Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel (5 page)

He waited, thinking they may be able to forge a friendship yet as long as she kept her back to him all the time—the view was definitely friendlier.

“I . . . apologize, Detective Barone,” she whispered, actually pronouncing his name correctly for the very first time. “I’ve been—” he could almost hear the swallow of pride in her throat—“unforgivably rude and I just hope . . . ,” she pivoted slowly, the humility in her eyes jolting him when it heightened her beauty, “. . . you can forgive me for being such an obnoxious brat.”

A leisurely smile curved on his lips. “Forgiven, Miss McClare,” he said with tease in his tone, “and I sure hope apologies are on the curriculum, ma’am, because you do them so well.” He extended his hand with a cock of his head. “May I help you down so we can start over?”

She drew in a deep breath and released it with a nervous smile of relief, placing her palm in his. “Yes, please.” Voice as soft as her touch, she startled when the dainty tip of her oxblood kid leather shoe accidentally kicked the pin box to the floor. “Oh!” she squeaked, the crash of the pins apparently leaving her off-kilter. With a look of abject horror, she flailed in the air for several panicked heartbeats before finally thudding hard against his chest. His arms fused them together in a state of mutual stun as his hat dropped to the floor a second time.

He blinked, paralyzed by the warmth of her body, the flare of her eyes, the scent of chocolate from parted lips so lush, the fire blazing through him could have melted the candy in her bowl. As if hypnotized by the shape of her mouth, his gaze lingered there, feeling the pull . . .

“Uh, Mr. Barone?” The lips appeared to move in slow motion, their soft, pink color luring him close . . .
so
very close.

“Mmm?” Barely aware, he felt his body lean in, breathing shallow and eyelids heavy, that perfect mouth calling him home . . .

“Mr. Barone!”

Her tone could have been a whack of her stick, jerking him from his fog with the reminder that a woman still dangled in his arms. Sucking in a harsh breath, he dropped her to her feet so fast, the poor thing teetered like his sanity in even thinking about kissing a dame from Snob Hill. “Forgive m-me, Miss McClare,” he stuttered in a gruff tone, “I . . . I don’t know what came over me.” Swallowing hard, he quickly squatted to retrieve her pin box and pins, rising to carefully place both on her desk.

“Thank you,” she whispered, a heavy dusting of rose in her cheeks as she took a step back. Head in a tilt, she offered a timid smile while she frittered her nails. “So, Detective Barone, was there something you wanted?”

He collected his hat from the floor with a crooked smile. “To apologize, Miss McClare, for my despicable behavior last week, under duress by Miss Penny, of course. But I have to admit—I admire a lady who can steal my thunder with an apology of her own.”

She expended a sigh, smile awkward as she reached for the pointer on her desk and absently grazed the wood with her fingers. “Yes, well, I wish I could take credit for being so noble, but it’s my mother who is the true lady in this case, I’m afraid.” She scrunched her nose as she held up the pointer. “She’d use this on me if she knew how rude I’d been to the gentleman who’s offered to assist us around the school.”

He grinned. “Move over, Miss McClare—Miss Penny already threatened me with a stick of her own if I didn’t make amends first thing this morning.”

Her chuckle sounded like music as she placed the pointer on
the ledge of the blackboard. “Now that would be a sight to see—a tiny, little thing like Miss Penny taking a stick to you.”

His lips took a slant as he rubbed at his shoulder. “You didn’t have a problem, as I recall.”

She granted a shy smile, teeth tugging at the nail of her thumb. “Did I leave a bruise?”

“Only on my pride,” he said, fiddling with his hat. He glanced at his pocket watch and frowned, suddenly reluctant to go. “Well, I need to get to work, but anything you or your mother need done, just give the list to Miss Penny, and I’ll tackle it after work, all right?”

“Thank you, Detective—I don’t know how we can ever repay you.”

His lip quirked as he strolled to the door. “Keeping the stick away is a start.”

She motioned to a cup of tea on her desk, her beautiful smile walloping his heart more effectively than any stick. “Can I at least offer you a cup of tea before you go? It’s peppermint, you know.” A sparkle lit her eyes. “Known for its calming effect . . .” She let the word dangle while she nibbled on the edge of her smile, totally captivating him against his will.

He cleared his throat. “No, ma’am, but thank you. I need to go.” Annoyance pricked when those perfect pink lips broke into another glorious smile, parching his tongue to cotton.

“Well, goodness, I hope you won’t be late.”

