Coming Up Roses (11 page)

“
How do you do, Mr. May?”

He looked slightly taken aback by her formal
manner. “I’m all right, thanks, Miss Gilhooley. You?”

She fought a grimace. How could she appear
prim and proper if he wasn’t going to help her out? This wasn’t
fair. With a sigh, she said,

“
That’s nice. I’m fine, too, thank you.
Um, will you excuse me for a moment? I didn’t expect you quite so
early, and I still have to tidy up.”

“
You already look mighty tidy to me,”
he told her with a wider grin, and he winked at her.

She couldn’t help herself; she frowned. Was
he trying to flirt with her again? Did he think she was that sort
of woman merely because she worked as an entertainer? If he did, he
had another think coming.

“
Thank you.” She spoke in freezing,
measured accents. “However, I prefer that you either go with Little
Elk or remain here while I prepare for our scheduled
appointment.”

“
Yes,
ma’am
,” H.L. barked.

And then—Rose could hardly believe her
eyes—he had the effrontery to salute her! Rose gaped for a second
before she caught herself and stopped. She snapped, “Fine,” turned
on her heel—her bare heel—she was at such a disadvantage here—and
stamped off to her tent, forgetting to put on her moccasins.

Once in her tent, she fairly ripped the
clothes from her body. She always dressed in an old, worn-out
costume when she was working with her horses, which made her recent
encounter with H.L. May that much worse.

More than anyone else in the world, she
didn’t want him to see her looking dowdy or think she was too poor
to buy nice clothes. Or worse, thinking she had no taste and
dressed like that all the time because she was too stupid or too
rustic to know how to dress herself in a big city. Granted, she
didn’t keep much of her sizable salary for herself, but she could
still afford decent clothes.

No matter what she did, he undermined her—and
she’d only met him yesterday! Grumbling to herself, she plowed
through her traveling trunk to find the nicest, prettiest, newest,
and most comfortable outfit she owned. Even to teach H.L. May a
lesson, Rose didn’t fancy strolling for miles at the Columbian
Exposition in uncomfortable clothes.

Because the late spring day was warm, Rose
selected a pretty walking skirt in lightweight yellow-checked
gingham. The skirt looked lovely on her, especially when she wore
it with a pretty lawn shirtwaist and the yellow jacket she’d bought
especially to go with the skirt. She topped everything off with a
charming confection of a tiny straw hat with a yellow satin ribbon
circling its crown. One yellow rose attached to the ribbon brought
everything together.

This was the prettiest outfit she’d ever
owned, and she’d felt wonderful when she’d worn it for the first
time. She and Annie had bought it their first week in Chicago when
they’d gone shopping expressly for summer clothing. They’d both
heard how hot and humid Chicago could be during the summer months,
and the Exposition was scheduled to run through the summer months
until sometime in October.

In spite of how good she knew she looked,
Rose was in a foul mood when she left her tent to meet H.L. May.
Then she realized she didn’t know where he was. She’d been so
miffed by his comment and wink, she hadn’t stuck around long enough
for him to tell her where she could find him.

Bother. On the off chance that he’d done
something cooperative for once and gone with Little Elk to the
stables, Rose headed there first.

Wonder of wonders, there he was! She was
surprised, as she’d been certain he’d lead her on some kind of
chase.

On the other hand, if he’d tried to do that,
Rose wouldn’t have played his game. She’d have just gone back to
her tent and . . . And what?

Eaten lunch alone, she guessed. Aw, mud
puddles. She might as well give it up and admit she couldn’t win
with H.L. May.

On that depressing thought, she took a deep
breath, steeled her nerves, and was about to enter the stable when
a commotion behind her stopped her in her tracks.

“
It’s her!” came a child’s shrill,
excited voice.

Thinking something unusual had happened, Rose
turned to see what it was. All she saw was a man standing about
fifteen feet away, peering her way. He had two little boys in tow,
both clad in darling sailor suits. One of the boys was pointing at
the stable. When Rose turned to determine what could be the matter
with the stable, she saw nothing amiss.

