black hair that curled away from his temples. Those hooded eyes, as blue as the Colorado skies. That provocative smile, a smile that lifted one corner of his full lips a little higher than the other. And his hands, such marvelous hands, so strong and warm. Lean, beautiful hands with long tapered fingers. She was tremendously attracted and longed to know him better.
Still, she hesitated. Maltese was down in Denver again today, but his two hired minions, the Burnett brothers, were just outside Lilly’s. They watched every move she made. Lunch with this handsome stranger was out of the question.
“I’m very flattered, but I—”
Cole interrupted, “Leave now and I’ll stay behind. Go to the Far Canyon Café and I’ll meet you there.” Marietta’s brilliant green eyes flickered and Cole knew she was weakening. He continued, “I’ll go around through the alley behind the buildings. When I reach the café, I’ll use the back door, come through the kitchen. It’s almost two o’clock. The café will be deserted at this hour. No one will see us together.”
Marietta took only a second to think it over before she whispered, “I’ll be in the back banquette, away from the street.”
Cole grinned boyishly. “I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes,” she repeated, and taking a step closer, glanced nervously out the front windows and told him, “Don’t turn and look when I leave.”
Cole shook his head and said, “The next time I look at you will be across the table at the Far Canyon Café.”
True to his word, Cole kept his back to the street as Marietta quickly exited the apparel shop. She had just walked out the door, when Lilly, carrying several frothy undergarments over her arm, came out of the storeroom, saying, “Marietta, there’s an ice-blue satin nightgown that you…you—” She stopped, frowned, looked about and said to Cole, “Where is the beautiful lady, the red-haired opera singer?”
Cole looked around, shrugged wide shoulders and said, “No one else is here.”
“But that can’t be! Marietta, my best customer, was waiting until I—”
“Ma’am, the shop was empty when I walked in. Now, if you’ll just show me that blue satin nightgown you mentioned. My wife might like it.”
“Oh, indeed she will,” said Lilly, tossing the bundle onto a table and withdrawing the slinky nightgown with a bodice fashioned entirely of delicate lace that left nothing to the imagination.
Cole said, “I’ll take it. Wrap it up and I’ll be back for it later.” He withdrew some bills from his pocket and paid the beaming proprietress.
“Your wife is going to be so pleased, Mr…. Mr….?”
But Cole was gone. He stepped outside. The sidewalk was now empty. He walked to the end of the block, turned and slipped down through the alley. He headed for the restaurant.
Marietta blinked blindly when she entered the dimly lit Far Canyon Café. When her eyes adjusted to the change in light, she saw that she was the only customer. For that she was extremely grateful. If she was very lucky, no one would see her here. No one would ever guess that she had lunched with a stranger, a man who could be a dangerous outlaw for all she knew. The fine hair at the nape of her neck rose and she wondered if she was in danger. If she had any sense, she would leave now before he arrived.
Too late.
No sooner was she seated in a high-backed banquette in a private alcove at the back of the café than Cole Heflin joined her. He slid onto the soft leather seat across from her, licked his thumb and forefinger and extinguished the lighted candle at the center of the table. Smoke from the dying flame wafted and hung in the still air.
Unsmiling, Cole leaned back and gazed at Marietta through the thinning smoke, fixing her with those incredible indigo eyes. He said nothing, just stared at her. His intense scrutiny both embarrassed and pleased her. She could feel the blood rushing to her face and all at once her clothes felt uncomfortably tight.
Cole noticed the pulse in her pale throat throbbing rapidly, saw the high points of color now staining her cheeks.
“Are you too warm, Marietta?” he inquired, shifting on the seat, leaning up to the table. “You look a little flushed.”
“No, I’m fine, really,” she managed to say and silently ordered herself to calm down.
“I wish I could say the same,” Cole said as he reached up and deftly flipped open a couple of buttons going down the center of his shirtfront. “You don’t mind, do you? I’m perspiring.”
“No, of course not,” she said and couldn’t keep from focusing on the expanse of dark, muscled chest that the open shirt revealed.
“There, that’s better,” said Cole, then lifted a hand in the air to signal the waiter.
Soon Marietta relaxed somewhat and began to enjoy herself. Wine flowed into tall goblets of Venetian glass with elegant twisted stems. Crisp salads on gold-banded china and a basket of hot yeast rolls with butter were placed on the table before them. Neither was very hungry. But both drank thirstily of the red wine.
Cole was clever. He put Marietta at her ease, teased her, laughed with her, drew her out. Found out all he could about her without pressing her. Marietta was more than happy to tell him of her triumphs, her plans, her dreams. She had, she told him, been in Central City for a little more than a year. Her residence in the remote mountain village was temporary, she had no intention of staying here long.
She would, she told him, likely be leaving soon to grace the stages of opera houses in much larger cities. Her career in opera was only beginning. She hoped to one day appear in London and Milan. Cole nodded and smiled and listened and acted as if everything she said was of great interest.
