Normally Jessie found the scent of freshly cut wood calming, but nothing could settle her nerves now. Not with the concert due to start in less than two hours.
Sadly, Flynt hadn’t changed his mind. As far as she knew, he had no intention of attending Mr. Parks’s special event, the first of many he’d planned in an effort to reach the unchurched, although she’d prayed Flynt would reconsider and show up after all.
She walked farther into the Blair Brothers lumberyard in search of Callie and spotted her in a far corner. Her friend spun around, saw Jessie and smiled. “Just the woman I wanted to see.”
Jessie reached into her reticule and pulled out an envelope, which she handed to Callie. “Here’s the payment for the booth supplies. Corby was called out of town unexpectedly and won’t be back until later tonight, so he asked me to drop it by.”
“Thank you.” Callie dropped the envelope in her apron pocket, the coins inside clinking. “Enough business, though. I haven’t had you to myself for a minute since the race, and I simply must know what you thought about that kiss Flynt gave you.”
“I’m not sure what to think. Flynt didn’t want to talk about it afterward.”
Callie laughed. “You actually asked him about it?”
“What’s wrong with that? It’s not like we’re a real couple or anything.”
“You might not be a real couple, but from what I saw, that kiss was real.”
The possibility put a smile on Jessie’s face. Could Callie be right? Had Flynt wanted to kiss her?
The memory of his wide-eyed stare after she’d kissed him dashed her hopes. He’d been pressured into taking action, just as she had. Knowing Corby was watching, Flynt had made the answering kiss look genuine. Even though it wasn’t, she would treasure the memory of his lips on hers and the feeling of delight that had overcome her. For that moment in time, he’d been her handsome prince. Why, he’d even ridden up on a magnificent steed.
“Jessie?”
“Hmm?”
Callie grinned. “You’ve gone and fallen in love with him, haven’t you?”
“No! I like him. He’s a fine man, but I’m not smitten or anything.” She couldn’t be. Could she? When this false courtship was over and they returned to being nothing more than colleagues, where would that leave her? Brokenhearted, that was where. Somehow she would have to keep her growing feelings for Flynt from getting out of hand. Not an easy task when she worked beside the dashing gentleman all day and dreamed of him at night.
“Time will tell. And speaking of time—” Callie patted her apron pocket “—I need to get this payment in the safe before we close up.”
“And I need to be going. I have to get ready for my performance tonight.”
“Performance? What performance?”
Jessie filled Callie in.
Confusion furrowed her friend’s brow. “So Flynt won’t be there?”
“I doubt it. But that’s probably for the best.” Or so Jessie had been telling herself. “I wouldn’t want him to see me in a saloon and start to wonder. If he were to piece things together...”
Callie rested a hand on Jessie’s arm. “Don’t fret. You’re going there to entertain on behalf of the church. He witnessed your hesitation, so he knows you weren’t eager to do this, at least initially.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Besides, since he’s not likely to show up anyway, I have no reason to worry.” Lord, let that be true. I dread the thought of losing Flynt’s respect. Although I’ve tried to fight my feelings, he’s become very dear to me. It’s probably too much to ask, given the mistakes I’ve made, but if You could find a way for things to work out between us, I’d be the happiest of women.
Jessie bade her friend goodbye and hurried to reach her boardinghouse.
She forced herself to eat the delicious supper her landlady had prepared. The mere scent of the pot roast set Jessie’s stomach to pitching. The two gentlemen boarders wolfed down the meal and left.
Maybelle plunked a platter of biscuits on the table next to Jessie. “These might sit better than the beef, dear.”
“I’m sorry I can’t do justice to your meal tonight.”
The kindly woman waved away the comment. “It’s stage fright. Once you start singing, the queasiness will pass.” Although Maybelle meant well, she didn’t understand.
Jessie rubbed her roiling stomach. Singing in a saloon after vowing she’d never set foot in one again would intensify the nausea. If she couldn’t find a way to gain control of her feelings, she might lose what little she’d eaten.
Maybelle passed Jessie the butter and honey. “If the collywobbles continue, just feast your eyes on Mr. Kavanaugh. One look at that handsome young fellow of yours is sure to inspire you.”
Her landlady was wrong on two counts. Flynt wasn’t Jessie’s beau, and he wouldn’t be in the audience. But as eager as she was to set the well-meaning woman straight, she couldn’t. Everyone had to believe she and Flynt were courting.
But if they really were, he would be there for her. He wouldn’t let his aversion to saloons come between them, would he?
The sour taste of truth filled Jessie’s mouth. Although Flynt knew she hadn’t been happy about her father visiting a saloon, he had no way of knowing how much she detested the thought of setting foot in one herself and longed for his support, or why that was. And he never could.
