Somebody Wonderful (9 page)
Read Somebody Wonderful Online
Authors: Kate Rothwell
She had met him. And no one appeared at his doorstep to prevent her from sleeping with him. From a few things she said in passing, he wondered if her father even cared.
For a moment he felt sorry for her, but then remembered she had money, fine looks, and the bravery of a tiger. Daisy had said Timmy went by the treacly title of Our Traveling Sweetheart. No need to waste pity on the likes of her.
She must have some practice with attracting men, for she knew how to make a man want her—beyond the bewitching body and enticing smile.
The gift of charm came naturally to her. And she behaved rather like himself with one of the youngsters, he reflected wryly: She coaxed him with sweet food, listened intently to his words, and asked questions about himself—made him feel he mattered.
But then there was the sweetest of all enticements for a grown man, her body.
Why not? He thought, two seconds, less than three steps across to his bed, and he’d have her in his arms. Just the thought of her made him hard as a damn billy club. Which meant he’d had hours of her painful and annoying presence.
She as much said she would yield to him. Who would know?
He would know, that’s who. It was plain wrong. And if this worldly woman managed to get some kind of hold on him—he supposed he couldn’t bear that. Though at the moment he couldn’t quite recall why the idea was so unbearable.
He switched to his back, and tried going over the manual of police procedures in his mind. That had always been a good way to put himself straight to sleep. A soft sigh came from the bed and interrupted his mental review of Section One, “The Uniform.”
Was she awake and waiting for him? A kiss good night, she had said. Ha. If he so much as touched her full lips, or possibly even just her cheek with his mouth, that would spell the end for McCann.
He’d seen her chemise and other undergarments. And he knew what he suspected was true: She had no proper corset, the jade.
And what’s more painful, he knew what was under that nightgown. Nothing other than her body. He’d be damned if he’d think about it. Especially not her breasts or that flat silken belly or her bottom that fit his hands so perfectly . . .
He heard her breathing was regular and heavy, and he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. Both, he decided.
For the first time in his life, he got all the way to Section Ten before finally drifting off to sleep. The church clock had struck midnight. He’d have less than five hours sleep. Again.
Chapter 8
When Timona woke, Mick had gone to work and Botty had disappeared. Mick had left behind a note, written on the back of a picture card that looked as if it had spent several days stuffed in someone’s pocket. She looked at the picture of the Iron Pier at Coney Island, then flipped it over to examine his painstaking scrawl.
“Back at 6. Wait for me. We go together.” Not the most romantic note she had ever received but she tried to convince herself she was glad he wanted to go with her.
After she ran some errands, she decided that if she only had one week for her campaign, she’d best seek out Mick even during his work hours.
She found Henry again, pitching pennies in the alley behind the apartment.
“Do you know where Mr. McCann walks when he is on duty?”
Henry stood up and dusted off his hands on the backs of his new britches. “Oh yeah. He tells Rob about his beat in case we need him back for Pa. This month he’s not around here. He told his friend Mr. Bairre—he’s the officer on our route now—to keep an eye on us. I think they got Mr. Mick on a bad route lately, though. Not the worst but pretty tough, he says.”
After some persuasion, and a bribe of a sumptuous lunch, Henry and his friend Matt agreed to show Timona the route Mick was walking.
“Not a good place for ladies, iffen you know what I mean.”
Timona understood. She picked out her least attractive new gown. Too bad, since she did want to impress her future husband. But a quiet blue dress without a single bow and with a high collar was probably best.
“We’ll come too,” said Henry.
“No, I thank you, Henry, but it is not necessary,” said Timona. “I will manage.”
“No, see, I got to, Miss Cal—Miss Cooper. Mr. Mick asked Rob and Sarey and me to keep an eye on you if we could.”
Timona wondered what Mick wanted to protect her from—or protect from her.
The exhausted Mick had to drag himself over his beat that morning. He had to stay on schedule. Doherty, the roundsman, was still out to get him.
The blasted coot seemed to resent the way Mick did not socialize often with the lads or attend church.
Doherty made a point of checking on Mick nearly every shift, popping up in front of him, hoping to be able to write him up. Other cops had warned Mick that Doherty wanted to nab him—he had claimed as much to them.
Two other officers went so far as to deliver a complaint to the sergeant that Doherty was harassing Mick.
The sergeant, a fair man, had asked the reluctant Mick to confirm the story.
“Wouldn’t have listened to you alone, naturally,” said the sergeant to Mick, “but if these boys say it’s true, well then. I’ll have a word with him.”
