by Barbara Metzger, Connie Brockway, Casey Claybourne; Catherine Anderson
“The ivory gown?”
“Yes, isn’t it lovely?”
“Yes, it is,” Penny reluctantly agreed. “But I was wondering . . . did it belong to your mother?”
“Oh, no. I have no idea where it came from, but I am certain it wasn’t my mother’s. Mrs. Murphy said that when she died, the physician ordered that all Mother’s clothing be burned for fear of the fever spreading.”
“Oh.” A sense of relief washed over her, which made her feel silly, yet inexplicably glad.
Eliza tugged her back to the present. “You aren’t really going to leave me, are you?”
Penny steeled herself to answer, wondering how she had grown so fond of the girl so quickly. But then, staring into Eliza’s angelic face, she knew the answer. They had both been searching for someone to love, and through luck or fate or whatever one might call it, they had found each other.
“If your father wants me to leave, Eliza, then I must go.”
“But—”
Penny hushed her with a finger across the lips. “No more talk of this,” she said, summoning a determined smile. “Not now. Besides, you can’t forget that you promised me a Titania this afternoon.”
Chapter Three
“What the devil were you thinking?”Josh demanded, as Macgorrie poured another kettle of boiling water into the tub, which was barely large enough to hold Josh’s frame. “Did you not know what she was planning?”
“And what makes ye think I can control the lass any better than ye can?” Macgorrie answered, letting the last few scalding drops fall onto Josh’s bare knees.
“Ouch!” Josh narrowed his eyes, but the Irishman took no notice.
“By the time I got wind of what she’d planned, ’twas done. The widow Murphy and she had arranged it all, and as I told ye before, I can’t be held responsible for that girl’s mischief.”
Not to mention that Macgorrie spent many a chilly evening in the widow’s warm company. If the widow Murphy and Eliza had been up to no good, Macgorrie had likely turned a blind eye rather than risk his relationship with the friendly seamstress.
Josh sat back in the tub, letting the hot water soothe his tired muscles. “What am I going to do with that girl?” Closing his eyes, he snorted quietly. “Can you believe she actually thought that I would consider wedding the woman?”
Macgorrie clumped over to the tub, then dropped a clean towel on a nearby chair. “From what I’ve seen, ye could do a lot worse.”
Josh cocked open one eye. “What are you saying?”
Macgorrie shrugged, the corners of his mouth turning down. “I’m only saying that Liza sure has taken a fancy to her and the lass isn’t all that bad to look at.”
“Hmph.” Josh shut his eyes, irritated. “That may be, but I’m not looking for a wife. And even if I were looking, I doubt the woman has the right qualifications. I mean, can she sew? Cook?” He gestured to the cast-iron stove in the corner of the kitchen. “I mean, if you ask me, she doesn’t even seem to be much of a governess.”
“Aye, and I’m not much of a nanny or housekeeper, but ye know as well as anyone ye hafta play the cards ye’re dealt.”
Josh couldn’t argue that point. He himself had been forced to play many unexpected hands over the years, and not always with the happiest results. From marrying Eliza’s mother to becoming a widower with a child, he had experienced his fair share of adversity and had muddled through as best he could. Not that he harbored regrets. And certainly none about having Eliza. In his heart, he feared that his greatest failing had been that he hadn’t known how to be a better father to her.
Yet, he wanted to believe that he hadn’t made an utter mess of it. She was an intelligent, lively child and, to judge from the noise coming from the parlor, he hadn’t crushed her spirit during this most recent confrontation. In truth, he’d been soaking in the tub for the last twenty minutes or so, listening to Eliza’s childish giggles interspersed with a woman’s warm laughter. And he did like the sound of the redhead’s laugh. It was a throaty, yet feminine sound that was really most pleasant . . .
“And just what are ye grinning about?” Macgorrie demanded.
Josh’s eyes flew open. Had he been smiling?
“I was thinking about a drink,” he lied. “How about you earn your wage and run over to Gem’s for his best bottle of whiskey?”
