A Great Catch (6 page)

Emily blinked. What was he doing here? He didn’t believe in suffrage. She swallowed hard and willed her voice to come out strong. “You all know of someone who is similar to one of these women. Perhaps you are one of these women.”

She let her gaze rest on the woman standing beside the heckler. He lunged toward the stairs. Instinctively, Emily moved away.

Carter clamped a broad hand on the man’s shoulder and yanked him back.

Emily’s gaze locked on Carter’s, and he nodded for her to continue.

She licked her lips. “Personally, I’ve met many men who would die before they would let anything happen to their wives, sisters, or mothers. Men like those of you listening with an open mind.” Her eyes met Carter’s for the briefest of seconds, and the butterflies took flight again. “The women in your lives do not worry about being provided or cared for.

“Perhaps your husband fits in this rare category as well—a man who sees you first as a human being, his partner, his equal. Or perhaps your husband is one of the selfish men who sees his wife as his property to do with as he pleases.

“Until women as a whole are elevated to equal status with men, our country will never become all it should be.” Emily punctuated her words with examples of women who had made remarkable contributions and achievements: reformers, artists, entrepreneurs, and career women. Her confidence grew as she spoke, and her voice rose. “These women dared to step out of the sphere assigned to them. They made a choice, and so must each of you—a choice to fight for our right to vote and have a say in our country, our state, and our communities. Only you can take this message back to your towns.

“For a woman to vote is to elevate her in the scale of humanity. And that will carry with it the elevation and well-being of the entire race. So we believe, and so we pray, God speed the day when a woman can stand beside a man and cast her vote!”

Applause erupted along with a few jeers, but to her surprise, the heckler remained quiet. Emily lost sight of Carter as she accepted the well wishes of several women.

“You make me want this as much as you do.” An elderly woman pressed a dollar into Emily’s hand. “For the fight, dear.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Emily started down the steps. Olivia DeSoto, with her two ever-present followers, waited at the bottom. Seeing no way to escape, Emily smiled a halfhearted acknowledgment.

Olivia closed her parasol. “I must admit I was surprised you managed to handle this so well.”

“If that’s a compliment, I’ll take it.” Even Olivia’s rudeness wouldn’t crush her buoyant spirit this time. “Perhaps next time, you’d care to speak.”

Olivia glanced at her two cohorts. “I wouldn’t want to dishearten you, dear.”

Ooooooh, that woman! How could she shatter the moment with one jab? Emily lifted her chin, refusing to let Olivia see that the hurtful words had touched her. “I’m sure, if you’re the speaker, I’ll have no worry, but thank you again for your support.”

“Humph.” With the dramatic flair of an actress on stage, Olivia spun and strode away.

A man chuckled behind Emily and she turned. Carter. She should have guessed.

He walked over to her, his gait wide and easy, and leaned casually against the banister. “Guess you told her.”

“She has a way of bringing out the worst in me.”

“And here I thought that was my job.” He rubbed his cheek and grinned.

A smile curled her lips. “You came to hear the speech.”

“And you’re surprised.” He plucked a long blade of grass from beside the steps. “You made some excellent points.”

“Enough to convince you to change your mind?”

“Not necessarily.” His eyes sparkled with mischief in the afternoon sun. “Sorry about the heckler.”

“I could’ve handled it myself, but I still appreciate your intervention.”

“Do you appreciate it enough to have supper with me tonight at Louie’s?” The cleft in his chin deepened with the crooked grin.

“Alone?”

He glanced toward Olivia and her two friends now speaking to Marguerite and Lilly. “Unless you’d like to invite Mrs. DeSoto.”

“Carter, I . . . I . . . can’t.” Her cheeks flamed. Part of her wanted to leap at the offer, but only moments before, he’d admitted he hadn’t changed his mind about suffrage. And earlier today he’d asked her to join him out of pity for her blundering ways. He was out of her league, they didn’t agree on the important matters of life, and she’d only embarrass herself further if she accompanied him.

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s the problem.”

Hiking up her skirts, she hurried up the pavilion’s steps. She had to get away before she said yes to the biggest mistake of her life.

Carter thrust his hands into his pockets as Emily disappeared inside the pavilion. Asking her had been a mistake—an enormous mistake.

“Hey.” Ducky strolled down the sidewalk. “I’ve been searching for you. What have you been doing, and why do you look like you just struck out?”

“I guess you could say I did. I asked Emily Graham out for supper. She turned me down.”

“Then ask her again. That’s what I always do. I guess this is a new problem for you, though, huh?”

Carter shrugged. “I asked her to ice cream earlier today too. I can’t get her out of my head, but it’s probably better this way.”

Ducky chuckled. “Maybe so. Maybe not. But I think you’ve got that count wrong. Sounds to me like you have two strikes. You’ve got one more time at bat.”

