and he shushed her with a soft, hissing sound.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Lily. If I were going to give you trouble, I’d have done it last night. Just lie there and think lovely thoughts. I’m going to help you relax.”
And he did. His hands worked magic as she obeyed his dictates, fingers rubbing her toes, his palm massaging the arch of each foot, and never once did those big, warm hands stray above her ankles. She closed her eyes, the pleasure of being tended in such a way touching her heart in a way she’d almost forgotten.
“What are you thinking, Lily?” he asked quietly.
“You’ll laugh,” she answered, and then chuckled herself as she considered her answer. “I was thinking of when I was very young and my mother used to bathe me at night and then cut my toenails and tut-tut over the calluses on my feet. I used to go barefoot whenever I had the chance, and she told me time and again that ladies always wore shoes.”
“You had a happy home?” His voice was dark, blending with the shadows in the room, soothing her, luring her into a state of relaxation she had not enjoyed in over a year. She nodded, even though she knew he could not see the movement of her head.
“A wonderful home,” she said after a moment. “My brothers used to tease me unmercifully, but I knew they adored me. My father—” Her voice broke and she swallowed the emotion welling up within her. “He put me up on a horse when I was two years old. Mama scolded him and made a fuss, but I loved it.”
“Where did you live?” he asked in that same, soothing tone.
She roused from her reverie and drew one foot from his hands. “Far away from reality, I fear. Someplace I can never go again.”
“Reality?” He lifted her foot again and held it with a firm grip. “Hold still, Lily,” he said. “Just take it easy for a few more minutes. You’ll be wishing you had when you put those shoes back on.”
“Probably.” It wasn’t worth fussing over, not when his hands were so warm and firm against the bones and muscles they tended.
“We’re going to get you a new pair when we dock next,” he said. And as if that were the final word on the matter, he changed the subject.
“Had you planned on going all the way down the river?” he asked, his words an idle query, as if it were of little account in the general scheme of things.
She held her breath and thought with frantic haste. If she told him she’d planned on leaving the boat once it neared the homestead in Louisiana, he might protest, might even tell Ham that his employee was planning to run off. On the other hand, she’d never had an easy time telling falsehoods. Her mama had always said she couldn’t lie worth a tinker’s damn, whatever that meant.
“Well, I suspect you’re not going to tell me your plans, are you, Lily?” His hand slid up from her ankle to curl around the back of her calf.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Please, Morgan.”
“Are you going to stay on the boat to the end of the ride?” he asked again, his fingers gentle as they kneaded the firm flesh beneath the stockings she wore.
“No.”
“Where will you go?”
His fingers worked unceasingly at her muscles, but they’d moved back to her foot, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t know for certain,” she said after a moment.
“Home?”
“I want to, but I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”
“Not if your folks are worried about you, Lily. It’s never too late to go home when the people you love are there.”
She laughed softly. “Listen to the man. When was the last time you saw your family? What about the people you love, Morgan?”
“I don’t have anyone to go home to,” he said. “Not anymore.”
“A loner?”
“No, I’ve had to live in close quarters with other men sometimes. But not lately.”
“Not with a woman?” The darkness made her bold, and she waited in silence for his answer. If she’d expected some revelation of the man’s past, she was in for a disappointment, for he simply lowered her feet to the mattress and rose from the bed.
“I’ll come back and rap on the door ten minutes before you go on stage again,” he said, and now his voice was cool, remote, as if he’d withdrawn from her. His footsteps were quiet as he crossed the few feet of floor to the door, and then he was gone.
Lily looked at the circle of light, beyond which the stars glittered in a dark sky. He was different, nothing like the men she’d known before now. Perhaps somewhat like her brother Roan, she thought, that strong, silent man who had gone to fight on the other side during the great conflict. He’d worn a blue uniform, and almost broke his mother’s heart in the process.
Her eyes closed as she considered the place where she’d been born and raised, and the words, “River Bend,” vibrated in her mind. Pictures of the big, white plantation house, the fields filled with those who worked them, and the horses her father took such pride in raising, blended into a kaleidoscope of color behind her closed eyelids.
Lily sang four songs, with barely a pause between them, before she left the stage. Ham met her in the wings and his brow furrowed as he scanned her dress. “I didn’t think they’d take to you in that outfit,” he said gruffly. “I’ll have to admit Morgan was right. The dress fits the music all right.”
“Thank you,” Lily said. She looked down at the simple lines of the gown, and brushed the skirt, relishing the fine fabric. “It’s the nicest thing I’ve worn in quite some time,” she told Ham.
“Morgan told me he bought another one, too. Said it’s cream-colored with lace and a wide ruffle across the shoulders. Shows a little more skin.”
Lily nodded. “I haven’t tried it on yet. But it’s the same size. It ought to fit.”
Ham’s grin was knowing, and his head tilted to one side as he met her gaze, and then surveyed her with eyes that seemed to note every square inch of her body. “I suspect Morgan’s pretty familiar with your—”
“That’s enough.” The words were low, spoken in a graveled tone that brought Ham up short. Morgan was cutting the man no slack, Lily decided, and for that she could only be thankful.
“You want something to drink?” he asked Lily. “You’ll be on stage again in ten minutes, won’t you?”
She nodded and followed him down into the saloon, then sat at a table near the wall as he walked to the bar. The glass he offered her was cool, the taste that of lemon, with but a tinge of something stronger.
“I don’t drink,” she said, after the first swallow.
“There’s not much in it,” he said. “Just enough to relax you a little. Ham had you pretty strung out back there.”
“He’s not happy with your interest in me,” she told him, sipping again from the glass.
“That’s too damn bad.” Morgan sat beside her, his arm casually draped over the back of her chair. It was an unmistakable signal, one she knew to be deliberate, and the men who watched with furtive glances recognized it as such. “Don’t look so worried,” he murmured, lifting her glass and handing it to her again. “Drink a bit more. Your throat will feel better with a little gin to relax it.”
And as she stepped onto the stage just minutes later, she recognized the wisdom of his words. The music surrounded her, the piano player watching her, his smile approving as she sang the first notes. She was silent between songs, unwilling to speak to those watching her. May had an inexhaustible supply of stories she told the men between her numbers, and her quick wit, along with the quality of her music, had made her a favorite of