“Lah-dee-dah, aren’t we the lord of the manor today?” Macgorrie replied, although he obediently hobbled out the back door.
Josh had almost dozed off when a cool draft and a slight noise stirred him awake again. Inside the kitchen doorway stood Penny, looking almost as startled as she had when he’d come upon her in the attic.
“I’m sorry.” Her cheeks were flushed a bright rosy color. “I didn’t know . . .”
Josh quirked an eyebrow, surprised that she didn’t immediately race from the room in maidenly horror. On the contrary, the woman was staring at him. Practically gawking.
His body started to respond to her appraisal, and he drew his knees closer to his chest, the water sloshing. Although annoyed by his reaction, he wouldn’t have been a man if he hadn’t been flattered by the attention.
“Can I help you?” he asked, as he pulled the towel from the chair and draped it strategically across the copper tub.
“I—” She swallowed and at last averted her gaze. “I beg your pardon. Eliza wanted a cup of cocoa,” she weakly offered, “and I, uh, did not recognize you.”
Josh rubbed his freshly shorn chin. “I shaved.”
“Yes . . . I see.”
Yet still she did not leave, continuing to sneak glances in his direction as if he wasn’t supposed to notice. But he did notice. And he told himself he’d damned well better get himself over to Rose’s place real soon or he might be in danger of doing something stupid with a certain auburn-haired governess.
“Perhaps the cocoa could wait until I finish my bath?” he finally prompted.
Her eyes widened yet further, as she must have realized that she’d been standing there too long. “Yes, of course.”
She was nearly out the door when, to his surprise, and without any intention of doing so, Josh called out in a gravelly voice, “How old are you, anyway?”
She twisted back toward him, but did not meet his eyes. “I was twenty in March.” Then she was gone.
Huffing a loud sigh, Josh let his head fall back against the tub as he looked up at the ceiling. Twenty. That made him a full dozen years older than she—
He sat straight up, flinging soapy droplets onto the wood floor. Good Lord, what was he bothering with the math for? In one swift movement, he pushed aside the towel, leaned forward, and submerged his entire head underwater.
Josh didn’t make it to Rose’s place that night. Or the following night, either. The first evening, Eliza had insisted that they all dine together to celebrate his return; on the second night, she had pointed out that he’d been away for her birthday, and announced that her celebration couldn’t be put off any longer.
“Not even one more day, Papa.”
Unfortunately, Josh, as happy as he was to see his daughter, was starting to become irritable. Irritable approaching ornery. Normally, after a long trip, he wasted no time in reacquainting himself with one of the girls at Rose’s, since he made it a practice while traveling not to dally under unfamiliar skirts. Of course, this meant that he sometimes went months without a woman, which made the trip to Rose’s a rather important part of his homecoming ritual.
Now, while Josh might not have expected a day or two to make much difference, the current delay had turned out to be difficult. Some men might even have called it torture. The presence of one young, attractive redhead—who happened to be sleeping in his bed—was beginning to wreak havoc with Josh’s state of mind. And his state of body.
So when he entered the kitchen that evening to find Penny hunched over the stove, he tried to make a quick retreat before she’d seen him.
No such luck.
“Hell,” h
e whispered, as she greeted him with, “Hello,” her eyes wide. For one insane moment, Josh entertained the fanciful notion that her eyes were the color of spring moss, a thought that further convinced him he had to get out of the house. And soon.
Despite the fact that the two of them had spent the last twenty-four hours avoiding each other and pretending that they’d not seen each other nearly naked the first day of their meeting—a pretense that had been difficult, to say the least—she seemed not displeased to see him.
She wiped her hands across the front of her apron, eyeing him cautiously as if she wanted to speak to him but didn’t know whether or not she should. She even opened her mouth, but then seemed to think better of it.
He found himself equally frozen with indecision, pretty sure she wanted to say something, yet thinking he’d do better to turn and run.
“I, uh . . .” She was clearly struggling.
He wasn’t of a mind to ease her struggles.
Finally, she appeared to screw up her courage. “I, um, don’t wish to be a bother, but do you think you could help me?”
