Ruby's Song (Love in the Sierras Book 3) Read online

  “Mi amor,” she cooed when she finally pulled back to flash him a wide and beautiful grin.

  “Rosa,” he returned with a smile. “God, you’re a sight for this lonely mountain man.” He ran his hands through the lengths of her shiny black hair and she pressed her large breasts against his chest. He could feel the hard buds of her nipples and his body stirred in response, but before he could tend to his physical needs he heard the shut of a door from upstairs and looked aloft to find his mother gazing down on him.

  “Morning, Ma,” he called, and she returned his smile, but there was a deep sadness in her eyes, and he could tell she’d been crying. A fierce protectiveness broke open inside of him, and he disentangled himself from Rosa’s embrace. He took the stairs two at a time, rushing past his mother and straight into her room.

  “Dalton, what’re you doing?” she called from behind as she followed him.

  “Where is he?” Dalton demanded.

  “Who?”

  He pulled the window curtains wide, looking behind them before searching beyond the dressing screen. “The bastard who’s upset you. I’ll skin him when I find him.”

  “Dalton, stop,” she demanded. “There’s no one here.”

  He faced his mother. “Then why have you been crying?”

  By then, the hallway outside her room was filled with curious women and even some men who were trying make their way down the stairs. Rosa went to his mother’s side and put an arm around her waist.

  “Is everything all right, Juliet?” the woman asked.

  “Yes, everything is fine,” Juliet returned with a huff, tucking strands of her dyed bright red hair behind her ears. “Everyone clear out of here. I want some time with my son.”

  Once the room was empty and the door shut, Juliet nodded for Dalton to sit at a table by the window. She crossed the space and ran a hand lovingly over his cheek. “Glad to see you’ve survived this round.” Her words were heavily accented from Britain and full of disappointment.

  “Don’t try to deflect the subject,” Dalton returned. “Besides, I’m tired of having the same argument with you. I leave you to your business. Leave me to mine.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, young sir. I’m still your mother no matter how grown you are.”

  Dalton kept the conversation on track. “And why has my mother been crying?”

  Juliet sighed, went to the secretary and pulled out a letter, holding it toward him.

  “I received a letter from my mother yesterday,” she explained.

  Dalton drew up short. “Your mother? The one who hasn’t spoken to you in twenty-three years?”

  Juliet leveled her eyes at him. “Well obviously, Dalton. How many mothers do you think I have?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m just surprised is all. What did she say to upset you?”

  She sank onto the bed and held her palms to her cheeks as her body sagged with emotion. “She’s dying and wants to make amends.”

  He wasn’t sure exactly what that entailed, so he remained quiet. After a long shaky breath, she continued.

  “I’ve decided I’m going to go see her,” she announced and Dalton sat forward.

  “To England? You’re traveling all the way to England to see a woman who disowned you? Who knows if you’d even get there in time? It’ll take a month to get there, at the very least.”

  “I have to try,” she said sadly.

  “Why?” Dalton asked, his voice an incredulous whisper.

  Juliet’s eyes were heavy with tears when she looked at him. “She’s my mother. Wouldn’t you do everything in your power to get to me on my deathbed?”

  “Of course I would, but you and I are different. You didn’t abandon me.”

  “Nevertheless,” she said with an indignant raise of her chin. “I’m still going. I leave on this afternoon’s stage.”

  “Today? I just got back.”

  “Well, that’s your fault I’m afraid.” She sent him a soft smile. “But you can stay here and keep me company while I pack. Besides, that table’s leg is about to shake off. Do you think you can repair it for me?”

  Dalton blew out a frustrated breath, damming the string of curses sitting on the tip of his tongue as he dropped to his knees to study the table. He examined the structure, wiggled the leg, lifted the top and shook his head as his eyes rolled.

  “The side support’s screw is stripped. Why do you buy these cheap constructions from the Chinese camp?”

  She crinkled her nose at him and narrowed her knowing eyes. “Because my woodworking son stopped building my furniture. He’d rather ride around waving his gun about.”