He turned at the door, rubbing the felt brim of his hat. “The 14th precinct is only a few blocks away.” He paused, concern wedging his brow. “I don’t mean to be pushy, Miss McClare, but if your driver could drop you off and pick you up around back in the alley, that would be a lot safer than out front, across the street from the worst neighborhood in Frisco, you know?”

“Of course, Detective Barone.”

He inclined his head toward the front door. “Also, I know
students will be coming and going at the beginning and end of each school day, but after classes start in the morning, I’d feel a whole lot better if you kept the front and back doors locked during the day, just as an extra precaution. That’s what Miss Penny does with the orphanage.”

“Certainly. I’ll tell Mother.”

He nodded. “And under no circumstances walk these streets after dark or alone, if you can help it, all right?”

She nodded, suddenly looking like a little girl he felt compelled to protect. He steeled his jaw. “Well, then, have a good day, Miss McClare.”

“Oh, Detective?”

He turned, annoyed that this highbrow dame—
woman
—elicited such a protective response out of him. “Yes?”

“Might I ask where the nearest cable car is?”

He blinked. “Pardon me?”

The smile she gave him would have tripped his pulse if it hadn’t tripped his temper first. “You see, there will be days when I’ll need to work late in the classroom, and I don’t want Mother to wait or Hadley to make another trip.” Her chin notched up with a hint of the stubbornness he’d seen on their first encounter. “So I plan to take the cable car home.”

He cocked a hip, jaw dropping while his voice rose. “Excuse me, Miss McClare, but have you ever stepped foot in a cable car before?”

The green eyes tapered the slightest bit. “Well, no, there’s never been a need—Hadley drives us everywhere.”

Head bowed, he shook his head, then peered up beneath tightly knit brows. “You obviously aren’t aware of this, ma’am, but the closest line is two blocks south at Jackson and Montgomery, in the heart of the Barbary Coast.”

Her brows lifted. “So?”

His jaw started to grind. “So, it’s no place for a lady, Miss McClare, especially one who’s been carted around town in a Packard.”

Her chin rose to new heights. “It’s-public-transportation, Mr. Barone,” she bit out, dropping his title along with her previously humble manner. “And-I’m-part-of-the-public.”

His grip tightened on his hat, fingers crushing the brim. “No, ma’am,” he said in a clipped tone, “you’re part of the upper crust that think they can go off half-cocked and do whatever they bloomin’ well please.”

She swiped the pointer and slapped it on her desk. “Go—I hope you’re late!”

“And I sure hope you’re smarter than you sound, lady, because if you think it’s safe for a fancy dame in diamond combs to sashay through the worst part of town to sightsee on a bloomin’ cable car, you are
way
too stupid to teach in a school.”

Crack!
He actually winced at the sound of wood on wood, thinking Miss McClare may just have a vocation—she and the nuns at St. Patrick’s had a lot in common.

“No,” she said through clenched teeth, the smile suddenly nowhere in sight, “ ‘stupid’ would be an ill-mannered cretin who thinks he can bully people with insults and bad manners.”

A nerve popped in his jaw. He stepped forward, fingers itching to snatch that stupid stick and splinter it till he could toss a fistful of toothpicks in her pretty face. “If you want ‘ill-mannered,’ I suggest you look in the mirror, sweetheart, because I’ve seen better manners from the floozies on Morton Street.” His statement froze her stiff to the spot while the roses in her cheeks faded to chalk. He immediately regretted his words. “Look, Miss McClare, I’m sorry I riled you again, but if you would just listen to reason—”

With a sharp suck of air, she shot forward, eyes blazing and
stick flailing. “Reason?!” Two circles of bright pink bruised her creamy cheeks, clear indication he had effectively triggered her ire—
for the umpteenth blessed time.
“There
is
no reasoning with a brainless bully like you,” she shrieked, voice so high-pitched, it hurt his ears. “Oooooo, you are simply the most infuriating man I have ever had the misfortune to encounter—out!”

He put his hands up to fend her off. “If you would just hear me out—”

Whoosh!
The stick nearly sliced his ear before he dodged, snatching it from her fingers so fast, it hit the wall before her gasp hit the air. He loomed over her, temple throbbing. “One more stunt like that, lady, and I’ll arrest you for assault with a deadly weapon.”

“I’ll give you assault!” She hiked a heel and stomped his foot, further singeing his temper when she marred his freshly polished shoe.

He gaped at the half-moon indentation on the tip, hardly able to believe what the little brat had done. His ire swelled while his head lashed up. “Okay, lady—
nobody
scuffs my Italian leather oxfords.”

“No?” Whirling around, she grabbed a wooden ruler off her desk and jabbed it toward the door. “Out—
now
—or I’ll be scuffing more than your shoes.”