“You’re not a partying man, is all,” one of Mick’s comrades had told him as they walked away from the sergeant’s desk. “I won’t forget how you come running and swinging when those drunks jumped me. As long as you’re there with your club out when I need help, you’re my idea of a fine officer.”
After that, the pressure from Doherty eased somewhat, but Mick was conscientious about staying on his beat. He wasn’t one to take long breaks at the taverns, like some that walked that busy route. He usually bought or took his lunch from street vendors and ate as he walked.
He’d just stopped to reprimand a man pissing against a lamppost, when he caught sight of the little group making their way down the street towards him. The street was crowded, yet he recognized her from a block away.
The dress was not so tight-fitting, thank God. But her figure wasn’t as well hidden as it should have been. Hadn’t she already learnt a lesson about lone women wandering these streets? Hell. Two half-grown boys were not escort enough.
She strode along confidently, as if walking a path through rowdy drunks and other rough customers was customary for her. She laughed at something Henry’s friend said, and several of the men outside the tavern stopped to watch, and loudly admire her. She ignored them as if she heard lewd comments every day of her life.
Mick held back his urge to apply his club to the louts gawking at her and tell them to move along. Of course, the strongest urge was to say the same to the blasted woman.
It wasn’t enough that she keep him awake all night long with her soft sighing and rustling presence on his own bed. Now she had to come bother him during the day, too.
She walked towards him now like a woman comfortable in her own skin. Did she know she was pretty? She didn’t have the fetching little ways of Daisy—ways that Mick, traitorously, once or twice, had wondered if Daisy practiced in a mirror. This Calverson woman didn’t seem to care what appearance she presented to the world.
From the corner, she caught sight of him watching. She gestured and talked to the boys and all three waved happily. No, thought Mick, it wasn’t that she didn’t care how about what other people thought, it was more she acted like she had nothing to prove to anyone.
That wasn’t true, of course. She had to explain to him why she was here.
“I think there is no emergency back home. So what the devil are you thinking coming here?” he growled at Henry when they drew near. The boy’s happy smile vanished, and Mick at once felt like an ogre. He grunted and put a hand on Henry’s capped head. “Nah, Henry. I know it was Miss . . .” He glanced at Henry’s friend and continued, “Miss Cooper here that talked you into it. She presses a person to do what she bids, don’t she?”
“Well,” said Henry reluctantly.
“Of course I take blame,” Timmy interrupted. “But I fail to see why blame needs to be assigned.”
He pulled her slightly away from the boys and was curt with her and, as usual, far blunter than he would be with any other woman. “This isn’t a safe area, miss. I told you before, in much of the city after dark, any woman would be taken for a whore. Here that’s true during the day, too. You of all people should know the danger of this area.”
Interested but unafraid, she looked around at the motley collection of buildings and a garbage-filled empty lot near the sidewalk where they stood. About a third of the buildings had broken windows; some boarded up, most just showing gaping holes. Loitering men stood in the open doorway of a saloon, marked only with a dirty awning. A man leaning against the basement entrance to a stale-beer dive tipped his bowler to Miss Calverson and showed a near-toothless grin. He gave Mick the thumbs-up.
In a low voice she said, “So this is near where you suspect I was grabbed? I wish I could remember more clearly. I do detect the scent of beer and burning scrap heap, which seems familiar. But if you worry about my safety, I should tell you that at the time I was ill prepared, Mr. McCann. Now I am not.”
She reached to her hip, and when she raised her gloved hand, Mick realized she held a blade. Her loose grip showed she was a woman who’d been properly trained to use a knife as a weapon. She had a good fighting stance, legs apart for balance, low center. For the first time he noticed her dress was loose about the legs, and not in the current tighter fashion and he wondered if she had it made specifically so she could hunker down and balance better. Funny to see an apparent gentlewoman crouched in such a manner.
The brother’s instruction, no doubt.
Mick couldn’t help laughing. “Ah, no, I should not be surprised that you can handle a shiv,” he muttered to her. “And I will not fuss at you for I am not responsible for the safety of such a noted traveler as yourself, Timmy. Thank the good Lord. Might I see it?”
He gave a low whistle and shook his head. “Ever used it?”
“No,” she said cheerfully. “Not this one, anyway. I just purchased it this morning.”
He didn’t have a chance to ask about past knives. Henry, behind them, held up a basket he’d been lugging.
“We have brought you lunch, Mr. Mick. Miss Cooper thought you might like to join our picnic, since the day’s so clement and all.”