“
It
is
her,” the other little boy exclaimed. He was every bit as
excited as the first one.

“
Now boys,” said the man—Rose presumed
he was their father, “Let’s calm down.”

“
But it’s
her
!” the first little boy shouted joyfully, and
he broke away from the man and charged straight at Rose.

Merciful heavens! These little children must
be fans! Rose had never been attacked by fans before, although
she’d seen them swarm all over Annie more than once. She guessed it
was a good thing these were relatively small representatives of the
species.

Before she’d had time to brace herself, a
large figure loomed at her side, stooped, and scooped the little
boy up in his strong arms. “Whoa there, Buster. Watch it. This is a
lady, not a circus clown.”

“
Mr. May!” Rose, whose first reaction
to rescue had been relief, became angry when she realized who her
rescuer was.

“
Say, Mister, put down my boy!” the
child’s father hollered. He hurried toward Rose and H.L., his other
son running to keep up with him.

Rose didn’t like that much, either.

“
Does this little hooligan belong to
you?” H.L. sounded as if he aimed to pitch the child over his
father’s head, the way he might throw a baseball or heave a
lance.

“
Don’t you call my boy a
hooligan!”

Bother. Why couldn’t her association with
H.L. May be normal?

Whatever
normal
was.

Chapter Six

H.L. was flabbergasted. How dare this man
yell at him for protecting Rose from his marauding monster of a
child? Thrusting the wriggling boy at his father, who caught him
even though the gesture surprised him, H.L. barked, “Take your kid,
then, and teach him some manners. Miss Gilhooley isn’t accustomed
to being mauled by uncouth brats.”

“
Oh, now, Mr. May, please . .
.”

Disregarding Rose’s protest, H.L. scowled at
the now furious father.

“
What do you mean, manhandling my boy
like that?”

H.L. leaned toward the man. “What do you
mean, allowing the kid to attack Miss Gilhooley?”

Rose tried again. “But . . .”

Disregarding Rose in his turn, the father
hollered, “He didn’t attack her!”

The two boys drew back. The one who’d made
the dash for Rose looked as if he was feeling guilty about his
misdeed and ashamed he’d made his father angry. Rose judged him to
be around seven years old, but he was upset enough that he stuck a
thumb in his mouth. From the expression in his big, scared eyes,
Rose guessed this was a behavior he only resorted to when he was
under extreme duress. Her heart softened. Poor little tyke.

Since the idiotic men were busy shouting
insults at each other, Rose decided to deal with the children
herself. Stepping away from the combatants, she smiled sweetly at
the boys and knelt, giving scant thought to her new yellow-checked
gingham skirt. Holding out a hand, she said, “Hello, there. My name
is Miss Gilhooley. I think you might have seen me ride in the Wild
West. Is that so?”

The dasher, his brown eyes huge, nodded. The
other boy, younger by perhaps a year, whispered, “Yes’m.”

“
Would you like to have a souvenir of
the Wild West?”

Both children nodded.

“
You interfering scoundrel, you had no
right to touch my child!”

“
Your child had no right to attack a
woman on the street!”

“
He didn’t attack her, and this isn’t a
street!”

Rose shook her head, marveling at the
relative insanity of adult human males, and dipped into the small
handbag she had decided to carry with her on her outing with H.L.
She withdrew two small rosettes with blue ribbons dangling from
them. They were advertising pieces with her Wild West name,
Wind Dancer
, printed in gold
lettering on the ribbons.

Buffalo Bill had created them for this exact
purpose. He claimed that you never could predict when you’d have an
opportunity to advertise the Wild West, and children loved to wear
blue ribbons. He maintained they made them feel important, and Rose
had never found a reason to disbelieve him. She supposed the idea
had originated with Annie Oakley and the championship shooting
medals she always wore during her performances.

Although Rose normally handed out the ribbons
after a show, she always carried some with her, just in case. She
was glad for her decision to do so as she held two of them out to
these children now. She’d never used them to calm little boys whose
fathers had become embroiled in shouting matches with a newspaper
reporters before. Rather sourly she told herself she might have
expected H.L. May to get her involved in a dispute. It was just
like him.