He stared open-mouthed, hands on his hips. “What is it with you and sharp instruments, anyway—your tongue isn’t enough?”

“Oh, you . . . you . . . !” Green eyes glittering, she flew at him with stick raised, promptly popping him with the ruler.

“That’s it,” he muttered, and shoving his hat up, he wrenched the ruler from her hand and snapped it in two before hurling it away. He yanked his waistcoat closed and buttoned his vest with fingers as thick as the insults on the tip of his tongue. “I’m warning you, Princess, for your own good—stay off both the cable car and the streets by yourself on the Barbary Coast, especially after dark, understand?”

She scrambled for the blasted yardstick again, holding it out with two hands as if to prevent him from coming anywhere close.

Ha! No problem there.

“I understand that you’re not only rude and obnoxious, you’re also a bully, you, you—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He glared, cauterizing her and her stick with so much heat, he was surprised one or both didn’t go up in flames. “Suit yourself, lady,” he said with a press of his jaw, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And yanking his hat on too hard, he strode down the hall and slammed the door behind him, a style of departure that was quickly becoming a habit where Miss McClare was concerned.

“Brainless female,” he muttered, stalking down the street into the city’s own personal hell, where the dregs of society would swallow a society dame like Allison McClare whole before chewing her up and spitting her out. A schoolteacher without a lick of sense who was oblivious to the fact he was only trying to warn her. Scrounging for a handful of animal crackers in his pocket, he slammed them down while passing a drunk sprawled on the sidewalk in a pool of vomit. The stench of it—alcohol, urine, and body odor—immediately roiled his senses. He shook his head. But some people were too thick and too stubborn to heed advice, and the high and mighty Miss McClare was obviously one.

Head down, he ignored the flurry of lewd comments and invitations from scantily clad women in the brothels above, hands in his pockets while his anger simmered and stewed. Jaw taut, he jerked the precinct door open and exhaled a weighty sigh. Yes, indeed, she was one of those poor, unfortunate souls in life destined to learn the hard way. He slammed the door behind with a grunt.

Like me.

5

J
umpin’ jaybirds, Miss Alli, this is fun!”

Allison glanced up from her desk at tiny Lottie LeRoy, the sweet six-year-old orphan from next door. She smiled at the little girl whose chestnut curls bounced with every crank of the pencil sharpener bolted to the wall, eager to please with whatever task she could do.

“I’m glad, Lottie, because I sure wasn’t looking forward to sharpening all those pencils by myself, so you’re really helping me out.”

The little girl beamed, the glow in her blue eyes bringing a prick of tears to Alli’s own. How she wished she could take the little darling home to play with her younger sister. Although Maddie had just turned six, Mother wasn’t ready to send her to the Hand of Hope School just yet, opting to tutor her instead until the school was more established. But Allison was sure Maddie would love meeting the children at Mercy House, especially Lottie. “I’ll say one thing, Miss Lottie—you are a very hard worker, young lady.”

“That’s what Mr. Nick says,” Lottie said proudly, testing the point on a pencil she just sharpened. She giggled. “I help him pick weeds and build things.”

The pen in Allison’s hand stopped mid-scrawl, leaving an un
sightly blot of ink on one of her student’s papers. She grated her lip, voice casual. “Do you . . . like Mr. Nick?” she asked carefully, half hoping the little sprite would confirm what a terror the man was.

“Oh, gee whiz, you bet—Mr. Nick is my favorite person in the whole wide world, ’cept for Miss Penny and now you, a course.”

Allison’s smile sloped sideways.
Well, two out of three’s not bad . . .

“Mr. Nick reads a story to us almost every night afore I go to bed, me and the others,” she said staunchly, the grind of the sharpener unable to hide the worshipful tone in her voice. “Except those nights he’s gotta work, a course.” The sharpener paused while she inserted another pencil, her wispy sigh carrying across the room. “When I grow up, I wanna marry somebody just like him ’cause he’s so nice, handsome, and smells good too.”

Allison issued a silent grunt.
Again . . . two out of
three.

“I love Mr. Nick a lot ’cause he makes me feel warm and safe inside . . . like one of God’s archangels, ya know? And everybody knows angels are beautiful, right?”

Allison blinked, pen stalled on the paper once again. “Uh . . . sure . . . I guess.”
As long as the “harping”
they do is music related.

Lottie’s little shoulders suddenly slumped, an air of dejection settling on her features as softly as the wood shavings that settled on the floor. “Only thing is, Mr. Nick cain’t be no angel ’cause he don’t like God.”

“What do you mean?” Allison said, her renegade thoughts about Mr. Nick screeching to a shameful halt.

