“Why, yes, I would,” Callie Mae replied with a glare as she looked around the room as though challenging someone to say something. Smoothing the skirts of her white dress sprinkled with tiny violet flowers, she tucked a stray hair under her bonnet and motioned the young ladies to their feet.
“This is Miss Jane Truby, from St. Louis,” she said introducing a pretty young woman who was anything but a ‘plain Jane’. Her blonde hair hung over her shoulder, each ringlet a perfectly plump coil of gold. The blue lace-trimmed bonnet she wore matched her modest dress, and her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. Her pink cupids bow lips smiled in a way that said she was highly amused as she nodded her head in greeting and gracefully resumed her seat.
“This is Miss Annalise Martin,” Callie Mae continued. Annalise was as different from Jane as it was possible to be. She wore a brown broadcloth dress and a serviceable bonnet with her brown hair almost completely unseen. Keeping her eyes downcast, she blushed profusely as she sat back down on the pew.
Morgan had Jane’s number immediately. She was full of life and likely enjoying her newfound freedom. She was also just as likely to be trouble. On the other hand, watching Annalise was almost painful. The girl was either incredibly shy, terrified, or both, and Morgan felt genuinely sorry for her.
“This is Miss Marilee Muldoon,” Callie Mae said, moving on and giving the girl’s hand a squeeze. “Marilee was studying to be a school teacher before coming from St. Louis and will be taking her final exam for her teaching certificate soon.” Marilee smiled and nodded before taking her seat. A fresh-faced little thing, he thought he sensed a slight softening in the crowd. Her pink dress was modest, as was the bonnet she wore, and her cheeks glowed with good health and humor.
Watching Callie Mae as she moved to the last girl, Morgan could see her tense.
“This is Miss Francin…Miss Fancy O’Shea,” Callie Mae continued with a slight eye roll.
Francine Jones became Fancy O’Shea the moment she stepped off the train. After several hours of arguing, during which Callie Mae tried to get her to reconsider, she gave up, especially after she heard the redhead sing. With her figure and talents, she was headed for the stage or a brothel. Callie Mae couldn’t picture her singing at weddings. When a woman wore a satin dress to church, that spoke for itself. Instead of a bonnet, she wore a lace scarf that she artlessly let slip from her head to reveal her red curls as her green eyes tilted in fake distress. Bending to pick up her scarf, every man who was lucky enough to be looking, and that included most of the ones agile enough to swivel in their seat, got an eyeful of creamy breasts.
Reverend Simms choked and stuck a finger under his collar.
“It’s so nice to meet all of you,” Fancy gushed. “I’m the new singer at The Duchess. I hope you’ll all come and see me,” she continued with a pout. She winked at several men as she arranged her skirts and sat.
“Yes, well, welcome, all of you,” Reverend Simms said before clearing his throat. “Let’s turn to hymn number seventy-eight in our hymnals, ‘Yield Not to Temptation’.”
Callie Mae sat and scowled at Morgan, who was having difficulty controlling his laughter. His look said, I warned you, as clearly as if he had spoken, and she picked up her book and stuck her nose in the pages, ignoring him.
Emma Whittaker let her son take her elbow as he escorted her from the church and down the steps. As soon as he released her, she made a beeline for Callie Mae and the girls.
“Mrs. Whittaker, how are you?” Callie Mae asked as she leaned into the older woman and kissed her cheek. “I’ll bet you’re glad to have Morgan home,” she said, stepping back but keeping hold of Emma’s hand.
“It’s good to see you, Callie Mae, and I surely am. I think I’m not the only one either,” she teased.
Callie Mae blushed but didn’t reply as Morgan caught up with his mother.
“You two just talk a spell,” Emma smiled. “I’ll go introduce myself to your new friends, Callie Mae.”
Mead and Lilly were headed in their direction and Callie Mae couldn’t fail to notice Lilly tug Mead away as she saw the girls. Melissa and Cole followed along behind Emma, and Callie Mae smiled at them gratefully.
“Well, are you satisfied with your grand scheme?” Morgan asked, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at her. “Even Lilly is steering clear. Not that I blame her. If she wants the ladies of this town to support her business, she’ll have to watch her step.”
“Oh, who cares what they think,” Callie Mae snorted, tilting her chin up. “I can do whatever I want, and there’s no one to say different.”
“Yes, I guess you can, for now. So, are you happy? You’ve got yourself a timid little mouse, a school teacher, a pretty little thing who has no idea this isn’t a big game, and a singer who’s likely to take off with the first man heading for San Francisco with a hundred dollars in his pocket, and you are responsible for them all.”
“I’m thrilled,” she snapped. “Francine will pack the cowboys in faster than anything I have behind the bar. Marilee is smart and good with figures; she’ll help me with the books. Jane is enough to tempt a saint with her soft-spoken charm, and Annalise is happy to stay out of the saloon altogether. She’ll clean and take care of the laundry.”
“And who will protect them and you?” he demanded. “From what I understand, once the cattle drives start coming in, this town will be crawling with drunken cowboys and thieves. There will be traveling whores who follow the trail, hoping to score big when the money starts flowing.”
“What do you mean, ‘from what you understand’? You’ve lived here all your life,” she said with a curious expression.
“Nothing, and you’re missing the point of this conversation. It won’t be long before you’re up to your neck in trouble,” he ground out, recognizing he’d almost made a crucial mistake.
“I have my little friend here,” Callie Mae replied, tapping her thigh before realizing she hadn’t worn her gun to church. “Well, I will have it. I just don’t have it today.”
“Jesus, Callie Mae,” he sighed in frustration. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her away from the small crowd still visiting in the churchyard.
“I want you to sell it,” he said, once they were out of hearing distance.
“What? Sell my gun? Why would I want to do that?”
“Sell The Duchess. You’re not cut out for it.”