Marietta was thoroughly charmed. This clandestine luncheon was, for her, most enjoyable. She couldn’t recall when she’d had such a good time. Sipping her wine and leaning up to the table to listen as he talked, she learned that Cole Heflin was not only the handsomest man she had ever met, he was charming and witty and great fun to be with. In a pleasant wine haze, Marietta was now totally relaxed and happy. Sighing contentedly, she wished that she could sit here in this deserted café with this magnetic man forever. Just the two of them. Drinking, laughing, flirting. It was so incredibly thrilling and downright naughty to be having this secret meeting with a mysterious stranger.
And the danger made the rendezvous all the more exciting.
Holding her stemmed glass out for more wine, Marietta slurred her words slightly when she said, “You know something, Cole, you have just a hint of a Southern accent. Are you from Georgia or Alabama?”
“Texas,” he said, filling her glass.
“Ah,” she replied. “What part of Texas?”
But his reply was a question, “Where were you born, Marietta?”
She didn’t answer and he noted a slight cloud pass behind her eyes. She wrinkled her perfect nose. Then giggled and changed the subject.
“This is the best wine I’ve ever tasted,” she said and licked her lips. Then she tilted her head to one side and asked, “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Cole glanced across the café, saw a large Seth Thomas clock on the far wall. “Yes, it’s five minutes of four.”
Marietta’s eyes widened. “You’re teasing me!”
“I would never do that,” Cole said.
“Good heavens, I had no idea it was getting so late,” she said. “I must go.”
Cole shook his head. “Why? The afternoon is young. Let’s order another bottle of wine and some rich, decadent dessert.”
“No. No I can’t,” she said, and started to slide across the leather seat.
“Wait.” Cole stopped her. “Listen to me, Marietta, and let me finish before you speak. Will you do that?”
She smiled and said, “Why, of course, Cole.”
Cole drew a breath, reached across the table and placed his hand gently atop hers. He said simply, “My dear, I’ve come to take you home to your grandfather in Galveston.”
For a moment Marietta stared at him in stunned disbelief. Then her face flushed with anger. She yanked her hand free of his, slid out of the banquette and shot to her feet.
She shouted loudly, not caring who heard her, “Wild horses couldn’t drag me anywhere near that cruel old bastard down in Galveston!”
“Marietta, your grandfather is dying and he—”
“Let him die!” she screeched. “Everybody dies!”
“That’s mighty cold talk coming from the old gentleman’s only granddaughter,” Cole accused. “Let me take you home before it’s too late.”
Her eyes flashing green fire, Marietta snarled, “You are taking me nowhere, Heflin, and you’d better stay away from me! If you don’t, I’ll sic my bodyguards on you and they’ll rearrange that arrogant face of yours! Get out of Central City, you don’t belong here, Texan!”
“I will,” Cole said calmly, remaining seated, “but when I go, you’re going with me.”
Furious, Marietta put both hands on the table, leaned down so that her face was only inches from his and hotly declared, “Not a chance, Heflin. For your information, a very rich and powerful man is madly in love with me and—”
“Maltese,” Cole cut in. “I know. The little silver-haired fellow I’ve seen you with.”
“Yes! I’ll tell Maltese about you!”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will! I’ll go straight to him and—”
Interrupting, Cole said, “You will do no such thing. You’re not about to admit to your aging protector that you secretly met with another man behind his back.”
Marietta had no retort. He was right. She couldn’t dare tell the overly possessive Maltese about this meeting. Fuming, bested, she snapped, “You deceitful bastard, pretending to be a fan!”
Cole grinned. “Sweetheart, I could take lessons in deceit from you.”
“Oh! You can go to blazes, Texan!”
“I probably will, but not before I get you safely home to your grandfather.”
Eight
“Madam Sophia, you of all people know very well that opera is all about the soprano!” stated a disdainful Andreas. “After an evening in the theater, a patron barely recalls the preening tenor, the mezzo or even the forceful baritone. When the curtain comes down, it is the effect of the soprano that lingers!”
“I know, Andreas,” said Madam Sophia calmly. “I’ve done all I can with Marietta. She tries so hard. And she is a wonderful actress. She has a riveting, instinctive stage presence. You have to give her that much.”
“It’s not enough. Marietta cannot sing!” said the artistic director.
Sophia smiled indulgently and waved away his concern. “Well, do not despair. We are not in New York or Paris. This is Central City, Colorado, and in case you’ve failed to notice, the theater is filled every evening.”
The two were having afternoon coffee in Sophia’s comfortable little cottage. Andreas and Sophia had become good friends since arriving in Central City. Veterans of European opera houses, they had a lot in common. Both were alone, both loved the opera and both were very fond of the mercurial Marietta.
Andreas replied, “Yes, the seats are filled, but we know the reason. If Marietta were appearing anywhere but here in this remote alpine village, she’d be playing to an empty house. Marietta cannot meet the vocal demands of grand opera, she hasn’t the God-given talent. She definitely does not possess the voix d’or—the golden voice.”
The rotund Sophia carefully set her coffee cup aside. She sighed and said, “I’m well aware, even if Marietta is not, that she has no bright future in opera. But I am not too worried about her. She is young and full of life and very beautiful. Men are drawn to her like moths to the flame. My hope is that she soon meets and marries someone more suitable than Maltese.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” commented Andreas. “Maltese is one of the richest men in America. She could do worse.”