An hour later Jessie entered the Arch Saloon. She stood just inside the swinging doors and scanned the room. Her gaze was drawn to a handful of women clad in brightly colored dresses. Their low necklines and high hems sent heat rushing to Jessie’s cheeks. Their attire presented a sharp contrast to her floor-length cobalt blue gown with its high collar.
Numerous men cast curious glances her way, but not a single crude comment reached her ears. That was no doubt due to the fact that a minister was in their midst.
Mr. Parks stood by the bar talking with an elegantly dressed man who looked more like a respectable banker than a saloon keeper. Ace, on the other hand, had gone out of his way to attract attention to himself, wearing brightly colored cravats and boldly patterned waistcoats. With his loud voice and charisma, he would have made a good ringleader. She’d certainly felt like a circus act, with men gaping at her.
“You beat me here.”
She jumped at the sound of the male voice behind her.
“Whoa! It’s all right, Jessie. It’s just me. George.”
“I’m sorry. I’m a bit on edge.”
He lunged after a piece of sheet music that had fluttered off his stack, caught it in midair and straightened. “That’s understandable. This isn’t a place for a lady like you. I admire your courage.”
“I’m not feeling all that courageous at the moment. If Mr. Parks wasn’t counting on me, I might bolt.”
George chuckled. “And leave me to tell this roomful of intoxicated men you won’t be singing after all? How could you?”
“I wouldn’t do that to a friend.”
“I’m glad. Let’s brave this together, shall we?”
She took the arm he offered, grateful for his support, both emotionally as well as physically. “You’re not scared, are you?”
“If I was, I certainly wouldn’t admit it out loud. Just don’t look at my knocking knees.”
Knowing George was also battling nerves made entering the room a little less daunting. She drew in a fortifying breath, lifted her chin and pasted on a smile, as she’d done countless times during her days at the High Stakes. With a swish of her skirts, she was under way.
Mr. Parks hurried over to welcome them. He checked with George to make sure he had everything he needed and gave her an inquiring look. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, afraid that if she were to speak, her voice would waver.
The minister leaned close and lowered his voice. “I’ve been praying. I know this won’t be easy, but I trust the Lord to uphold you.”
A short time later the saloon keeper picked up a glass and tapped it with a spoon. The resulting ring brought an end to the buzz of conversations. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my pleasure to introduce a man who needs no introduction, Mr. Parks.”
Judging by the applause, the minister was well-known and well liked. “Thank you for your warm welcome. It’s a pleasure to be here.”
Jessie could debate that. She stood in a room with the eyes of some fifty strangers on her. The men and women were expecting her to sing, but her throat was so tight she could scarcely draw a breath, let alone get any sound out.
Mr. Parks continued. “We have a treat for you this evening. Miss Jessica Sinclair will be singing for you, accompanied by Mr. George Wescott. They will inspire you with some hymns, several of them with a patriotic theme, as well as entertain you with a couple of recent songs you’re sure to recognize and enjoy.”
When she’d heard the selections Mr. Parks had chosen, Jessie’s resistance had faded. Rather than singing nothing but popular tunes, as she had during her days at the High Stakes, she would be sharing God’s love for these people through a variety of hymns. Because Mr. Parks felt it was important to take their audience’s tastes into consideration, he’d added two Stephen Foster numbers to the program. While she’d vowed not to sing such songs in a saloon again, the primary focus on hymns glorying God had convinced her she wanted to be part of this event.
After she’d come to know the Lord and learned about everything He’d done for her, she’d imagined what it would have been like to tell the patrons at the High Stakes about Him. Although Ace had forbidden her to speak about her newfound faith during her performances, she could introduce those at the Arch Saloon to the Lord through music. Most wouldn’t be moved to change their ways, but if even one chose to find out more about Him, she would rejoice.
While Mr. Parks completed his introduction, she cast her gaze over those seated at the round tables and moved on to those at the bar. Not one red-haired man was among them.
Her shoulders sagged. Flynt hadn’t come. She’d hoped being honest and admitting how much she’d wanted him to be there would have overcome his hesitation. Perhaps he wasn’t the friend she’d thought he was after all.
Well, so be it. She didn’t need him. George was there for her, as was Mr. Parks.
The minister took a seat. She rose, stood beside the piano and nodded at George. He launched into the introduction for the opening number. The strains of the familiar hymn, one she’d sung many times, eased her anxiety.
Although she faced a saloon full of strangers, she was there representing the Lord. He’d used her past to make the present possible. She could hold her head high, enjoy herself and see that her audience did the same. And she would.
* * *
The creak of floorboards drew Flynt’s attention. He put down his drafting pencil and hopped off his stool.
Corby strode down the hallway toward the Den. “What are you doing here this late, son? It’s got to be at least seven thirty.”