The ribbons worked wonders on the boys,
however. The colonel would have been proud. The children, their
eyes growing bright and losing their fearful cast, walked up to
Rose. The dasher’s thumb popped out of his mouth, and he reached
for a ribbon with a damp hand. The other boy grinned hugely as he
took his.

“
Let me help you pin them on,” she
offered.

When the larger of the boys moved up a step,
she asked, “What’s your name?”

“
Jesse Lee Wojinski, ma’am.” He fairly
glowed as Rose pinned the rosette on the lapel of his sailor
suit.

“
There you go, Jesse Lee.” Rose turned
to the smaller boy. “And what’s your name, sweetheart?”

The little boy blushed scarlet. “Ernie James
Wojinski.”

She thought they were both adorable. “Here’s
your blue ribbon, Ernie James.” Rose pinned a rosette on his lapel,
too.

The two children had stood to attention as
Rose attached their ribbons. When she was finished, she stood back
and beamed down at them. “There, now. You look just like—like
Colonel Cody himself!”

She’d been going to say they looked like
Annie Oakley, but decided it would be more diplomatic to use the
colonel’s name with boys.

The children were ecstatic.

“
Thank you, Miss Gilhooley,” said the
dasher.

“
Thanks, Miss ‘Hooley,” said his
brother.

“
I don’t care what you say, you blasted
interloper! Don’t you dare call my children brats! It’s not their
fault they loved watching Wind Dancer ride!”

“
It’s not their fault they didn’t knock
her over backwards, you mean!”

Rose cleared her throat, hoping either the
boys’ father or H.L. May would hear her and desist in his yelling.
She should have known better. Neither man paid her the least heed.
In fact, the fight seemed to be heading perilously close to
becoming a physical confrontation.

As she did not want to be associated with an
embarrassing brawl, Rose came to the conclusion that, while being
ladylike and polite was a good way to behave most of the time, at
other times, harsher measures were required. Therefore, although
she’d never have done this under normal circumstances, she put two
fingers in her mouth as her brother Freddie had taught her to do in
Deadwood many years before, and whistled.

The sound pierced the air like a volley of
Sioux arrows. H.L. May and his adversary both clapped hands over
their ears and spun around. They looked to Rose as if they were
trying to determine from whence the attack was being launched.

The two little boys laughed and clapped as if
Rose had done something marvelous.

Rose said, “Thank you.” She glared at H.L.
“Are you quite ready to resume our interview, Mr. May?”

H.L.’s mouth had opened in what looked like
fury before he caught sight of Rose. Then his eyes widened, his
rage seemed to evaporate, and he stared at her. Rose had no idea
what his problem was now, but she appreciated his silence.

Turning to Jesse Lee and Ernie James’s
father, Rose said sweetly, “Your sons are delightful, Mr. Wojinski.
I’m glad they enjoyed the Wild West. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we
need to be going.”

Mr. Wojinski, too, seemed stunned. Deciding
to take advantage of the two men’s silence, Rose grabbed H.L.’s arm
and yanked. Hard. He stumbled forward before he caught himself and
straightened. Then he cast one last glare at Mr. Wojinski before he
took in the sight of the two little boys, who stared at Rose as if
she were a goddess and they were worshiping her.

The boys’ father gave H.L. a final vicious
scowl and took his sons’ hand. “Let’s go, boys. I’m glad to see
Wind Dancer is nice, even if she runs with some rough company.” He
turned them around and stamped away.

The two small voices rose in a duet. “Oh,
she’s real nice, Pa!”

After a few more tense moments, H.L. said,
“Hunh.” With a curt nod, he turned away from the Wojinskis and went
with Rose.

She waved daintily at the little boys, who
were staring at her from over their shoulders, and minced off. H.L.
wondered if her feet hurt, confined in shoes as they were now. Did
she wear shoes all the time except when she was performing? He was
about to ask, when she spoke first.