  He returned her haughty look. “That’s because one pays and the other doesn’t.”

  “Ugh,” she snorted. “You could make money as a woodworker if you tried.”

  A wave of hot breath left his lungs on a sigh. Their arguments seemed to be the same over and over, and he was too exhausted to engage. He needed rest, especially since he’d be traveling again very soon. There really was no choice in his mind. “I can’t fix your table right now because I’ve got some things to tend to before I head out again.”

  “Where are you off to now?” she asked with a curious brow.

  His hand flailed angrily in her direction. “To England, of course. You think I’m going to let you cross a country and an ocean on your own?”

  Juliet laughed. “I crossed a country and an ocean on my own to get here.”

  He smiled. “No, you didn’t. I was with you, even if only in your belly. I’ll be with you this time, too.” He had barely stood to his full height before Juliet crossed the room and flew into his arms, thanking him through her tears. His anger faded at the sight of her wet cheeks and gratitude, and he shushed her before pulling back. “First things first, I need to see Rosa. Three dry months is enough for any man to endure and who knows how long ‘til I get back here.”

  Juliet opened her trunk and began emptying blankets onto the bed. “You know, they do have whores in London. I don’t see any reason for you to go…dry, as you put it.”

  “I don’t think Rosa would take too kindly to that.”

  A bark of laughter burst from his mother’s chest. “You think she expects fidelity from you while she spreads her thighs each night?”

  He felt his forehead crease in defense. “That’s different. She doesn’t have a choice. I’m certain she’d give up this life if I married her. She’d be faithful to me.”

  “So, why don’t you?” Juliet asked, lifting an eyebrow in his direction. He took a deep breath and scanned the room, as if the answer was written anywhere but on his heart. His mother’s chuckle drew his gaze back to her. “It’s because you don’t love her.”

  A deep breath filled his chest as he nodded. “Yeah, I expect that’s right.”

  “Does she know, Dalton?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve never made any declarations.”

  She pointed a finger at him. “You be sure and make it clear as day to her. Don’t leave her here pining for you, hoping for a future that will never be. That’s the worst you can do to a woman, especially a whore.”

  “Well, I don’t know that I won’t marry her someday.” A red, disapproving eyebrow arched high above his mother’s light blue eyes, and he held his hands out wide. “I could have a happy life with Rosa. She’d be a good wife and I, a good husband. And I want to have youngins of my own. We make each other happy now. Why couldn’t we make each other happy in a marriage?”

  “For the same reason you aren’t already married,” she answered. “Something’s holding you back, and that something won’t disappear after wedding vows. If anything, it will grow wider until you are full of regrets.”

  He snorted. “You are too sentimental.”

  “Mark my words, boy. If you settle for something less than what your heart truly wants, you’ll suffer for it all your livelong days.”

  Their conversation and the thought of traveling after being on horseback all nigh
t overwhelmed him with fatigue. He swiped a hand down his face with a groan. “I’m not looking forward to this journey, I’ll have you know.”

  “Oh, perk up. It won’t be so bad. We’ll be traveling through Boston. Maybe we’ll get a chance to see Marlena.”

  “Who?”

  Juliet huffed. “Marlena Beauregard. You know, Jessica Kelly’s sister?”

  “Oh, right,” he said as it dawned on him. He’d never called her by that name. “Little Miss? I wonder how the kid’s doing these days.”

  “She’s not a kid anymore. She’ll be eighteen by now.”

  “You’re right. I can’t imagine her a full grown woman, though. She was such a scrawny little thing, but sweet and shy, always hanging in the shadows trying not to be seen or heard.”

  “Apparently, Jess said she performs three nights a week at the Boston Opera House. We will have to take in a concert while we’re there.”

  “Music is a waste of time. I don’t see the point in sitting around listening to someone sing.”

  “Yet you’ll waste an entire afternoon with your nose in a book.”

  “That’s different. I’m educating myself, enriching my soul with the study of human behavior.”