“I’ll not stop for a break for nearly another half hour,” he said.
“May we walk with you?” Timmy asked. And before he could open his mouth to answer, she added, “I know the boys and I shall be perfectly safe. Come on, Henry and Matt. We’ll stay within Officer McCann’s view now.”
They strolled down the sidewalk like they were taking air in the park. Or were part of a damned circus parade with him as the last elephant in line.
At least with Timmy ahead of him she wouldn’t try to slip her arm into his.
Mick gave up grouching to himself about his uninvited company, and decided to be entertained by them instead. He walked behind, keeping watch for trouble, half-listening to their conversation.
She spoke to the boys as she had to Rob, as seriously as if they were adults. They discussed baseball and Henry declared that cricket could not hold a candle to such a wonderful game. Timmy confessed she did not know either game well.
“How can you not know cricket?” demanded Matt. “You’re a Brit, ain’t you?”
“I may sound English,” she said, “but that is likely due to my brother’s and father’s influence. Since I turned five, I have spent perhaps five years total in Britain.”
The boys and Timmy debated whether ice cream tasted better when the weather was too hot or just warm enough.
They were moving on to the engrossing subject of popcorn—did it taste better with sugar or salt?—when Doherty came round the corner right in front of them. Probably to see if Mick was trying to go off to his break early.
Doherty eyed the boys and then Mick, as if Mick wasn’t doing his job moving ragged urchins along. Though come to think of it, Mick reflected, as he looked young Tucker up and down, Henry looked less ragged today than he ever had. Timmy’s doing, of course.
But Doherty’s real interest, of course, was almost immediately caught by Timmy.
Flirting with pretty women did not come under the heading of police work. Doherty was probably just about to launch into “what’s all this, then,” when Timmy held out her hand.
No knife this time, Mick was glad to see.
Still, Doherty looked down at Timmy’s hand with a suspicious look, then up at her face. The wide smile she wore must have given him a clue.
“I am pleased to meet you,” she said, heartily shaking the hand he finally put out to her. “I am a friend of Officer McCann’s.”
That tears it, thought Mick gloomily, though he was amused to note something like a beam of admiration on the stone-faced Doherty.
Timmy had a contagious smile.
“We were just discussing buying tickets to your next police event.” Timmy turned to Mick. “What did you say it was, Mr. McCann?”
He didn’t. He knee was supposed to be selling tickets, as usual, but he’d lost track of which sort of ordeal it was for. Had Timmy found the tickets jammed into his bureau?
Snooping female.
“A ball to be held at Mulberry Street,” Doherty announced. “Were you interested in going then, Miss . . . er?”
“Miss Cooper.”
“Delighted, Miss Cooper. I’m Doherty, Daniel Doherty. So you’re going to buy tickets, then? It so happens I have a few available.”
“Splendid,” said Timmy. She left Mick and their little group, strolled over to Doherty and took the astonished, but obviously pleased, man’s arm. The way she pulled Doherty ahead caused Mick to squint after them thoughtfully. He had not known the woman long, but already understood she had conniving ways about her.
He realized, to his dismay, he was smiling at the thought. He felt actually interested in whatever the hell kind of nonsense she was up to.
The boys chattered happily, as they trailed after the slowly strolling Doherty and Timmy. Mick, behind the boys, twirled his club by its leather strap, watched the back of Timmy. He mused on why he put up with her.
With a stab of disgust at himself, he realized he felt flattered by the attention of the famous girl.
The
Timona Calverson, wanting a man like him.
The
Timona Calverson, wanting a man like him.
Mick knew he had physical appeal. He liked women and they liked him. He’d noticed the way they sometimes looked at him—the widow, for instance. Some women he had met on his beat had gone out of their way to bring him food or to linger, talking. But no woman had ever openly pursued him before.
It was shameless of the girl, the way she refused to budge from his room.
Her behavior, and even her conversation, was not that of a lady’s. Last night, for instance, she had collapsed on his bed and mentioned that her
legs
were tired. Mick understood that a real lady did not mention her lower extremities by name. Limbs, she might call them. And then there were those undergarments of hers...
legs
were tired. Mick understood that a real lady did not mention her lower extremities by name. Limbs, she might call them. And then there were those undergarments of hers...
The way Daisy had talked yesterday, this Calverson female was some kind of exotic creature, nothing like a regular girl.
Mick watched Timmy pat Doherty’s arm as if they were old friends. Exotic? He figured that out soon after she opened her mouth. No, her scent alone could have told him.
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