She shook her little head, curls skimming her shoulders, as limp as her tone. “He reads bedtime stories to us a lot, sure, but he always leaves when we say our prayers. I asked him why one time, and he just said he ain’t on speakin’ terms with God no more.” A weighty sigh shuddered her tiny body. “Miss Penny told
us Mr. Nick is mad at God and we need to pray they’ll make up. She says Mr. Nick just needs our love and prayers to show him that God really does care about him.” A brilliant smile suddenly broke through her malaise, lighting a heavenly glow in her eyes. “So that’s what I do, Miss Alli, yesiree, Bob—I love Mr. Nick just like it’s God ahuggin’ him through me.”

Allison blinked, suddenly feeling lower than the shavings on the floor. She gulped when Father Burton’s homily from last week came to mind.

Except ye become as little children, ye
shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.
Her eyelids shuttered closed.
Oh, Lord, forgive me
 . . .

The sharpener started grinding again, and Allison vowed she’d try to show Christian love and kindness to Nick Barone if it killed her. After all, if a sweet, little cherub like Lottie liked him, then maybe he wasn’t so bad . . .

Silence fell when Lottie halted her task to peer up with another serious face, her eyes void of their usual sparkle, just like before. “And I’m so sorry, Miss Alli, but I don’t think Mr. Nick likes you very much.”

Oh, now there’s a news flash for you.
Allison bit her lip, turning away so the little girl couldn’t see the blush on her face. She schooled her voice to hide a prick of hurt. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

Lottie’s wavering sigh lingered in the air. “ ’Cause Miss Penny said she’d take a stick to him if he didn’t treat you nice.”

Allison couldn’t help it—she smiled—glad to have reinforcements in her war against Nicholas Barone. “Well, maybe it would do him good,” she said with a hike of her chin, grading the last paper with a satisfied sweep of her pen.

“I don’t think so,” Lottie said. “Mr. Nick’s too big and strong for the stick.”

Don
’t you bet on it, sweetie . . .

The little girl suddenly giggled, pudgy fingers to her mouth. “But that Mr. Nick sure is funny. Told me your name was just like mine, but then he said he was only teasing.”

Allison looked up. “Like yours?” A crease popped above her nose. “What do you mean?”

Blowing off the last sharpened pencil, Lottie chuckled again, the sound as sweet as a baby’s giggle. “He called you Miss Lottie Da, and Miss Penny got a little mad, but I think Lottie’s a pretty name, don’t you?” She finished her task and carried the cup of pencils to Alli.

Allison’s mouth dropped open. She snapped it shut.
Better than Mr
. Pain-in-the-Nick, I suppose
. “Thank you, sweetheart.” With a gentle stroke of Lottie’s curls, she took the cup of pencils from her hand, choosing to ignore Lottie’s last remark in the name of Christian decency.
Like
I wish I could do with the man
. “Ready for me to walk you next door?”

“Sure.” She tipped her head up, her eyes meeting Alli’s with a sweetness that made Alli smile. “What’s a ‘dizzy dame,’ Miss Alli?”

Uh-oh.
Allison blinked, cheeks suddenly hot. “W-why do you ask, Lottie?”

Sadness shadowed the little girl’s face. “Because Mr. Nick called you that, and if I get dizzy, it means I’m sick.” Her eyes were glossy with concern. “You’re not sick, are you?”

Only of Mr. Nick.
“Of course not, darling.” Allison took the little girl’s hand in hers, anxious to steer both the child and the conversation in another direction. “We best get you home before Miss Penny comes a hunting, shall we?”

“Goodness, what a wonderful day!” Alli’s cousin Cassie hurried into the classroom and halted, gaze landing on Lottie. “Well, hello, Lottie—how was your first day of school?”

Allison could almost feel the tingle of excitement in the little girl’s hand. “Just swell, Miss Cassie! ’Course Miss Penny always taught us afore and I liked that, truly, but holy moly, this was fun! I like learnin’ with lotsa kids instead of just those at the orphanage, ya know?”

Cassie laughed. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Back in Texas, Mama taught me at home for a while, which was fine. But then she took me with her to the reservation school where there were all kinds of kids my age, and goodness—it was like a whole new world opened up for me.”

“Exactly,” the little girl said with a sound thrust of her pert, little chin, sounding so much older than six that Alli grinned. “And guess what? I made two new friends!”

Cassie bent to give Lottie a hug. “I’m so glad, because we love having you here, Lottie. And I can already tell that you’re going to be one of my best students, young lady.”

“Gee, really, Miss Cassie?”