Josh curled his toes until they ached inside his boots. “With what?” he asked warily, not liking the way he had already warmed to the sight of her wavy auburn hair piled in a sloppy knot atop her head.
“Well, Mrs. Murphy gave me a receipt for blancmange,” she said, waving a scrap of paper in her hand, “which is supposed to be Eliza’s favorite. Unfortunately . . .” She let her voice trail off.
Josh glanced at the stove, where a pot of milk was bubbling over, then across to the kitchen table, where mounds of sugar and flour spilled onto the floor like snowdrifts. Amid the powdery mess a broken bowl lay in shards.
“Unfortunately?” he prompted, his earlier suspicions about the woman’s cooking abilities confirmed.
“Well . . .” With her teeth, she softly worried her bottom lip. “I guess if I am to leave next week, there is no use in being proud or silly.” She reluctantly handed him the sheet of paper covered with Mrs. Murphy’s handwriting. “Could you tell me: What is that word?”
She pointed to a group of letters penned in the widow’s flowery hand. Puzzled, Josh glanced at the word, which clearly read, “S-c-a-l-d.” What was this? Was she playing at some game?
Only that very morning he had happened upon her and Eliza in the midst of taming Shakespeare’s shrewish Kate. He hadn’t intended to spy on them, but, concealed behind the open door, he had been unable to tear himself away. Eliza had been directing Penny’s performance as the governess read a scene involving a fiery temper tantrum, complete with stomping feet and windmilling arms. Although Eliza’s cheery face had first caught his attention, he had lingered to watch Penny. She had attacked the role with vigor, her voice animated and strong. When she’d stumbled over the lines, she had laughed at herself; when she’d stumbled over the footstool, falling backward onto the chair, she’d laughed even harder.
As reluctant as Josh was to admit it, he found the woman intriguing. There was something about her . . . She wasn’t truly beautiful, and she lacked the refinements one would expect from a real lady. She dressed shabbily, swore when she didn’t think anyone was listening, and more often than not her hair was in the process of falling from its pins. But she had a certain spirit. A certain something that kept drawing him to her, when common sense was telling him to keep a safe distance.
“The word is ‘scald,’ ” he told her. “ ‘Have a care not to scald the milk.’ ”
“Ah.” She reached to take the piece of paper from his fingers, but he held fast to it, causing her to lift her face to his.
“I don’t understand. What about Kate?” he asked. “The ‘shrew’ from this morning?”
She seemed confused for a moment, then breathed an airy, embarrassed sound. “Oh, that. Well, thanks to your daughter, I might not be very good at reading receipts, but my Shakespeare is coming along quite nicely.
“You see, acting out the plays was Eliza’s idea,” she explained after a short hesitation when she looked to be debating how much to reveal. “I think she figured out that very first day coming home from the wharf that I was not as educated as a proper governess or schoolteacher should be.”
She ignored the sarcastic lifting of his eyebrows.
“Anyway, it took me a while to realize what she was doing—I’m not as quick as she is, that’s for sure—but then I saw how she had turned the tables on me. She was the one doing the teaching, using the plays as a way for me to improve my reading.”
Her mouth quirked in a half smile, and he saw that she had a dimple in her left cheek.
“But you don’t have to worry about me trying to swindle you out of a governess’s salary,” she said, with a sudden flash of vehemence. “I’m not planning to take any of your money, Mr. Cooper. Not any of it. I may have been a bit dishonest in order to get out here, but I ain’t—” She quickly corrected herself. “I am not a cheat.”
Josh studied her with no pretense of doing otherwise, noting the defiance in her cocked chin and the way the color was rising up her neck.
“So you came west to teach when you yourself could not read?”
“I could read. Some.” She swallowed, her throat working. “Not that it mattered really one way or the other, because I would have gotten on that ship even if I had never held a book in my hands. The way I saw it, fate handed me an opportunity and I had to take it.”