“I had a feeling you’d check in.” Corby had a habit of stopping by when he returned from a trip, no matter how late he got back into town.
“You know me. I have to see if there are any fires to put out.”
“Not a one. Everything’s on track.”
“Glad to hear it.” Corby stood in the doorway to his office and stared at the stacks of paper on his desk. He groaned. “I spend three days with the directors, and look what awaits me when I return.”
Flynt chuckled. “A sure sign you were missed.”
“Ah, yes. Anyhow, I’m glad you’re still here. I didn’t get a chance to talk with you after the race since Delia whisked me off to our picnic lunch.” He clapped a hand on Flynt’s shoulder. “You did a fine job staking your claim that day, son. A wise move, if I do say so myself. Jessie’s worth her weight in gold.”
“That she is.”
Corby took a last look at his office, heaved a sigh and closed the door. “Since everything seems to be in order, I need to get on home. Delia will be anxious to see me, and I’m sure you’ll be wanting to get down to the saloon.”
“Why would you think that?” Corby knew he didn’t frequent such places.
“I saw George when I got off the stagecoach. He told me Jessie’s singing at the Arch Saloon this evening. I assumed you’d be there.” Corby’s voice took on an edge. “You will, won’t you?”
He couldn’t stomach the thought of being inside a saloon again, but he wouldn’t let her down. “That’s where I’m headed.”
“Then don’t let me keep you.”
Since Flynt had known he’d be staying late that day, he’d ridden to work. He led Sid from the stable, saddled him and started down the hill.
Half an hour later Flynt left the Cary House, walked the short distance across Quartz Street, stood in front of the Arch Saloon and looked through the windows. Jessie’s beautiful voice floated out to meet him. “Eternal Father, Strong to Save” was one of his favorite hymns. She breathed life into it like no one he’d ever heard before. Her poise and composure were impressive. Despite the hesitation he’d seen the Sunday before, she appeared completely at ease.
Rousing applause followed. Jessie dipped her chin in humble acceptance of their appreciation and held out a hand to George. He shook his head and pointed at her, clearly giving her the credit.
She plopped down on the piano bench beside George, facing her admirers, and leaned close to her accompanist with a friendly smile on her face. Flynt’s hands fisted.
Relax, Kavanaugh. It’s all part of the act.
An act. That was what the past weeks had been. Jessie had been forced into this mock courtship and was playing her part admirably. The trouble was, his feelings for her grew more real with each passing day. He’d begun to imagine his life with the beautiful woman in it. If only she hadn’t agreed to sing in a saloon, of all places.
He clasped his hands behind him and strode back and forth in front of the building. Inside, she stood and launched into a patriotic hymn.
The saloon doors squeaked on their hinges, thwapping back into place afterward, and Mr. Parks appeared. “How long do you intend to pace before coming inside?”
Flynt came to a stop beside the minister. “I wasn’t planning to come. At least, not at first.”
“But you’re here now.” Mr. Parks looked in the window at Jessie. “She’s a sight to behold, even from out here, isn’t she?”
Flynt rubbed his forehead. “She didn’t want to do this, but she makes it look easy. I don’t understand.”
“The Lord gifts us all differently. I preach. You race horses. She sings.”
“They’re really taken with her, aren’t they? Look at the man at the end of the bar, the burly fellow with the bright red bandanna around his neck. He can’t take his eyes off her.” A surge of protectiveness gripped Flynt. “You don’t think she’s in any danger, do you?”
“If I did, she wouldn’t be here. But you could always go inside and watch out for her yourself.”
“I haven’t set foot in a saloon since I was a bo—young.”
Mr. Parks said nothing for the longest time, just continued to watch Jessie as she entertained drunks and trollops.
“You think I should go in, don’t you?”
“What I think doesn’t matter. At times like these I ask myself what our Lord would do.”
The answer came to Flynt with striking clarity. “He would go.”
“I believe He would. Christ didn’t dwell on outward appearances. He looked at a person’s heart. You have a good one, Flynt.”
Mr. Parks meant well, but he didn’t know how many times Flynt had railed against his lot in life. How as a boy he’d plotted revenge against Ma Hagerty for making him do the brunt of the work while her two good-for-nothing sons looked on and laughed. How he’d done all he could to leave his past behind and become a respected gentleman, one worthy of a woman like Jessie.
Flynt’s conscience prodded him. A gentleman would be at Jessie’s side. He wouldn’t let stubborn pride keep him from supporting her. “I’m late.”
“It’s fine. She has a few more numbers, followed by an intermission and the second half of the performance.”
“I’ll be there for them.” He marched to the entrance, dragged in a gulp of air and shoved his way through the swinging doors.