Just After Midnight: Historical Romance Read online

  Since her trunks were nowhere in sight, Megan used the cool water in a pitcher on the dresser to bathe her tear-sore eyes, resolving to change her travel dress when she located her clothes. Her hair had come loose sometime during the afternoon, and she deftly smoothed the long, red tresses into the severe bun she’d adopted long ago to offset her youth.

  “Well, Lovey, I must say you do look worse for the wear.”

  Megan started. The woman had a knack for catching her unaware. Obviously Queen never entertained the notion of knocking before she entered a room.

  “I need to change my dress. Do you know if my trunks have arrived from the ship?”

  “Sure thing. I had them put in your pa’s room.” The immense woman looked Megan up and down. “I hope you have somethin’ in those trunks more presentable than that.”

  Her earth-toned traveling costume was the height of fashion in San Francisco, but she could see how the dress would be out of place in a dance hall. “I do have a few more colorful dresses to wear when I’m working.”

  Queen sniffed. “Good thing, too. You look like a little, brown bird in that rag. We’d best hurry now if you want to get downstairs before the music starts.” She turned and left the room quickly for a person of such girth.

  Hurrying to keep pace with Queen, Megan nearly bumped into the woman when she stopped abruptly in front of a set of double doors a few yards down the long hallway. Opening them with a flourish, Queen stepped back and allowed Megan to enter.

  Taking several steps into the room, Megan looked around for her belongings, but stopped abruptly, her mouth falling open in amazement at the opulence of her father’s suite.

  Electric light reflected off the polished wood floor. Draperies of scarlet velvet obscured the windows. Dominating the chamber, a magnificent four-poster bed stood covered with a blanket of white fur. On the far side of the room, a Turkish bath was visible backed by a wall of mirrors. Megan found the decor of the suite masculine but for the fresh wildflowers that filled several vases. Their fragrance floated to her on the warm air. To her right, another set of double doors opened onto a sitting room, complete with a fireplace. Above the mantel, a large painting of a frail, flame-haired woman occupied the position of honor.

  “Mama,” Megan whispered.

  “She was right beautiful, your mama,” Queen said, her voice quiet for the first time since Megan had met her.

  “I’ve never seen that painting before.”

  “Your pa had it painted right here in Dawson City once The Celebration began to make money. He must have loved her somethin’ fierce.”

  “He did.” Megan paused, staring transfixed at the image she had nearly forgotten. “I thought he’d go to pieces when she died. I was only thirteen.”

  “You were what kept him goin’ through those tough times, I’m sure. He loved you. Talked about you nonstop.” Queen made a shooing motion with her large, painted fingers. “Get dressed. The curtain’ll go up in fifteen minutes whether I’m on stage or not.”

  Megan crossed to her trunks beneath the window. Opening one, she pulled out the first dress she found and was pleased to see her favorite deep-lavender silk with the leg-of-mutton sleeves and godet skirt.

  Glancing toward the door, she found Queen lounging against the wall, her gaze on Megan. The woman couldn’t expect her to change while she watched, could she? Megan raised her eyebrows while nodding at the door. Queen hoisted her huge frame upright. “All right, I’ll go. But I can tell you, there ain’t nothin’ beneath that brown disgrace for a dress that I haven’t seen before. Many times.”

  When the door closed behind Queen, Megan gave a sigh of relief. “Maybe so, but I’ve never undressed in front of anyone in my life, and I don’t plan to start with you.”

  Quickly removing her traveling costume, Megan slipped into the dress. The cool, smooth silk felt wonderful and the familiarity of the oft-worn fabric soothed her. She rubbed both hands up and down her shoulders, breathing deeply to calm herself. She could think of nothing she wanted to do less than face people with her heart bruised and battered. But her father would expect her to do her job.

  When Megan opened the door, she found Queen leaning over the wood railing observing the dance hall below. “Got a full house for your first night.” The woman turned and her mouth dropped open with surprise.

  “What’s the matter?” Megan asked, looking down to see if anything were amiss. Finding nothing unbuttoned or torn, she turned her bewildered gaze upon Queen.

