by Deeanne Gist
Maybe she should just let Hunter do it. It wasn’t as if she was the only person who could get the job done. Yet every time she thought of him working on a playground while she sat in this apartment twiddling her thumbs, her insides clenched. Already she’d thought of a hundred things he needed to do and a hundred more he could do.
Lying around in this apartment doing nothing reminded her of dropping money in the offering basket. Making an offering was good. Important, even. But getting out there and doing the actual labor was also required.
She closed her eyes. Forced her muscles to relax. And at some point, she fell asleep.
It wasn’t until much later that morning, when she stood in front of the Woman’s Building buying a catalog from the newsboy, Derry, that she came to a decision. She would temporarily remove her shingle, move out of her hall apartment, stay full-time in the Women’s Dormitory, and help Hunter build a playground.
It might not be the smartest business decision, but it was the right thing to do. And it would give her a chance to save a few pennies in the process.
CHAPTER
18
Hunter checked his pocket watch. Billy should be out any minute. He still couldn’t believe she’d removed her shingle. He only hoped she didn’t come to regret it. Meanwhile, he’d take all the help he could get.
Since it was her day off from the infirmary, they were to meet outside the Women’s Dormitory once his morning shift had ended. This time he’d stopped by a livery and picked up a couple of horses for them. He was through with cable cars, and if he had to leave early in order to get back to work, he’d feel more comfortable leaving her on the West Side if she were on a horse.
The doors opened and all thoughts took a powder. Miss Pantalets-Trousers stood with one hand on the door, her face turned as she spoke with someone inside. She might not have on her bright-pink sash and wide-rimmed hat, but he’d only ever seen one lime-green skirt in his entire life. And it was that day in the cellar of the Memorial Art Palace on a woman of her height and form.
With the sun at the top of noon, he’d finally be able to get a look at her face. Straightening, he kept her right between his sights.
The longer she stood there, the faster his heart pumped. A few seconds later she turned around and his insides stacked up against his throat.
It couldn’t be. His skin flashed hot, then cold. His blood gushed throughout his body. All sounds receded. Billy.
Giving him a little wave, she crossed the landing to the steps. He continued to stare, unable to reconcile what his mind was telling him. Dr. Billy Jack Tate was Miss Pantalets-Trousers. Dr. Billy Jack Tate was Miss Pantalets-Trousers?
His gaze drifted to her skirt. In his mind’s eye, he recalled the utilitarian bloomers. No trim, no rickrack. Just a pair of trousers and a simple petticoat. Something so bland only a dress reformer would wear them.
But there was nothing bland about those stocking-clad legs.
He swallowed, images shuffling through his mind like a series of risqué stereoscopic cards. Those long, gorgeous, stocking-clad legs belonged to Billy. Those tiny feet and ankles belonged to Billy. That curvy backside belonged to Billy.
She stopped in front of him. “Sorry I’m late.”
He searched her eyes. Eyes he’d come to admire way too much. “You’re her.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You’re her. The woman in the cellar. Miss Pantalets-Trousers.”
She blanched. “What cellar?”
“You know.”
She immediately masked her expression, giving nothing away. She was cool as a skunk in the moonlight. And that was her undoing. For if she’d not been Miss Pantalets-Trousers, she’d have a look of confusion. Instead, she’d donned her doctor’s face.
Other details from that morning began to flood his memory. Before, most of his recollections had centered on what he’d seen. Now he began to think about what he’d heard. What she’d said. What he’d said.
And unlike her, he’d introduced himself that day. Which meant she’d known who he was from the very first day she’d walked up the steps of the Woman’s Building with two hat pins stuck in her mouth.
“You’ve known.” He grappled with his newfound knowledge, still trying to make sense of it. “You’ve known who I was this whole time, haven’t you?”
She didn’t answer. But then, she didn’t have to.
His eyes began to widen. “Did you . . .?” Pointing in the direction of the fair, he felt himself bowing up. “Did you order that, that procedure in retaliation for—”
“No!” Shock broke through the barrier. She pulled back. “Of course not. I’d never, ever . . .”
He narrowed his eyes. “So help me, Billy, if I find out that treatment was all for nothing, I’m gonna snatch you baldheaded.”
“It wasn’t. I promise, Hunter. I promise.” She stared at him straight on. No shifty eyes. No fidgeting.
He studied her. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you? Tell you what?”
“That you’re Miss Pantalets-Trousers.”
“Miss Who?”
A woman exiting the building gave them a sideways glance. Another made no effort to hide her curiosity as she openly listened to the exchange. Hunter waited for them to pass.
He was a lawman. Trained to ferret out those who had something to hide. Yet this entire time, he hadn’t suspected a thing. Nothing.
But she’d known all along who he was. He didn’t think she’d use her power as a doctor to retaliate, but then, he’d never have thought she’d have lied to him, either.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked again, struggling to mask his anger and confusion.