  Juliet lifted a brow. “No more than music educates and enriches the soul with the study of human emotion.”

  He laughed. “You’ve proven my point for me. Music is for women.”

  “Perhaps Marlena’s voice will convert you. I’ve heard high praise of it.”

  As he left the bedroom, he levied a snort over his shoulder. “Not likely.”

  Chapter 2

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Same day

  Lightning flashed and thunder shook the windows of the music room. Marlena watched the outside world droop in layers of rainwater sliding over the panes, as gray as her thoughts. The back of her throat felt so dry and overused that even swallowing created a burn that stretched down to her stomach. She hadn’t complained of it to Sarah, but the pain had to be obvious by the gradual hoarseness of her voice. Still, the songstress kept urging her to sing louder, project further, open her mouth wider, hail with more vibrato, then less vibrato, and Marlena did her best to comply until Sarah finally cut her off with an impatient wave of her hand.

  Marlena released a deep breath and massaged her throat with her fingertips.

  “Here,” Sarah spat as she thrust a cup of hot salted water at her. “Gurgle and then drink some hot honeyed water. We are done for the day. What is the matter with you?”

  Marlena spat the water in a porcelain spittoon, unsure if the question was rhetorical. She never knew when she was supposed to speak. The earliest lesson she’d learned upon entering the home of Sarah Jeanne Winthrop and her brother, Elijah, was that the only time they cared to hear her voice was when she sang. She could still hear Sarah quoting The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette.

  Music is the greatest, best substitute for conversation. It has many merits, in this light. It can never provoke angry retort; it can never make enemies; it can injure no one's character by slander; and in playing and singing one can commit no indiscretion.

  It was an arrangement Marlena knew well, for she had spent most of her life in commanded silence, first as a young child who went to live with her sister when their father was murdered. And then again when they’d finally escaped Jess’s abusive husband. They’d donned disguises for the next three years, all of which required Marlena to remain hidden and silent. If she learned anything in life so far, it was that silence was the wisest, and most often preferred, course of action.

  “Well?” Sarah demanded. “Speak!”

  “I’m sorry,” Marlena said. “I’m trying my best.”

  “No, you’re not,” Sarah returned tightly. “This is most definitely not your best. Honestly, Marlena, I don’t know what’s happened to you in the last few months. You used to be so eager, so accommodating. You seem to have lost all vigor when it comes to your craft and that, my girl, is the kiss of death.”

  “I do apologize. It’s just…well, I…”

  “Spit it out, girl. If you’re going to open your mouth to speak, say something meaningful. Don’t sputter off a slew of mumbled nothings.”

  Marlena wanted to howl with laughter at such irony. If this had been a lesson in the art of conversation, mumbled nothings was the mark of a well-bred lady, albeit politely mumbled nothings. Sometimes, Marlena grew dizzy trying to remember and adhere to all of the rules, even after five years of having them hammered into her.

  She took a deep, fortifying breath and lifted her face to lock eyes with Sarah. “I confess I’ve grown somewhat…disenchanted. When will I debut?”

  “You’ll debut when I feel you’re ready, and not a moment sooner,” Sarah said with finality.

  “Perhaps if you tell me what I’m lacking, specifically, I’ll know in which ways to improve,” Marlena prodded, trying to hide the clench of her jaw.

  Sarah stopped pacing and sighed. A rare light of pity stole into her hazel eyes and she came to sit beside Marlena.

  “You’re holding back, and if I can see that, the audience will, too,” she told Marlena, who flinched at such a notion. “Your singing is good, but it isn’t great, and I don’t think you’re ready for opera. Your singing lacks feeling. You seem…uncertain, closed off in some way, emotionally, and that won’t do in opera. No composer will write for you as you are right now. So, I’ve decided your first year will be spent on a concert tour, just you and as little instrumental accompaniment as possible.”

  Marlena frowned. All these years, she’d been grooming for a life in costume. Not once had Sarah mentioned a solo concert tour. She wanted to pinch her nose to stem the flow of anger at yet another decision about her life made by others.

