Amelia C Adams [Adams - Learning Her Lines

Learning Her Lines

Cowboys and Angels Book 38

by Amelia C. Adams

With thanks to my beta readersAmy, Barbara, Bonnie, Cheryl, Cindy, Dorothy, Joseph, Mary, Meisje, Renee G., Renee L., Robin, and Suzy.

Cover design by EDH Professionals

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Table of Contents:

Chapter One

Creede, Colorado

1893

Catherine Ross glanced up from the table she was wiping and smiled when she saw Melvin Westcott enter the Iron Skillet. He was an eccentric type, as one might expect from the owner of a theater, and at times, he seemed even more unusual. He talked to himself quite a bit, muttering in a low growl that had startled her at first, but now made her smile. She recognized it as part of his process, as the way he used to sort through his thoughts.

Miss Ross, do you know what this is? he asked, waving a booklet in the air.

I have no idea, sir, she replied. Dare I hazard a guess?

You may.

She tucked her dishtowel into the waistband of her apron. In that case, I guess that its something thats causing you a great deal of consternation.

You are correct. He tapped the cover. This is an abridged version of Romeo and Juliet created for the modern stage, and Ive come to the conclusion that they abridged all the wrong parts.

Oh, dear. She picked up the tray of dirty dishes shed collected from that table, then paused. What do you mean, for the modern stage? Has the language been changed?

No, not extensively. But its lost some of the antiquity, the flavor of fair Verona hundreds of years ago. I have a copy of each version, and I plan to go through with a pen and demolish them both.

And youd like your favorite table and a pot of coffee?

You know me well, Miss Ross.

She glanced over to make sure that his table was free, glad to find that it was. She motioned toward it with a nod of her head, not feeling the need to escort him to it like she would if he were a new customer. Indeed, he could probably find that table in his sleep in the middle of a blizzard.

She stepped into the kitchen just long enough to grab a full pot of coffee and a mug and delivered them to Mr. Westcotts table. He was already deep in contemplation, scowling as he looked back and forth between the two booklets in front of him. She set everything in the center of the table, hoping hed be more observant this time and not knock anything onto the floor. He did have the tendency to enter his own world and to cease being aware of reality.

Ill check on you in a little while, she promised. He didnt reply, but she hadnt really expected him to. She smiled again as she turned to greet the two new groups who had entered.

With so many new good restaurants in town, competition was fierce, especially when some were run by people who had lived in Creede for a while and had built up a reputation. But business had been good at the Iron Skillet as of late, so good that Catherine sometimes wondered if shed ever get a break from the hustle and bustle. She liked being busythats why she agreed to move to Creede and help Uncle Samson with his new restaurant, but honestly, enough was enough when it was so many hours on her feet. It wasnt difficult to remember the orders or to carry the traysthe difficulty was that it never ended. As soon as a table was cleared, it was full again, and she felt like she wasnt making any headway at all.

She seated her new customers and took their orders. She was on her way back to their table with a plate of bread when she heard Mr. Westcott growl and slam the side of his fist on the table. After delivering the bread, she approached him, wondering if she should be alarmed.

Miss Ross, I have a question for you. His eyebrows were furrowed together into a tight line.

Yes, Mr. Westcott?

This restaurant is called the Iron Skillet. Lets say I wanted to borrow an actual iron skillet. Could such a thing be arranged?

She blinked. What an odd question, and not at all what shed been expecting him to say. I could ask the cook, if hes not busy...

Ask him if hed mind if I used it to commit murder.

Catherine took a step back. I dont think hed like that, sir... Hes very particular about his pots and pans and things. Murder? Surely he wasnt serious. Would a murderer sit in a place of business like this and discuss his plans so openly?

Her customer lifted a hand. Im sorry, Miss Ross. I didnt mean that. Im just frustrated. No, Im more than frustrated. Im angered . Yes, thats a much better word. Succinct. To the point. Without embellishment, and yet sufficiently powerful.

Im very sorry to hear that, sir. She took another step away, thinking to make her escape, but he kept talking.

Its this letter. He pounded the table again, and this time, she could see that he was actually taking his feelings out on a sheet of paper that was lying near his coffee mug. I found this just now tucked between the pages of the book my director left me this morning. The cowardnot even speaking to me about it directly.

What sort of letter, Mr. Westcott? She didnt really need to askshe knew he was about to tell her. But he seemed to need a bit of friendly encouragement.

Mr. Alfred Bloomberg, director of the Creede Theater and therefore, my employee, decided to leave Creede and take a job with an opera in San Francisco. As if hes experienced enough to handle that kind of responsibility... Hes only directed the spoken word, nothing musical. And to be honest, I only gave him this job because he was so sincere about wanting it. He told me hed apply himself and really make a go of it. More like, he applied himself to all the whiskey he could hold over at the Nugget. And now Im left without a director, and he couldnt even tell me to my face. He wrote a letter, tucked it into the book I asked for, and left it propped up against my office door.

Thats terrible, Mr. Westcott. He should have spoken to you in person.

Miss?

Catherine turned at the call. Coming. Ill be right back, Mr. Westcott.

Never mind about me, he said, waving his hand. Ill still be right here when you return, and still just as perturbed.

She felt sorry for him, she really did, but she was also amused as she moved off to take care of her other customers. He was nearly as dramatic as the actors and actresses he hired for his stage.

Im sorry, she said as she approached the kitchen counter and picked up the tray of meals waiting for her. I have a talkative customer. Mr. Westcotts feeling particularly melancholy today.

Titus looked up from the stove. I just hope that food didnt go cold waiting for you.

Me too. She could still see a bit of steam curling off the top, though, so she imagined it was all right.

She delivered the plates to her customers, readied a table in the corner, and was relieved when she returned to Mr. Westcott and found him somewhat calmer.

You may tell your cousin that his cooking utensils are safe, he said. Ive decided to be the better man and move on from this unfortunate experience.

Thats certainly good news. Would you like to celebrate with some pie?

Yes, I would. A large slice, please, with fresh cream.

Of course. Ill be right back.

This time when Catherine entered the kitchen, she almost ran into Ivy, Uncle Samsons daughter, who had just arrived. Shed been married to Caleb Baker, the new photographer in town, for a short while now, and had seemed almost ridiculously happy ever since. She was an hour late, though, which didnt make Catherine very happy at all.

Im sorry, Ivy said as she grabbed an apron. Caleb needed my help mixing up some of his chemicals, and he said it would only be a few minutes, but it turned into a much larger project than he thought. How have things been today?

Busy. Im glad to see youMr. Westcott has been unusually strange today.