“What’s the use? She’d rather shoot me than spend a moment alone with me.” He punched his palm. He hated not winning. If he could get her to say yes just once, then she’d see he wasn’t the ogre she made him out to be.

“In that case, want to come with some of the boys and me to the Midway?”

That was it. The Midway.

“Ducky, you’re a genius!”

He’d make her an offer she couldn’t refuse.

Perched on a park bench, Carter watched for Emily’s reappearance. She couldn’t stay inside the pavilion forever.

He didn’t have to wait long. When she emerged, she paused at the top of the stairs before beginning her descent. Afraid his sudden presence might frighten her and cause her to slip, he waited beside the last step with his back to her. Once she was firmly on even ground, he faced her. “Hi, Emily.”

Her breath caught. “Why are you
s
till here?”

“Walk with me?” When she hesitated, he quickly added, “Please.”

Despite her obvious misgivings, she fell in step beside him. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”

“We’re going somewhere together.”

She halted. “We most certainly are not!”

He grinned and met her wide, moss-green eyes. “I’m not taking no for an answer this time.”

“Carter—” The resolve in her voice weakened. “We can’t do this.”

“We can, and we are.” He took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow.

She yanked her hand away. “Just where do you think you’re taking me?”

“To the shooting gallery.” Carter crossed his arms over his chest. “Then, if you want to kill me, at least you’ll have a gun.”

“Does it shoot real bullets?”

“Yes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “In that case, it sounds fun.”

Nestled at the east end of Lake Manawa, the Midway wasn’t far from the Grand Plaza and pavilion, but to Emily it seemed like a mile as they walked in silence. Lively organ music from the Midway contrasted with the anger pumping in her chest. The audacity of Carter Stockton. She’d told him no—not once, but twice. Now, mixed with the irritation, her nerves tingled in the sweetness of his presence.

Even without looking, she could feel his confident gait and broad shoulders beside her. And she hadn’t forgotten the feel of his muscles beneath her hand when he’d placed it in the crook of his arm.

She risked a glance at his face. As usual, coffee-colored curls tumbled from beneath his hat. Carter Stockton was too handsome for his own good. She should have flatly refused. Although the more ill at ease she felt, the more the prospect of shooting him tempted her.

Why was he doing this now? She’d made it clear she didn’t need or want his well-intentioned offers. So why did he insist on her company?

“I’m glad you came.” His baritone voice, warm like hot chocolate on a cold day, broke the silence, and his lips curved in a genuine smile.

Emily pressed a hand to her uncooperative throat. “We’ll have to hurry. My grandmother will be worried.”

“No, she won’t. This morning I asked her for permission to take you out for ice cream or to supper, whichever opportunity presented itself. I wanted to spend some time with you. She agreed as long as it was still daylight.”

This morning? Her mind reeled. But that was before the swimming incident. He’d planned this. He actually wanted to be with her.

“Do you want one?” He pointed toward one of the booths.

Blinking, she took a moment to consider his question. Around them, hawkers shouted for the crowds to come try their games of chance. One claimed he could guess anyone’s age. The hawker nearest them held up a porcelain figurine and tried to get the men to win one for their lady by throwing a baseball at three stacked milk bottles.

Carter grinned. “Say the word and it’s yours.”

“That would hardly be fair—you being a pitcher and all.”

“Step right up!” The man pointed at Carter. “You look like a fine young man. Don’t you want to impress your girl?”

“Impressing her might be harder than you think, but I’ll give it a try.” Carter winked at her. “What do you say?”

Unable to resist the boyish grin on his face, she nodded.

Carter passed the man a nickel, picked up the baseball, and bounced it a few times in his palm.

The hawker set two more balls on the plank in front of him. “You get three tries to knock them all down.”

With a knowing glance at Emily, Carter drew his arm back and launched the ball. The milk jars clattered off the wooden pedestal onto the straw below.

The gap-toothed hawker shook Carter’s hand. “Good job, son. Here you go. Give this to your gal.”

Carter accepted the prize and turned to Emily. “You heard the man.”

She traced the fine features of the porcelain match holder with her finger. It depicted a boy trying on his father’s boots. “It’s lovely. Thank you.” She tingled inside. No one had ever won her any of the trinkets before.

A freckle-faced boy darted between them, knocking the figurine from her grasp. Both Emily and Carter lunged for it, and their heads collided. The figurine tumbled to the dirt and one of the boots broke off.

Emily gasped and pressed her hand to her head.

Rubbing his own head, Carter scooped up the broken pieces. “I’ll win you another one.”

“No, that’s all right.” She bit her lip as she adjusted her hat, set askew in the collision. “I’m such a butterfingers. The next one would probably slip through my hands too.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Emily. It was the boy’s. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ve got a pretty hard head.”

“I can believe that.” Chuckling, he deposited the two pieces in the pocket of his coat and offered her his arm.

This time she held her breath and slipped her hand in place. Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t let go.