Pulling her lips down, she crossed her arms and lowered her voice to a near whisper. “What exactly is it you expected me to say? ‘Nice to meet you, Mr. Scott. I’m the woman you caught breaking into the cellar of the Memorial Art Palace.’ ”
“Yes. That would have been plenty sufficient.”
Her lips parted. “You must be jesting. What happened down there is one of the most mortifying moments of my life. Why on earth would I point it out to you if you’d forgotten all about it?”
His eyes widened. “Forgotten about it? Forgotten about it? Sweetheart, I have replayed those moments in my mind a hundred times, at least.”
Red flooded her face.
His warmed as well. He hadn’t meant to say that. Reveal that. But it was true. It couldn’t come as a surprise to her. Maybe if she were some young, innocent miss. But not Billy. Not with her being a doctor. She might be unmarried, but she was no innocent. At least, not in her knowledge.
And that bothered him. She should be an innocent. A woman should learn from a man about the mysteries that occur between members of the opposite sex. Not by some tome she’d read and been lectured on by a dried up old professor.
“Have you ever been kissed?” he asked.
Arms coming uncrossed, she stepped back. “What?”
“Have you ever been kissed?”
“That’s, that’s none of your business.”
She hadn’t. Grabbing her hand, he hauled her around the corner and into the quiet alley tucked between the dormitory and the furniture building beside it. He propped her against the wall and flattened a hand on either side of her.
Her eyes wide, she stared at him, her chest rising and falling. Teasing him with each breath she took.
He said nothing, just tried to lasso the thoughts, the images, the needs, the wants rushing through him. “I’m fixing to kiss you now, Billy. It’s well past time.”
Trying to press herself farther into the wall, she shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . because . . .” She searched the alley as if it would provide her with an answer to whatever doubts she was tussling with. “Because I’m not attracted to you?”
Even if he hadn’t already known she was lying, the very fact th
at she ended her sentence with a question confirmed it. “That dog don’t hunt, Billy girl.”
She spread her hands against the wall. “What does that mean?”
“Means you’re lying and we both know it.”
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because nothing can come of it.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re going back to Texas and I’m not.”
“I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking for a kiss. Nothing too involved. Just a little one.”
She said nothing.
He was inches away. Inches away from something he realized he wanted very, very much. But he didn’t make a move. Wouldn’t make a move. Not until he had permission.
“I think we’d better go.” Her breath fluttered the folds along the front of her bodice. A subtle scent of summer berries teased his nose.
“Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Bending his elbows, he leaned down.
She placed her fingers against his lips. “I think we’d better go.”
Stopping his descent, he took the end of her finger into his mouth and grazed it with his teeth, then kissed it.
She sucked in a breath, watching as he treated each finger with equal consideration. Finally, she lowered her hand, running it from his mouth to his chin to his neck, then stopping at his collar.
“Billy?”
She looked at him, her eyes liquid, her lashes long.
“You sure got some pretty legs.”
Her lips parted. “You mustn’t say things like that.”
“I know. I just thought I’d tell you in case you were wondering.”
She pressed her hand against her stomach. “I wish you’d forget all about that.”
“I’ll never forget those moments. Especially now. Now that I know it’s you.” He curled his hands against the brick. “Die and be blamed but I want to kiss you.”
With a stuttering breath, she looked down, then ducked under his arm and made her way toward the horses.
As disappointment and desire warred for dominance, he watched her progress, no longer needing his imagination to fill in the blanks.
WEST SIDE CHICAGO15
“When they turned onto Canal Street, conditions rapidly deteriorated.”
CHAPTER
19
They stayed off the busier streets, establishing a leisurely pace and a less noisy route. She gave Hunter a sideways glance. Seeing him in his denims and cowpuncher hat always made her breath catch. But seeing him in his denims and cowpuncher hat while astride a horse was spellbinding. The horse responded to his slightest touch as if the two of them had been riding together for years.
And though she’d ridden occasionally in Boston, she still had to work to make the animal do her bidding. Not so Hunter. His ease on the horse mesmerized her.
After their episode in the alley, she’d acted as if nothing had happened. As if she weren’t the woman from the cellar and as if she hadn’t almost let him kiss her. But it was taking every bit of self-control she had.
A teener hauling a load of flour sacks in his wagon rumbled by.
Hunter smiled. “I know just how he feels.”
“You used to haul flour sacks?” she asked, forcing herself to look at something other than him.
“I used to haul our cotton. The mill was about six miles from our place.”
He scooted his horse to the right, giving the boy a bit more room to pass. “Took all day to be ginned off. Then about midnight, I’d head home with my two-horse team. I’d tie the reins around the brake, lie down on the cottonseed in the back, and go to sleep.”
“But if you were in the back, who was driving?”