  “You’re not going to wear that?” Queen’s mouth curled in distaste.

  “Of course. This is my favorite dress, and it’s perfect since I’m in mourning.”

  “Mourning? You can’t be serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious. My father is dead. Just because we’re in the wilds of the Yukon doesn’t mean I shouldn’t show proper respect. Though I may have spent the last ten years working day and night for profit, my mother taught me what’s right.”

  Queen bit her lip as though she didn’t know what to say next. But she didn’t remain silent for long. “Proper respect is one thing; business is another. Brian would understand what needs to be done to keep up appearances, and that ain’t it.” Queen came closer and lowered her voice as though to share a secret. “Lovey, you look like a spinster schoolteacher with that gown buttoned all the way to your chin and no skin a-showin’ anywhere, not to mention the color. My dead aunt has clothes with more zip. And I wasn’t goin’ to say anything about your hair, but I guess I’d better. Why do you put such pretty red hair up in an old woman’s bun? Take advantage of youth, girl; it don’t last forever.”

  “I’m not a dance-hall girl, Queen. I’m the owner of The Celebration.”

  “That don’t make no difference. I know the men that come in here, and you’ll make them squirm lookin’ like their ancient Aunt Hattie. It’ll ruin business; mark my words.”

  Megan frowned. The clothes she wore and the way she did her hair had never put off any of the customers in her other establishments. Sure, Brian had been around then to smooth over any rough spots between her and the men. He had always made his meaning clear—his daughter was off limits for courting; she was present merely as a manager. She just had to make the same rules understood here at the outset.

  “Queen, what I wear is of no consequence, I’m sure,” Megan said in the no-nonsense tone she’d found worked best with employees. “Let’s get downstairs or you’ll miss the first dance.”

  Queen grumbled all the way down the wooden staircase. But the dancer kept any further opinions of Megan’s appearance confined to that.

  The Celebration was geared up for a night of revelry, the dance hall full of men waiting for the show to begin. Queen abandoned Megan at the foot of the stairs and hurried to her place behind the curtain while Megan drifted toward the entryway between the dance hall and the middle room designated for gambling. That room was also full. A glance through to the front room, or saloon, revealed a crowd of men there, as well. Megan smiled—nothing better than a full house.

  Silence slowly descended and every eye turned in her direction. Feeling uneasy for the first time she could recall, Megan returned to the dance hall, but the pressure of countless eyes bored into her as she left.

  In the dance hall proper, the attention of the men remained on the stage, and Megan took a position at the rear of the room. After a flourish from the musicians, the red-and-gold curtain moved upward and the feet, then legs, then bodies of the women on stage became visible. The crowd hooted, hollered, and stamped their feet as, for the next several hours, dancing girls entertained them.

  Megan kept out of the way, observing the crowd and her employees. She was amazed at Queen’s dancing ability and the men’s response to her talent. The woman hadn’t been exaggerating her appeal to the opposite sex. When the show was over and the girls mingled with the customers, men surrounded Queen, begging the boon of her first dance.

  After a short intermission to wet dry throats, the d
ancing began. For one dollar a song, a lonely miner could dance with the girl of his choice; and for every dollar spent at the bar, the girl received a circular disc to represent her share of the profits. An energetic dancer with a persuasive attitude could make her fortune in the Klondike.

  Megan stood at the end of the polished wood bar and watched the bartenders serve drinks. A small scale was available so gold dust could be weighed for payment. She was impressed with the speed and accuracy of the bartenders’ measurements. After she had observed for nearly half an hour, the room began to empty.

  “Why is everyone leaving so early?” Megan asked one of the bartenders. “I thought the dance halls were full until morning.”

  He cleared his throat, swallowed. “Well, miss, I don’t know how to say this.” He reddened before continuing in a rush of words. “You make the men uncomfortable. They’re used to seein’ the girls here. They don’t know what to make of you.”

  Megan peered at her reflection in the wall of mirrors behind the bar. Nothing was amiss. Maybe she was a bit pale, but that was to be expected after the long journey and the horrible news that had awaited her upon arrival.

