Even so, she hardly dared to breathe as they went around and around. This was way too close to him — her hand on his shoulder, his on her waist, the warmth of his fingers seeming to burn through the silk of her dress and the metal bones of her corset, all the way down to the skin. Part of her wanted to run away right then and there, because this was all just worlds of wrong.
Worlds of wrong because you’re making it that way, she scolded herself. It’s just a goddamn dance. He’s not doing anything improper.
Which was true enough. A surreptitious glance from under her lashes told her that all the men were holding their partners more or less the same way, although the man Clara danced with had her pressed up a little more closely than the rest of them. She didn’t seem to mind, and seemed to be laughing at something her partner had just said.
“…enjoying yourself?”
Danica reluctantly returned her attention to her own dance partner. Jeremiah’s expression was pleasantly neutral, a not-quite smile touching his mouth. Had he noticed her unease, or was he merely trying to keep from smiling at her clumsiness? So far she’d avoided stepping on his toes, but….
“Oh, yes,” she lied. “They’ve done a lovely job of decorating the room. I’d hardly recognize it.”
“Wait until you see it at Christmas. I think the ladies on the decorating committee make it a point of honor to outdo themselves.”
God, if she was still here by Christmas…. But no, that wouldn’t happen. Robert Rowe had been killed when the leaves were falling from the trees, long before Christmas rolled around. Whatever was going to happen would have to happen in the next several weeks.
She didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved about that.
What she did know was that she needed to at least pretend she was having a good time. From somewhere she summoned a smile and put it on, rather the same way she’d put on her fancy dress to prepare for the evening. “That does sound wonderful. Do you usually have white Christmases here?”
“Every year since I’ve been here,” he returned with a smile.
After that they reached the next couple, and had to move through the simple figures of the dance again. It was a relief when Jeremiah let go of her waist, and when it was time to waltz again, she found herself a little more prepared. They only had time for brief bursts of conversation on safe topics — the weather, the school — before they reached the next couple they had to dance with.
The music ended once they’d made a complete circuit of the dance floor, and afterward Jeremiah bowed courteously enough and led Danica over to where she could retrieve her half-drunk cup of punch. He murmured his thanks for the dance and headed back to the group of chairs in the far corner where his other family members had congregated.
Danica let out a sigh of relief, glad that he hadn’t attempted to remain at her side. Maybe he thought doing so would have been too conspicuous.
But then she looked up, and her breath caught. Robert Rowe had just entered the room, blue eyes scanning the crowd as he moved past the table where he’d paid his admission. Those eyes caught hers, and his lips curved up in a smile.
Danica couldn’t help smiling back at him, although the two of them certainly weren’t on what one could call the best of terms. Appearing to ignore the admiring glances of the unattached young ladies present, and the murmurs of some of the older women, he cut through the crowd and came straight toward her.
“Mr. Rowe,” she murmured as he paused by her side.
“Miss Prewitt.” His gaze seemed to take in her gown, the darkly winking garnets at her throat. “I hope you won’t think I’m being too forward in saying that you look very lovely this evening.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rowe. I don’t believe that’s too forward.” Not too forward at all. It was nice to know that he’d noticed she was female. Up until this moment, she hadn’t been sure.
“Then I am relieved.” He gave a quick glance around the hall. “I had no idea Flagstaff could be this…civilized.”
Was that supposed to be an insult? The real Miss Prewitt couldn’t have taken it as such, considering this was certainly not her hometown. “It can be a surprising place. So where are you from, Mr. Rowe, that you’re so quick to take the measure of a town’s civilization?”
He didn’t appear to be offended. No, he grinned at her, blue eyes glinting, and Danica experienced a certain melting sensation in her midsection that had nothing to do with her tight-laced stays. “Massachusetts, Miss Prewitt. Boston, to be precise.”
Well, no wonder he didn’t have a very high opinion of Flagstaff. Then her eyes narrowed. She knew the Wilcoxes had traveled here from Connecticut, having been driven out of New England by a group of witches and warlocks there who weren’t happy with Jeremiah’s experiments with magic. You didn’t have to look too hard to see where her cousin Damon had gotten that particular talent. But if Robert Rowe was from Massachusetts, did that mean he was one of those crusading New England warlocks?