“Nobody. Didn’t need to. Those horses knew where home was. I could always tell when we were getting close, though, because they’d start to run.” He adjusted his hat. “Unfortunately, I’d only have a couple of handfuls of seed left because it would’ve all sifted out through the cracks in the bottom of the wagon.” He chuckled. “Come the next summer, there’d be this nice stand of healthy-looking cotton right down the middle of the road. Everybody’d say, ‘Wonder how come cotton’s growing in the middle of the road?’ ”
Smiling, she perused the tiny bit of shade his cowpuncher hat cast onto his forehead. The broad shoulders that swayed with each step of his horse. The leather reins he held above the saddle horn with one masculine, sun-kissed hand. The denim-encased thighs that only lacked a pair of chaps to fill out the picture. She wondered if he wore spurs over his pewter-colored armadillo boots when he was home.
She allowed her gaze to retrace its route and admitted she’d come far too close to letting him kiss her. And not just because he was ruggedly handsome. But because he was solicitous. He took his guard duties extremely seriously. He had a tender spot for those in need. And he had the most wonderful accent she’d ever heard.
But she’d managed to remind herself he was also domineering. And had definite opinions of what women should and shouldn’t do. Opinions that were polar opposite to her own. Still, maybe a kiss would be okay. Just a little one, like he’d said.
She guided her horse onto Twelfth Street. If she did decide to allow him one, she probably ought to wait until she knew for certain his thoughts about a woman having a profession after marriage. He’d made it clear in the alley that he wasn’t proposing. That didn’t mean kisses were to be given—or taken—lightly. Whether he admitted it or not, a kiss was a commitment of sorts. At least for her it would be.
It was a way of saying she’d be interested in entering into a deeper level of friendship. One that, in its completion, would lead to marriage. And she wouldn’t walk blindly into it. Better to establish where things stood before crossing that line.
But how was she to find out what his thoughts were? She couldn’t simply ask him. What would she say? So, Hunter, how would you feel about your wife being the wage earner?
No, there was no graceful way to ask the question without insinuating there was more to their relationship than there actually was. So she’d continue to say no to the kisses and remove herself from his immediate vicinity when temptation reared its head.
They crossed the river, then passed a series of bakery shops, the sweet doughy aroma of rye bread and poppy seed wafting through the air.
You sure got some pretty legs, Billy.
Willing away a blush, she twisted the fabric of her green skirt around her finger. She shouldn’t have worn it. But she loved it and didn’t have many chances to wear it since it was too colorful for work. Still, she never thought he’d recognize it, especially since she’d left off the pink sash and hat. After all, who ever heard of a man remembering what a woman wore?
She sighed. It had been foolhardy in the extreme and she’d paid the ultimate price. He now knew who she was and he thought he knew what she wore underneath her skirts. But she drew a grim satisfaction from knowing her current undergarments were vastly different from the ones he’d seen her in.
Ice cream parlors, Chinese laundries, and stores that sold steamship tickets ushered them into the Nineteenth Ward. When they turned onto Canal Street, conditions rapidly deteriorated. Distant factories vomited up dense clouds of coal smoke, making the air a danger to breathe. The pleasant fragrance of bread vanished, overpowered by the stench of rotting food and sewage. Their horses’ hooves ground newspapers, garbage, and filthy rags into the street while she and Hunter searched for vacant lots.
Children ran behind them and cheered as if they were the lord and lady of a castle riding through their modest village. But these children had no flowers to throw, for there wasn’t a single bloom in the entire neighborhood.
Hunter nudged his horse into an alley. Following, she breathed through her mouth. The lower floors of these rear houses served as untended stables and dilapidated outhouses, as well as an open depository for slop buckets. She only prayed no on
e from an upper story decided to empty one while they passed through.
Broken sewer pipes added to the diseased odors. Yet children still followed behind them, undeterred by the filth and foul smell. Eventually, their devotees tired of the game and dropped off one by one.
When they finally reached Hull House, discouragement had set in. There hadn’t been a single empty lot, no open breathing space, no possible candidate for their playground.
He reined in, his eyes bleak. “I didn’t see anything, did you?”
She shook her head.
“What should we do?” he asked.
Her gaze drifted past the settlement and to the cottage behind it. “Go see Joey?”
His expression softened. “Why not?”
They tied up their horses, then headed toward the kindergarten and nursery.
WEST SIDE CHICAGO16
“He’d not realized the tumbledown shed was a brothel or he would have turned right instead of left when they reached the street.”
CHAPTER
20
Hunter couldn’t believe how much the little fella had grown in just a few short days.
“Let’s take him outside for a stroll,” Billy suggested.
“To get fresh air?” He raised a brow. “There is none.”
She glanced at the window. “It can’t be any worse than what’s coming through now, and at least Miss Addams keeps her alleyways free of filth.”
They walked out of the alley and onto Polk. She cradled the babe, talking to him as if he could understand every word she said. “Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Spain, came to the fair yesterday and was given a reception in the Woman’s Building. You should have seen how they’d decorated the place. I’d hoped to be able to sneak in to see her, but Mr. Scott refused to let me in—simply because I wasn’t on the approved list.”
