Chapter Twenty-Five

By the end of the week, the snow had stopped in the mountains, and Adam was on his way home, having hurriedly stocked both of the remaining line shacks. The fifth line shack further up the mountain would have to wait. He had worked himself into a tight, anxious ball of muscles at the thought of Sam King getting to Shiloh. When he arrived at the Ponderosa, he rushed to bed down the two horses he'd had with him, store the supplies he had not used, say hello to the family and ride into town. He hadn't even stopped to bathe or shave and hoped that Shiloh would understand why.

When he arrived in town, he found that a crowd had gathered outside the opera house. He rode down the street to an available hitching rail, then walked back, looking over the people assembled outside. He recognized some as reporters based on their attire. Others were familiar faces from town. As he made his way through the crowd, he brushed by a short man dressed in a brown pinstriped suit, wearing a derby hat.

"Excuse me sir," said the man in the derby hat. "We've all been waiting here for hours. What makes you think you can just shove your way to the front?" Adam turned around, casually resting his hand on his gun, giving the man an unamused look. The man stuttered, "I'm just trying to point out that it is rude to break in line." Adam turned and knocked on the door, which opened a crack, then opened wider, allowing him to enter. As he did, he turned and winked at the man, then disappeared into the opera house.

"Tom, what is all that out there?" Adam said, pointing toward the door.

"Our friend, Mr. Clemens, sent out an article saying Isabella will be performing a new song with this performance to publicize the opening of the grandest opera house west of the Mississippi."

"Is that all?" Adam chuckled.

"Though it was good advertising for the opera house, it didn't set too well with Isabella. Don't relax. She's livid."

"Why?"

"She told him she'd give him an interview only if she got to approve the article before it was published."

"And he didn't show it to her before he sent it."

"Nope." Maguire raised his index finger to his lips, then motioned to the right of the hall entrance. "Clemens."

Adam stepped in and faced Sam, holding out his hand. Sam shook it, happy to see him. "Adam, where have you been hiding?" Sniffing and creasing his brow, he continued. "Perhaps on the range. You…uh…rode straight here?"

Adam chuckled. "Something like that. I understand she's angry with you. Do you realize your life could be in danger?" asked Adam, smiling mischievously.

"Well, I sort of prepared her. I sent her flowers and a bottle of champagne a few nights ago. I'm hoping that softened her up a bit."

"I doubt it."

Sam smiled. "Well, you would be the one to know, wouldn't you?"

Adam opened his mouth to answer, but thought better of it. And by that time, Shiloh had noticed him.

Just as the piece the musicians were working on was finished, she looked to the back of the opera hall, having seen Sam enter just a few minutes earlier. Now, she spotted Adam standing next to him. She glanced over at Monsieur Rousset, who said to the group, "Take a twenty minute break."

Shiloh had already headed toward the stage steps. "Adam, you're back!" she said excitedly, almost running down the steps and the aisle. When she got to him, she jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

He hugged her back, laughing. "What's this all about?"

"You're father told me you were stranded in a line shack."

"Oh," he said, smiling, lowering her back to the floor.

Sam cleared his throat. "I see I've been wasting my time."

"Excuse me?" said Shiloh. "Would you join me…" she glanced back at the stage before she continued, "…outside," she said, addressing Sam.

When Adam followed them, Sam asked, "Him, too?" Shiloh glared back. "Him, too," he repeated.

Once they were in the foyer of the hall, Sam turned to face her. "Before you say anything, I did not release the story from our interview. That was a story I had already been working on."

"Do you see what you have caused?" she barked, waving her hand toward the door.

Sam relaxed. "You know, what you need is a vise."

"What?"

"To finally put you and Isabella together…permanently." She steamed, blew out of her nose like an angry bull, then spun to go back into the hall.

She twirled back around when Adam grabbed her hand. "He's right, you know." She refused to look at him and continued to fume. "I understand that you don't want the publicity where you live. But as Isabella, you have to expect it. If you want to sing, this…" he said, motioning toward Sam and then the door, "…is something you're going to have to get used to." She chewed on the inside of her cheek, almost pouting.

"So," said Sam. "About that interview. We…ah…didn't really finish it, did we? How about tonight?"

"I have to talk to Adam tonight."

Adam raised his eyebrows. "Me?"

"Well, why don't we all have dinner at the International House then?" suggested Sam.

"Fine…right after rehearsal…so stay around." She turned to go back into the hall.

"Wait, how long do you have?" asked Adam.

"About an hour. Why?"

"A bath."

"Oh, I hadn't noticed," she smiled.

Adam rubbed his chin. "How could you not notice?"

"If we were in Boston, I might. I'm used to you looking…" she sniffed, "…and smelling like that," she said, winking. "Go to the hotel. You can change in my room. We'll meet you downstairs in the restaurant."