  “The men come in here to blow off steam,” he continued. “They drink and dance. Have a good time. They don’t like to be reminded of their wives and mothers by lookin’ at you.”

  Had Queen been right? Was she bad for business? But what could she do? She didn’t know how to be anyone but herself.

  As the night wore on, a steady stream of men left The Celebration. Toward morning, Queen made her way to where Megan sat in a darkened corner of the dance hall. Resting her ample bulk on the remaining chair, Queen leaned back and kicked off her shoes. “Hate to say I told you so.”

  Megan straightened, suddenly angry. No one had a right to pass judgment on the way she looked. What difference could her appearance possibly make to her ability to manage The Celebration?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. People are tired, that’s all. Tomorrow will be better.”

  At Queen’s doubtful expression, Megan stood. “I want to meet the rest of the girls.” She strode across the room toward the stage where the other dancers perched on the structure’s edge, their stocking feet swinging above a neat row of shoes below. Varying degrees of distrust and dislike appeared on each of their faces. This was not going to be easy.

  Queen introduced each of the colorfully adorned women. Their names were a kaleidoscope of sound: Blue Mary, Sassy Sue, the Lightning Bolt, Gilded Lily. It seemed that everyone had an alias in Dawson City. The more unusual the name, the better. Would she ever be able to place each face with the odd monikers to which they belonged?

  “As you’ve probably heard, I’m Megan Daily, Brian’s daughter. I’ll be running the place from now on. I hope we can all work together to make The Celebration a success.” Her smile felt stiff, but she used it anyway.

  A tall, painfully thin woman jumped down from the stage. “If you’d stop driving off the men with your old-maid’s ways, we might have a chance.”

  “Ah … Skinny … um … Nell,” Megan stuttered, unfamiliar with the strange form of address. “I’m sure that in a few days the men will get used to me and business will go on as usual.” Megan glanced at the other women. Skepticism shrouded every face.

  “We’ll see, Miss Daily.” Skinny Nell took her measure, before continuing. “If’n things don’t improve by next week, we’ll all have to go somewhere’s else to do our dancin’.”

  Nods of agreement from the others had Megan opening her mouth to argue the point, but a commotion from the front bar drew her attention.

  “Aw, hell,” groaned Queen, putting her hand to her forehead.

  “What is it?” Megan demanded.

  “Thought he’d be gone for a while yet. I didn’t want to have to burden you with more bad news after you learned about your pa.”

  “Who are you talking about? What bad news?”

  “Big Ian McMurphy’s who, and he’s enough bad news for the entire Yukon.”

  Megan followed the woman’s gaze. The man wasn’t addressed as “big” just for conversation. He filled the doorway, ducking his head to enter. Mammoth shoulders strained at a coat of silver fur while legs the size of unsplit logs pushed at the seams of his black pants. McMurphy’s black beard, shot through with silver that matched the fur, obscured the lower half of his face; but his bright, black eyes shone with a feral intelligence. Their light turned to Megan and she gulped.

  “Owns nearly everything in the territory,” Queen whispered, “and he’s got his eye on this place since Brian died. He doesn’t look too happy to see you.” For once Queen’s voice was unamused, her high-pitched cackle glaringly absent.

  The girls shuffled away, but Queen remained at her side. Megan spared a grateful glance for the woman, but Queen’s wary gaze stayed focused on the huge man. Megan quickly returned her attention to Ian McMurphy. She tilted her neck back, then back even further, to look into his face.

  “Heard you came to town, little girl.” The giant’s voice boomed, causing Megan to flinch. The room had gone silent, the few patrons who remained moving closer to observe the confrontation.

  Megan drew herself up to her full five feet eight inches, though she no doubt looked like a dwarf next to Queen and McMurphy. “How can I help you, sir?” She made her voice as cold as she’d heard the Yukon turned in December.

  The shadow of a smile played around his lips before he spoke. “Well, missy, had my eye on this place for a long time now. I don’t have a dance hall and I’ve decided I want one. Your father wasn’t much, but he knew how to start a business.”

  Megan bristled at the insult but attempted to keep the confrontation civil. “The Celebration isn’t for sale, Mr. McMurphy. I am perfectly capable of taking care of the place myself.”