Josh nodded, recognizing in her the same fighting instinct that had kept him going these past dozen years. Madeline, regrettably, had lacked that instinct. Already physically frail, she hadn’t been strong enough to withstand life’s everyday struggles, much less the additional hardships of frontier living. But Penny—
Josh blinked. What the devil was he doing, comparing his wife to this woman?
He gave himself a sharp mental kick, thrust the receipt into Penny’s hand, and headed for the kitchen’s back door. At his back, he could sense Penny ’s astonished stare.
With his fingers on the doorknob and one foot across the threshold, he shouted in a particularly gruff voice, “Tell Liza I’ll be home in time for her dinner.”
Chapter Four
Penny studied herself in the mirror, turning first left, then right. She tweaked the satin bow at her waist and fluffed her forest green skirts.
“Well, it isn’t gray or brown,” she said approvingly, as she reached for another pin to tame her hair.
Mrs. Murphy, having learned that Penny owned only two dresses, had insisted on cutting down one of her old gowns, claiming that such a young girl shouldn’t be dressed, as the widow described it, “in the color of spit or mud.” Penny had been reluctant to accept the widow’s charity, but Eliza’s wheedling had ultimately melted her resolve.
Having made a final adjustment to the bow, Penny was feeling very glad that she had accepted the dress in spite of her misgivings. Except for those magical moments dancing through the attic in the ivory gown, Penny had never felt so feminine. So pretty.
She knew there was no reason to be making a fuss over her appearance. In fact, it would have been far wiser to have worn her old brown linsey and left her hair in its slipshod topknot. But since yesterday she’d been feeling as though she wanted to take a bit more care with her toilet and had been attempting to convince herself that this impulse had nothing to do with her reaction to seeing Eliza’s father in the bathtub.
Truth be told, she had been stunned. Stunned speechless. Breathless.
In the first place, she had not expected to find anyone in the kitchen, so to have discovered a man bathing had been sufficiently shocking. But then, after realizing that the filthy, hairy beast she had identified as Josh Cooper had transformed into someone young and handsome with muscled arms and sleek, dark hair . . .
Penny frowned at her reflection and gave her cheeks a robust pinch, which was done more as a reprimand than to bring color to her complexion.
“Gracious, aren’t you ridiculous?” she chided herself. “Why, he doesn’t
even want you here, you ninny.”
Besides, a bath and a shave only changed a man so much. Josh Cooper was still Josh Cooper, and from the little she knew of him, she suspected that he must be a hard man. After all, what kind of father left his daughter alone for weeks at a time with no one but Macgorrie for companionship?
Holding fast to that question, and to her resolve not to behave foolishly, Penny went to see about dinner. She hadn’t gone more than two paces down the hall, however, before she stopped. She sniffed.
Smoke?
By the time she reached the dining room, her hair had already begun to tumble from its carefully wrought coiffure, and her lovely bow had come loose.
“Oh, dammit,” she murmured, glancing upward to where smoke drifted into the ceiling’s corners, appearing very much like the ribbons of fog that regularly drifted above Elliott Bay. She supposed this was her comeuppance for being overly ambitious. She ought to have begun simply, as the widow had counseled, with just the blancmange.
“Don’t worry,” Josh said, coming up from behind her so that she nearly jumped from her skin. “Macgorrie saved your roast.”
“How?”
“I believe that he has cut off the crusty black parts and put the rest into a stew.”
Penny covered her eyes, undecided if she wanted to laugh at her ineptitude or shed a grateful tear for Macgorrie’s assistance.
“All right, I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, I’ll leave the cooking to those who know what they are doing.”
“Nah.” Josh sidled a step closer, bringing with him a faint odor of spirits. “Everyone has to begin somewhere. You’ll do better with practice.”
Penny inched backward. “Maybe.”
“Trust me.”
However, at that particular moment, Josh Cooper appeared a million miles away from trustworthy. In fact, he looked to her to be positively dangerous, the way his slate blue eyes glinted, and with the half smile that lurked at the corners of his mouth. Standing so close, Penny was struck again by his height as he loomed over her, his shoulders nearly as wide as the doorway behind him.
