The Invitation (Montgomery/Taggert 19)

The first thing that went wrong with Cole’s hastily concocted plan was that Ford said they both had to go into the saloon with him. She knew Cole wanted one of Ford’s men to stay outside and guard her, but Ford didn’t want the group to be separated. In this he was wise, but Dorie doubted the wisdom of stopping for a bottle or two of whiskey while trying to hold a man like Cole Hunter prisoner.

Racing through her head was the fact that Cole planned to create a diversion. What did that mean to a man with his background? Perhaps he’d start a fight, and in the ensuing tussle Dorie was supposed to run out the door, jump on a horse, and be long gone by the time the men realized she was missing. Was that what he thought of her as a person? She’d told him she loved him. Did he think she loved him only when things were going well and that when they got bad she’d run away?

For a moment after they entered the saloon, Dorie was too sun-dazzled to see much, but as her eyes cleared, she saw even less. There seemed to be a lot of smoke, and judging by the smell, at least as much beer had been spilled as had been drunk. There were men everywhere, but they weren’t men who looked as though they attended church on Sundays. They held their cards or their drinks while looking about the room as though every person was an enemy.

There were some women too, slouched about the room, their eyes dead. Dorie had heard of such “bad” women and had always thought they were dangerous and fatally alluring. She thought such women must know a great deal about the secrets of men, but the women in this saloon just looked dirty and tired. She had a feeling that what they’d like best in all the world was a tub full of hot water, a bar of scented soap, and a good night’s sleep.

All in all,

the saloon was a disappointment to her. Where was the danger and the intrigue? This place was just full of tired, bored-looking people.

She was so absorbed in her observations that she almost failed to see Cole pretend to trip while his hand reached out for a gun that was snugly tucked away in one card player’s holster. All the man had to do was shift his position and Cole would be caught stealing. Dorie didn’t think the man frowning over his cards looked as though he’d be forgiving if he caught Cole.

Dorie didn’t think about what she was doing before she did it. All she could think of were the words “create a diversion.” Cole needed to make sure that the attention of the people of the saloon, Ford and his men included, was focused on something other than him so he could steal a gun. He needed the people in the saloon less alert than they were.

One minute Dorie was being shoved along in front of the fattest of Ford’s men and the next she’d opened her mouth and begun to sing. She’d sung in church, but that was all, so she didn’t know too many songs that were suitable for a saloon. But she did know a little tune about a singing bird, and she thought maybe the men would like that.

On second thought she doubted if anyone in the saloon was a connoisseur of music and was very particular about what he heard.

When the entire roomful of people came to a halt to stare at her, a few notes choked in her throat. Unlike the choirmaster in Latham, no one complained. Instead, they all seemed to be looking at the top of her dress—or rather at the missing top of her dress.

Dorie put her hand to her throat and continued to sing.

“Dorie!” Cole hissed. He took a step toward her, but she eluded him, hoping he wouldn’t spend too much precious time trying to get her to do what he wanted her to do. She’d had her fill of doing what men wanted her to do. Doing what men wanted a woman to do made for a very dull life, and besides, she had learned something in the last few weeks. She had obeyed her father, and he had therefore imprisoned her and demanded that she do even more. Rowena had disobeyed their father and had been given love and freedom. Now Dorie had disobeyed Mr. Hunter at every turn and, by golly, he was in love with her. When she got out of this mess she was going to think about this whole philosophy some more, even though already she could tell that it made no sense. Meanwhile, she planned to disobey Mr. Hunter so much that he’d probably end up kissing her feet—or anywhere he wanted to kiss, she thought.

Since all eyes were on her, Dorie walked away from Ford’s men and no one tried to hold her back. After three choruses of the bird song, she went into a little tune she’d heard the grocer’s wife singing.

Within minutes, she knew she was losing her audience, but so far, Cole had done nothing but stand in one spot and glower at her. He wasn’t any nearer to getting a gun or horses or anything else. And it seemed that the men in the saloon were once again more interested in their cards than in yet another half-robed woman singing. When men killed other men on a daily basis, it took a lot to hold their interest.

Dorie didn’t think about what she was doing; she just did it. Her one objective was to get the men to focus their attention on her and away from Cole. One minute she was standing at the back of the saloon singing and the next she had climbed up on a stool, stepped onto the bar, and begun to walk down the long, scarred mahogany expanse, now singing much louder. Looking out over the audience she could see that Cole had finally come to his senses and was searching for a gun.

Meanwhile Dorie had begun to enjoy herself. Maybe it was just that she’d been confined to too small a space for too long. Maybe it was years of sitting unnoticed while her older sister got the attention of every man. Or maybe it was just nice to have men look at her. She didn’t know what it was, but she began to have fun.

First she began to repeat her song about the bird, but this time she sang it as though the little bird tweeting away in its tree had a different meaning than originally intended. And then she saw Cole reach toward a table for a few of the coins from a pile and one of the players was about to see him. To keep the man’s interest on her, Dorie lifted her skirt to reveal her ankle.

The response of the men was so wholehearted that she pulled her skirt a little higher. What a fuss, she thought, over something as ordinary as an ankle.

Someone began playing a piano, and in spite of the fact that a few keys had been shot away, the sound it made was rather festive. Dorie became more interested in what she was beginning to think of as a dance. She moved to the far end of the bar, but she did not just walk; she strutted, her hips swaying, as she’d seen Rowena do many times. When Dorie got to the far end, she looked at the men in the saloon over her left shoulder. Then, slowly, she slipped that shoulder strap down a little farther on her arm.

When Cole left the saloon she was so afraid Ford would see that he had gone that she began to unfasten the front of her dress one hook at a time, moving very slowly, so slowly that the men began to bang their beer mugs on the dirty old tables.

She wasn’t really worried until she got down to the last hook and eye and still there was no sign of Cole. He wouldn’t leave her to the mercy of these barbarians, would he? He wasn’t so disgusted with her that he never wanted to see her again, was he? He would come back for her, wouldn’t he?

Slowly the dress slipped off her hips into a puddle on the bar and immediately one of the women grabbed it; Dorie assumed she was Ellie, the owner of the gown. That left Dorie with no dress, just her underwear.

Petticoats came next, and still there was no sign of Cole. Corset cover came off and was grabbed instantly by the woman standing at her feet, as though she were some odd lady’s maid.

“Could I have something to drink?” Dorie mumbled to the man behind the bar, but he paid no attention to her words. His eyes, like those of all the men in the saloon, were on what was coming off next. What had she been hoping for anyway? Buttermilk?

She was fumbling with the front latches of the corset when Cole, atop a big chestnut horse, three men behind him, stormed through the saloon doors. Never in her life had she been so glad to see anyone.

There was general chaos within seconds, caused by the entry of four men on horseback into the saloon—it was Dorie’s opinion that the animals could only improve the smell of the place—and also caused by the disappointment of the men at the interruption of Dorie’s performance.

Dorie didn’t have to guess at Cole’s mood. After riding up to the bar, amid a fistfight with several guns going off, he didn’t look into her face, but grabbed her about the waist, slung her face down across his horse, and rode out of the saloon.

Chapter Eleven

I should have left you there,” Cole was saying. They were in bed together, or rather in a berth on a train together, headed toward Latham. He had been lecturing her for three days now. Dorie wondered if it was a record. But he had stopped complaining about her long enough to make love to her at every possible opportunity since they’d escaped Winotka Ford and his men. Only once had Dorie offered the opinion that she had helped. According to Cole, this was not so. If she’d done what he’d told her, he would have rescued them even sooner.