  Ian glanced at her clenched fists, and this time the smile he turned upon her was genuine. “So, you’re a fighter. That’s good. I haven’t had to fight for what I wanted in a long, long time. This should be interesting.”

  “Leave the child alone,” Queen said. “Go pick on someone your own size.”

  “Like you?” His face softened and he laughed, the sound something between a chuckle and a growl. “I’d be delighted.”

  McMurphy made a move toward Queen; but before he could complete his intent, a voice from the doorway halted him in midstride. “McMurphy, you’ve been warned to stay out of trouble.”

  A shiver of awareness ran down Megan’s spine as she met the angry blue eyes of Alex Carson.

  “Carson, why is it you always show up where you’re not wanted?” McMurphy swung his immense body across the room and jammed his face close to the Mountie’s. “I’m getting a mite tired of you pesterin’ me.”

  With admirable calm, the lieutenant stepped forward and jabbed his forefinger against the man’s massive chest. “Pestering is my job. Especially when it involves bullies who delight in snatching others’ hard-earned property. What are you doing here? This place belongs to Miss Daily now.”

  The lieutenant never glanced at Megan, and her name came off his lips sounding as if he found the taste of the words sour. Nevertheless, she was impressed with the way he stood up to the mountainous man. Ian McMurphy scared her witless, though her years of dealing with rough men had schooled her not to show any fear in their presence.

  After several seconds of tense silence, McMurphy bowed stiffly to Megan and Queen. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure. I’ll be back when things are less stifling.” McMurphy brushed past Alex without a glance, and the crowd parted in a backward rush as he marched to the door.

  “He’s a nasty one.” Alex had moved so close his breath brushed Megan’s neck and she started. “You should stay clear of him.”

  Megan trembled at the sensation and stared into the lieutenant’s eyes. For a moment she glimpsed something akin to concern in the blue depths before they became shuttered and cold once again. “If you’re smart, you’ll sell your time to anyone but Big
Ian.”

  If he wanted to believe the worst of her, she wouldn’t disappoint him. Smiling coyly as she’d observed other women do when they dealt with men, Megan ran her fingertip down the side of Alex Carson’s face. “I have no need to sell my time. But if I did, perhaps you’d be interested, Lieutenant Carson.”

  Her finger tingled from the warmth of his face and the stubble shading his jaw. Their eyes met and suddenly she no longer felt like teasing the man. Something hot and dangerous had come to life there. Megan jerked her finger away from his face.

  Alex continued to stare at her for a moment. Then he turned on his shiny-booted heel and left without another word.

  “I don’t think you should tease the poor boy. Unless, of course, you’re interested in what your teasing might give rise to.” Queen cackled and slapped Megan on the back so hard she stumbled foreword. The woman caught her arm. “Sorry. I forget my own strength sometimes, and you’re such a skinny, little thing. You know that lieutenant’s got a reputation around here for being as cold and hard as ice in January. Those blue eyes are like to give me the shivers.”

  Megan continued to stare out the door through which Alex Carson had disappeared. What an infuriating, confusing man.

  She was not used to confusion. Especially where men were concerned. The life she’d lived had given her a knowledge of men’s ways. They might come in all shapes, colors, and sizes, but a man was a man was a man. Smart women steered clear of the entire species. The only man she had ever had the slightest use for was her father, and he had been as dependable as a gold mine.

  Thoughts of her father brought tears, and Megan swallowed over a thick knot in her throat. Without saying good night to anyone, she fled up the stairs.

  Slamming the door of her room behind her, Megan leaned against the heavy oak. How was she ever going to go on without her father? He hadn’t been dependable, but she’d always known there was someone in the world who needed her, who loved her. She had made herself into the kind of daughter he would always want at his side, but she had never considered he might die and leave her alone forever. The desolation and fear she had felt as a thirteen-year-old girl, left with a woman she barely knew as she watched her last surviving parent walk away, rose up in a wave of sadness. With determination born through years of practice, she pushed away the pain and the loneliness, vowing to pour all her love into the business her father had left in her care.