Jalisco - April, 1893
Dixie knows she's starting to wear her welcome out among Emilio's followers; after all, it's one thing to be a golden beacon of the revolution and quite another a stalled saloon singer with no gigs. She doesn't need a ladies' maid to pack her valise and hire the next stage up to San Francisco; she should be able to get a room at the Saint Victoria while she charts the route to her next gig.
A knock sounds at the door of her room at the hacienda, and she rushes quickly to answer it. The sight of Emilio's smiling face makes her grin in return.
"I told you," she chastises him gently, "there's no need to knock."
"Miss Cousins," he says gravely, taking her hand, "can I talk to you in private?"
She gives him a wry look. "I guess you don't want to talk about the revolution."
He stepped in, and in the moment it took her to turn around and shut the door, he dropped to his knees. "Miss Cousins...Dixie, mi corozon," he said, quite elaborately, "If you would do me the honor of being my wife..."
Dixie felt her heart twist, and she gently pried her hand from Emillio's grip. "Honey, I think we both know your heart's not with me." She patted his cheek gently. "It belongs with the people, helping them, saving their lives."
He considered her words, eyes rebelliously stormy. "It is the cowboy, mister County?"
She felt a shiver run up her spine when he mentioned Brisco's name. "I wish it were," she admitted. "But what it's really about is you, this revolution, and the fact that I'm needed back in San Francisco. Let's face it, I'm no lady of light - and there aren't many footlights out here in Jalisco.
He shook his head, then picked her gloved hand up and kisses it. "You will be misses among my people, Miss Cousins."
Dixie smiled. "I'll miss you, Emilio. Even if we never would have worked in the long run."
"Please," he said, reaching into his back pocket, "take these as a token of my gratitude."
He held in his palm two exquisitely created silver and pearl earrings. "How sweet," she declared, tucking them into the pocket of her skirt. "I'll wear them in memory of you."
"No - wear them in celebration of what we've been through."
She gave him a hug, once he'd risen off the floor of her room. "Then that's what I'll do."
***
The trail was long, dusty, and filled with aggravation. Dixie had swung into a small but rich town, Silver City, twelve miles outside of San Francisco, just to take a break. A fancy teahouse and a cup of coffee entertained her as she shook the dirt from her traveling clothes, watching the world walk by the f
"Where," cried a haughty voice from behind her, "did you get those earrings?"
She touched them; the bobs Emilio had given her. "A gentleman suitor gave them to me. Why, do you think they're too gauche for a cup of morning oolang?"
"Those were stolen from my daughter in a stagecoach robbery a month ago!" she bellowed.
God, Dixie thought, but her resolve remained firm. "This has to be some sort of mix-up. I'm Miss Cousins, I entertain at the Horsehoe Club..."
"Thief!" the matron shouted, pointing a finger in her face. "Call the sheriff!"
Dixie was off like a shot.
**
Running in heeled boots is quite a feat - accomplishable, but still a feat. Dixie's thighs ached as she raced toward the backdoor of a theater (mercifully left completely unlocked). She wrenched it open and leaned, panting, against the closed surface.
The first thing she spied was a rack of costumes left abandoned. "Sisters forgive me," she muttered under her breath, ripping a nun's costume from the rack, ducking under the coarse material and tucking it down. "But sometimes a leopard's just got to change its spots!"
She fastened the wimple in record time, bowed her head, and rushed across the stage, hoping to head out the back door and onto the nearest stage, baggage be damned.
Unfortunately, the door out back didn't lead to the alleyway...
A knock sounds at the door of her room at the hacienda, and she rushes quickly to answer it. The sight of Emilio's smiling face makes her grin in return.
"I told you," she chastises him gently, "there's no need to knock."
"Miss Cousins," he says gravely, taking her hand, "can I talk to you in private?"
She gives him a wry look. "I guess you don't want to talk about the revolution."
He stepped in, and in the moment it took her to turn around and shut the door, he dropped to his knees. "Miss Cousins...Dixie, mi corozon," he said, quite elaborately, "If you would do me the honor of being my wife..."
Dixie felt her heart twist, and she gently pried her hand from Emillio's grip. "Honey, I think we both know your heart's not with me." She patted his cheek gently. "It belongs with the people, helping them, saving their lives."
He considered her words, eyes rebelliously stormy. "It is the cowboy, mister County?"
She felt a shiver run up her spine when he mentioned Brisco's name. "I wish it were," she admitted. "But what it's really about is you, this revolution, and the fact that I'm needed back in San Francisco. Let's face it, I'm no lady of light - and there aren't many footlights out here in Jalisco.
He shook his head, then picked her gloved hand up and kisses it. "You will be misses among my people, Miss Cousins."
Dixie smiled. "I'll miss you, Emilio. Even if we never would have worked in the long run."
"Please," he said, reaching into his back pocket, "take these as a token of my gratitude."
He held in his palm two exquisitely created silver and pearl earrings. "How sweet," she declared, tucking them into the pocket of her skirt. "I'll wear them in memory of you."
"No - wear them in celebration of what we've been through."
She gave him a hug, once he'd risen off the floor of her room. "Then that's what I'll do."
***
The trail was long, dusty, and filled with aggravation. Dixie had swung into a small but rich town, Silver City, twelve miles outside of San Francisco, just to take a break. A fancy teahouse and a cup of coffee entertained her as she shook the dirt from her traveling clothes, watching the world walk by the f
"Where," cried a haughty voice from behind her, "did you get those earrings?"
She touched them; the bobs Emilio had given her. "A gentleman suitor gave them to me. Why, do you think they're too gauche for a cup of morning oolang?"
"Those were stolen from my daughter in a stagecoach robbery a month ago!" she bellowed.
God, Dixie thought, but her resolve remained firm. "This has to be some sort of mix-up. I'm Miss Cousins, I entertain at the Horsehoe Club..."
"Thief!" the matron shouted, pointing a finger in her face. "Call the sheriff!"
Dixie was off like a shot.
**
Running in heeled boots is quite a feat - accomplishable, but still a feat. Dixie's thighs ached as she raced toward the backdoor of a theater (mercifully left completely unlocked). She wrenched it open and leaned, panting, against the closed surface.
The first thing she spied was a rack of costumes left abandoned. "Sisters forgive me," she muttered under her breath, ripping a nun's costume from the rack, ducking under the coarse material and tucking it down. "But sometimes a leopard's just got to change its spots!"
She fastened the wimple in record time, bowed her head, and rushed across the stage, hoping to head out the back door and onto the nearest stage, baggage be damned.
Unfortunately, the door out back didn't lead to the alleyway...