“Hawkins Shooting Gallery is down the street. Still want to shoot me for dragging you here?”

She couldn’t let him off that easily. “I’ll settle for a small flesh wound.”

“Make sure you hit my right arm then. I need the left to pitch.”

They strolled down the Midway until they reached the long, narrow brick gallery at the far end. Carter held the door, and she stepped inside. The report of rifles made her step back, but Carter pressed a hand to the small of her back and urged her forward.

An outdoor mural lined the back wall of the gallery. In front of it, a row of cast-iron ducks, squirrels, and rabbits moved steadily on a chain while two young men took aim and fired. A bull’s-eye spun in a circle behind the figures. The explosion of gunpowder overpowered the sound of the engine, which kept the chain moving, and filled the air with a peppery sulfuric scent. An occasional metallic ping indicated the men had hit the target.

Emily gasped. “What’s the boy doing out there?”

“That’s Mr. Hawkins’s boy. He keeps the steam engine going.”

“But he could get hurt.”

Carter laughed. “Only if you shoot him. Have you ever fired a gun before?”

Emily shook her head. Suddenly she found the idea of a weapon in her hands quite terrifying. With her luck, she might end up wounding Carter for real or, worse, accidentally shooting the child. “Maybe I should just watch.”

“Not on your life. Come on. I’ll teach you.” As soon as the two patrons left, Carter led her to the plank where the guns lay. Reaching in his pocket, he furnished the owner with two dimes. “Hello, Mr. Hawkins. We need two of your best rifles.”

“They’re all the same, Carter.”

“Ah, but you and I both know some are sighted better.”

Mr. Hawkins gave a full-bellied laugh and pointed to the second and fourth ones lying on the divider. “Those two ought to work for you.”

Emily took a step back. “Why don’t you go first?”

“I don’t think so, Miss Suffragette.” Carter picked up his gun and pushed a second rifle into her hands. Immediately, he angled the barrel of Emily’s gun toward the ground. “The first rule of using a gun is never to aim at anything you don’t plan to shoot. And while we joked about you killing me, I’d really like to take you to supper tonight, and I can’t do that if I’m dead.”

“Sorry.” Her cheeks warmed again.

“That’s okay. These are Winchester pump rifles, which means to shoot them, you have to push the magazine forward like this.” He shoved the wooden cylinder up on the barrel and put a bullet in. “They shoot .22 shorts. They’d shoot a hole through a man, so remember to keep it aimed at the targets.”

“You do realize you’re taking your life in your hands.”

“You’ll do great. Ready?”

When she didn’t move, he turned her. “Emily, you need to spread your, uh, stance and stand more like a man.”

She shifted her feet wider apart. “This isn’t very ladylike, Carter.”

“But it will help you hit the little squirrels.”

She flinched.

“Let me guess. You like squirrels.”

“And bunnies.”

He chuckled. “Now, put the butt of the gun against your right shoulder.”

“Like this?”

“Sort of.” He stepped behind her and raised the gun to the correct position, his large hands covering her own.

Her back pressed against his chest, and she felt every breath he took. Emily’s stomach warmed and lurched all at once. Never before had she been this close to a man.

“Relax,” he whispered in her ear.

She jerked and fired a shot in the air. The bullet pinged off the ceiling, and the rebound threw her against Carter.

He caught her and turned her around to face him. “Emily, what are you doing?”

“I—I—”

Mr. Hawkins roared with laughter. “I think a better question is what were
you
doing?”

Carter shot him a glare. “Let’s try again.” He resumed the position behind her, his breath hot on her neck. “This time, slowly squeeze the trigger.”

Clamping her eyes shut, she complied.

The shot ricocheted off the ceiling.

A loud guffaw erupted from Mr. Hawkins. “Hey, Carter, you’d better give her rule two.” The owner shielded his eyes with his palm.

Releasing her, Carter came around to face her. “Did you close your eyes?”

“You didn’t tell me not to.”

Carter grinned and shook his head. “Emily, keep your eyes open. Go ahead. Try again.”

To her relief, he took a step back. She lifted the rifle in place, aimed at the bull’s-eye, and fired. A familiar
ping
sounded, and then a little organ began to play a joyful tune.

“I did it!” She bounced up and down.

Carter grabbed the barrel of the gun. “Emily, remember rule one about how to use a gun?”

“That wasn’t rule one. Rule one was never to point at anything you don’t plan to shoot.”

He lifted his eyebrows and nodded toward the boy who had stood in her line of fire as she celebrated.

“Oh, I see what you mean. I wouldn’t want to shoot him by accident.” She lowered the barrel of the gun and pointed it toward the floor. “Now that I can shoot, do you want to have a contest?”

“Emily, you made one shot. It doesn’t make you a marksman.”

“Markswoman.” Emily raised her gun again. “And I think I like shooting things.”

He laughed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”