Cassie tapped her nose and chuckled before she winked at Allison. “You bet, sweetheart—you’ve got a keen mind.”

“Gee, thanks!” She looked up at Allison. “Did you hear that, Miss Alli—I have a ‘keen mind.’ I cain’t wait to tell Mr. Nick.”

“Mister Nick?” Cassie mouthed to Allison, fighting the squirm of a smile. She leaned to gently tug on one of Lottie’s curls. “Do you like Mr. Nick?” she asked sweetly.

“You bet!” the little girl said with way too much enthusiasm for the man with less charm than a rock. “Everybody likes Mr. Nick.”

“Uh-huh, I’m sure they do.” Cassie winked . . . either that or she had a twitch in her eye.

“Miss Alli?” Lottie glanced up, face screwed in thought. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Absolutely!” Alli stooped to brush a curl behind her ear. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Hope literally glowed on the little tyke’s face. “Could you call me Miss Lottie Da like Mr. Nick calls you? I like the sound when he says it.”

Alli bit her lip, slipping a tentative peek Cassie’s way.

“Miss La-di-
da?”
her cousin mouthed again, angling a brow.

A sigh feathered Allison’s lips
. If you’re trying to get my
attention, Lord—good job.
“Yes, sweetheart, I’ll be happy to,” she said quietly, praying Cassie wouldn’t mention it to Mother on the ride home. Not after the fuss her mother made over making a good impression on Nick Ga-roan. “Come on, sweetie, I need to get you home.” Allison steered her toward the hall, gaze flicking over her shoulder. “You better hurry, Cass—Mother and Hadley are waiting in the car, and I’m sure Miss Merdian and Miss Tuttle are long gone too.”

Cassie stifled a yawn as she followed Allison out. “Yes, Miss Merdian had to practically carry poor Miss Tuttle out.” A wry grin tipped her lips. “God bless Miss Tuttle, but I’m not sure a retired teacher with a tic in her eye is up to handling twenty rambunctious girls.”

“At least it’s not all at the same time,” Allison reasoned, ushering Lottie down the hall to the back porch, where she stopped to give her cousin a side hug. “I’m sorry I’m not joining you tonight for the dress fittings and dinner, Cass, but I have so much to do, I wouldn’t be much fun. Besides,” she said with a bit of a smirk, “my bridesmaid dress already fits perfectly.”

Cassie pinched her waist. “Yes it does, you little brat, but don’t stay too late, you hear?”

“I won’t.” Alli steered Lottie down the steps and through the yard to Miss Penny’s. “I promised Mother I’d leave well before dark.”

“Good. And lock the door when you get back,” Cassie called,
tossing a smile over her shoulder on her way to the back alley where the Packard was parked. “Good night, La-di-da!”

“Good night, Miss Cassie.” Lottie waved, then chatted on and on about Allison’s least favorite subject—Mr. Nick—forcing Allison to stifle a groan.
Really, Lord, could
you be any more obvious?
Guiding Lottie around the neatly trimmed boxwoods that lined a short flagstone walk, she sucked in a deep breath. With a square of her shoulders, she mounted the wooden steps to Miss Penny’s screened porch that led to the kitchen, praying Mr. Nick was nowhere in sight.

“Miss McClare—hello!” Miss Penny herself answered the door with a bright smile while an elderly bull terrier stood behind her, apparently sizing Alli up. The mouthwatering smell of beef stew bubbling on the stove caused Allison’s stomach to growl along with the dog. “For goodness’ sake, Horatio, Miss McClare is a friend.” The old woman tugged them inside for a warm hug while two older girls bustled in the kitchen with Mrs. Lemp. “I appreciate you allowing Lottie to stay and help. I hope she wasn’t any trouble.”

“Oh, absolutely not, Miss Penny—Lottie was a godsend, I assure you.” Allison stooped to embrace the little girl before kissing her cheek. “Thank you so much, sweetheart, for all your help today. Goodness, I’d still be sharpening pencils if you hadn’t volunteered.”

Lottie preened, her little chest puffed out like the “pouter pigeon” Gibson Girl blouses both Miss Penny and Allison wore. “I know,” she said with a serious nod.

Alli couldn’t resist another hug. “Well, I guess we’ll see you tomorrow, then, Miss Lottie. Good night, Miss Pen—” She paused midsentence when Lottie tugged on her skirt.

“You forgot to use my new name, Miss Alli,” she whispered loudly.

Allison gulped, eyes flitting from Lottie to Miss Penny and
back. “Oh.” She forced a smile. “All right, then, I’ll see you, tomorrow Miss . . . ,” her throat bobbed again, “La-di-da.”