Naughty Marietta. Nan Ryan

recall when she’d had such a good time. Sipping her wine and leaning up to the table to listen as he talked, she learned that Cole Heflin was not only the handsomest man she had ever met, he was charming and witty and great fun to be with. In a pleasant wine haze, Marietta was now totally relaxed and happy. Sighing contentedly, she wished that she could sit here in this deserted café with this magnetic man forever. Just the two of them. Drinking, laughing, flirting. It was so incredibly thrilling and downright naughty to be having this secret meeting with a mysterious stranger.

      And the danger made the rendezvous all the more exciting.

      Holding her stemmed glass out for more wine, Marietta slurred her words slightly when she said, “You know something, Cole, you have just a hint of a Southern accent. Are you from Georgia or Alabama?”

      “Texas,” he said, filling her glass.

      “Ah,” she replied. “What part of Texas?”

      But his reply was a question, “Where were you born, Marietta?”

      She didn’t answer and he noted a slight cloud pass behind her eyes. She wrinkled her perfect nose. Then giggled and changed the subject.

      “This is the best wine I’ve ever tasted,” she said and licked her lips. Then she tilted her head to one side and asked, “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

      Cole glanced across the café, saw a large Seth Thomas clock on the far wall. “Yes, it’s five minutes of four.”

      Marietta’s eyes widened. “You’re teasing me!”

      “I would never do that,” Cole said.

      “Good heavens, I had no idea it was getting so late,” she said. “I must go.”

      Cole shook his head. “Why? The afternoon is young. Let’s order another bottle of wine and some rich, decadent dessert.”

      “No. No I can’t,” she said, and started to slide across the leather seat.

      “Wait.” Cole stopped her. “Listen to me, Marietta, and let me finish before you speak. Will you do that?”

      She smiled and said, “Why, of course, Cole.”

      Cole drew a breath, reached across the table and placed his hand gently atop hers. He said simply, “My dear, I’ve come to take you home to your grandfather in Galveston.”

      For a moment Marietta stared at him in stunned disbelief. Then her face flushed with anger. She yanked her hand free of his, slid out of the banquette and shot to her feet.

      She shouted loudly, not caring who heard her, “Wild horses couldn’t drag me anywhere near that cruel old bastard down in Galveston!”

      “Marietta, your grandfather is dying and he—”

      “Let him die!” she screeched. “Everybody dies!”

      “That’s mighty cold talk coming from the old gentleman’s only granddaughter,” Cole accused. “Let me take you home before it’s too late.”

      Her eyes flashing green fire, Marietta snarled, “You are taking me nowhere, Heflin, and you’d better stay away from me! If you don’t, I’ll sic my bodyguards on you and they’ll rearrange that arrogant face of yours! Get out of Central City, you don’t belong here, Texan!”

      “I will,” Cole said calmly, remaining seated, “but when I go, you’re going with me.”

      Furious, Marietta put both hands on the table, leaned down so that her face was only inches from his and hotly declared, “Not a chance, Heflin. For your information, a very rich and powerful man is madly in love with me and—”

      “Maltese,” Cole cut in. “I know. The little silver-haired fellow I’ve seen you with.”

      “Yes! I’ll tell Maltese about you!”

      “No, you won’t.”

      “Yes, I will! I’ll go straight to him and—”

      Interrupting, Cole said, “You will do no such thing. You’re not about to admit to your aging protector that you secretly met with another man behind his back.”

      Marietta had no retort. He was right. She couldn’t dare tell the overly possessive Maltese about this meeting. Fuming, bested, she snapped, “You deceitful bastard, pretending to be a fan!”

      Cole grinned. “Sweetheart, I could take lessons in deceit from you.”

      “Oh! You can go to blazes, Texan!”

      “I probably will, but not before I get you safely home to your grandfather.”

      Eight

      “Madam Sophia, you of all people know very well that opera is all about the soprano!” stated a disdainful Andreas. “After an evening in the theater, a patron barely recalls the preening tenor, the mezzo or even the forceful baritone. When the curtain comes down, it is the effect of the soprano that lingers!”

      “I know, Andreas,” said Madam Sophia calmly. “I’ve done all I can with Marietta. She tries so hard. And she is a wonderful actress. She has a riveting, instinctive stage presence. You have to give her that much.”

      “It’s not enough. Marietta cannot sing!” said the artistic director.

      Sophia smiled indulgently and waved away his concern. “Well, do not despair. We are not in New York or Paris. This is Central City, Colorado, and in case you’ve failed to notice, the theater is filled every evening.”

      The two were having afternoon coffee in Sophia’s comfortable little cottage. Andreas and Sophia had become good friends since arriving in Central City. Veterans of European opera houses, they had a lot in common. Both were alone, both loved the opera and both were very fond of the mercurial Marietta.

      Andreas replied, “Yes, the seats are filled, but we know the reason. If Marietta were appearing anywhere but here in this remote alpine village, she’d be playing to an empty house. Marietta cannot meet the vocal demands of grand opera, she hasn’t the God-given talent. She definitely does not possess the voix d’or—the golden voice.”

      The rotund Sophia carefully set her coffee cup aside. She sighed and said, “I’m well aware, even if Marietta is not, that she has no bright future in opera. But I am not too worried about her. She is young and full of life and very beautiful. Men are drawn to her like moths to the flame. My hope is that she soon meets and marries someone more suitable than Maltese.”

      “Oh, I don’t know,” commented Andreas. “Maltese is one of the richest men in America. She could do worse.”

      Sophia shook her head knowingly. “He could never make her happy. Marietta needs a man with fire and passion to match her own. Someone who will not put her on a pedestal and worship her. A devilishly handsome rascal who is consistently and stubbornly all male who will not allow her to dominate him.”

      “The way she dominates poor old Maltese?”

      “Exactly.”

      Andreas mused aloud, “You’re probably right.” He smiled when he added, “I only wish she’d meet such a man tomorrow and leave the opera.”

      Andreas chuckled then and so did Sophia.

      Cole remained seated after Marietta had rushed angrily out of the Far Canyon Café. He poured himself another glass of wine and lit an expensive Cuban cigar. He calmly considered his next move.

      He had no idea what Marietta had against her grandfather, but he knew that she was not going to go peacefully. The prospect of whisking her out of Central City and delivering her a thousand miles south to Galveston was not a pleasant one. Long days and longer nights with an irate woman whom he couldn’t let out of his sight. No stroll in the park, to be sure.

      Still, her grandfather had stayed the hangman’s