  “We will showcase your vocal talent,” Sarah continued. “But you must touch people’s hearts. Make them feel. Draw on your own experiences to connect with them. Everyone has felt fear, anger, heartache, worry, love…all of the feelings of life. The audience has to believe you’ve felt them, too. Do it well, and you’ll reduce them to nothing but emotion. And that’s when you become superior. You’ll make them see that you no longer succumb to emotion but wield it, something they can never do. They’ll know then that they’re inferior.”

  The idea made her stomach clench and her back stiffen. “I don’t want to make anyone feel inferior,” she said. “That is a horrible feeling, and it’s not what music is about. Music transcends the barriers we erect ourselves. In music, we are unified and made equal by the beauty that belongs to all people of all classes and statuses. I am no better than anyone.”

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. Marlena prepared herself for a tongue lashing, for opinions were not welcome in this household unless they were Elijah’s. Even Sarah found herself abruptly cut off by her brother’s foul temper. But Sarah didn’t unleash a lecture. Instead, she leaned forward and raised Marlena’s chin with the tip of her finger.

  “If you’re not above them, how can they look up to you? If they don’t look up to you, then you’re nothing special. And if you’re nothing special, I’ve been wasting my time all these years.”

  The words echoed through Marlena as she studied the sheet of music on her stand. She certainly didn’t feel like anything special, and Boston’s high society had made sure to reinforce that opinion over the years. She’d been thrilled at first to dress in fine gowns and attend lavish social gatherings as the apprentice of the Opera Queen, but she’d gone against Sarah’s command of silence about her past and had learned far too quickly how unwelcome a poor orphan from the western wilderness was.

  She still attended the obligatory dinner party or ball now and again, but received no personal invitations out. With Sarah performing most evenings and Elijah invested in his politics, most of Marlena’s nights were spent indoors and alone, nursing one of her greatest fears: an opera debut to an empty auditorium.

  Her throat thickened with emotion and she took a hard swallow. />
  “Sarah, what if you have been wasting your time all these years?” she asked, her voice a pained whisper. “What if opera is not for me? What if I can’t do it?”

  Sarah gave her a cold, hard stare. “You don’t have a choice. You think you can walk away after five and a half years of my time and investment in you? We have a contract, and the only way out of it is to sing your way into stardom or a buyout you couldn’t possibly afford.”

  “How much would a buyout cost?”

  A gust of laughter belted from Sarah. She wiped tears from her eyes as she faced Marlena. “More than your sister makes as a cattleman’s wife, I assure you.” She crossed the room to place her hands on Marlena’s shoulders. “Besides, you can do it. When it comes to music, I don’t make mistakes, and I never, ever fail.” She patted Marlena’s cheek twice.

  A sigh drifted across Marlena’s lips as regret crept through her. Had she known at thirteen what she knew now, she would have never left Virginia City, never left her sister, the one person who truly loved and cared for her. But the human capacity to persevere is a marvel, and like any poor orphaned girl who finds herself with a rare opportunity to be something great, she devoured every bit of education thrown her way, determined to ignore the lack of fulfillment and loneliness that continued to grow over the years.

  Though Sarah’s management was beyond stifling, Marlena had clung to hope, laboring to learn everything she could about improving her voice, all under the assumption she’d debut at eighteen and be on her own way. But the birthday had come and gone with nothing more than the signing of the official contract between her and Sarah.

  Of course, Marlena had heard mention of a contract negotiated between Sarah and Jess five years ago, but she hadn’t realized the terms demanded another five years of her life onstage in recompense for the training. It was a blow she’d been unprepared for and it had knocked her sideways. She felt it all slipping away. Her hope. Her enthusiasm. Even her love of music.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t look so grim and dour, Marlena,” Sarah snapped with a roll of her eyes. “All you need is to concentrate on regaining your focus. Perhaps tonight’s social gathering will do you some good. Add a little levity into your persistent seriousness.”