No, that couldn’t be right. There was no way he would dare to come anywhere near Jeremiah Wilcox, who might not be able to sense that Robert was of witch-kind, due to his own particular gift, but who would surely recognize his face if he’d seen it before.
She risked a quick glance over where Jeremiah sat with his family members. To her dismay, he seemed to be looking at her — or rather, looking at both her and Robert. The Wilcox primus didn’t appear too thrilled, either; his mouth had thinned, and his heavy black brows were pulled together. But even for all that, she couldn’t detect any awareness in his expression. He might not like that she was standing there and talking with Robert Rowe, but it didn’t seem to be because of who the warlock from Massachusetts actually was.
In a way, that might be worse. Otherwise, he had to be wearing that expression because he didn’t like seeing her talking with another man.
Somehow she managed to chuckle, then said, “Well, Mr. Rowe, I can see why you might not have a very high opinion of Flagstaff, if you’ve truly come from such a cosmopolitan place as Boston.”
His gaze seemed to warm as he looked down at her. “Let us just say that I’m rapidly revising my opinion.”
Was he flirting with her? What had brought that on? The last time they’d spoken, he’d been almost hostile. It was remotely possible that he’d decided he hadn’t been very gentlemanly with her, but she doubted that was the case. In fact….
There it was. Just the quickest flicker of his eyes toward the corner where the Wilcoxes sat, so fast that if she hadn’t been looking for it, she probably would have missed it altogether.
Robert Rowe wasn’t flirting with her because he was attracted to her. He was flirting because he’d noticed Jeremiah’s interest, and he was trying to get a rise out of the Wilcox primus. Why, she wasn’t sure, but she guessed it must have something to do with Robert’s reasons for being here in Flagstaff.
Anger flared, and she said tartly, “I’m not sure that’s necessary, Mr. Rowe. After all, they do say that first impressions are the most lasting ones.”
After flinging that retort at him, she turned on her heel and stalked away. Maybe it would be a horrendous breach of protocol to simply walk out of the dance, but no way did she intend to stay there and have to dodge Robert Rowe and Jeremiah Wilcox all evening. It was only a few blocks to Mrs. Wilson’s boarding house, after all.
Luckily, her cloak was hanging on the coat tree near the door, so she pulled it off and settled it around her shoulders even as she hurried down the front steps of the school. A few people standing by the doorway shot her curious looks, but she didn’t see either Clara or Mrs. Wilson, and so she was able to make her escape mostly unnoticed.
Well, except for Robert Rowe. He hastened after her, matching strides as she continued her way down the street, studiously not looking over at him.
“Miss Prewitt, did I say something to offend you?”
“Oh, stop with the act,” she snapped. “Of course you did.”
“‘Act’?” he
repeated, sounding puzzled.
“You’re doing it now, too.”
By then they’d reached the corner of Leroux Street and Birch, and she turned down toward the boarding house.
Robert protested, “I’m afraid I don’t know what’s upset you so much.”
Danica ground to a halt and turned to face him. “Do you really think I didn’t notice how you were only talking to me because you wanted to see how Jeremiah Wilcox would react?”
“Miss Prewitt, I do think you’re getting the wrong impression — ”
Oh, the hell with this. She let out an exasperated huff and kept walking. And of course he stayed right with her, sticking by her side like a goat-head thorn she’d picked up in her shoe while hiking.
Then there was the awkwardness of actually reaching the boarding house, and having him follow her right up the stairs. She stopped there and faced him, arms crossed. “Yes, Mr. Rowe, I am getting the wrong impression, because you have followed me all the way to the front door of my house, even though I thought I made it quite clear that I didn’t want to talk to you. So please, go back to your hotel and leave me alone.”
He only stood there, watching her closely. The kerosene lamp mounted on the wall next to the front door seemed to flicker into his face, providing enough light for Danica to see his features, although she couldn’t read his expression. And she realized how alone they were, how everyone else was off at the dance, and he could do anything he liked.
Well, maybe not anything. After all, he didn’t know which powers she possessed. He didn’t know that hers was novel but all but useless to her at the moment, since it seemed to be entirely focused on keeping her locked here in 1884. If she attempted to give herself that extra five minutes so she could walk calmly away from him and then lock the door behind her, she’d only find herself back in the present. She couldn’t risk not being able to get back here, even if she currently felt as though she wouldn’t mind terribly if one of the Wilcoxes did manage to drill a hole in Robert Rowe.
Then he said, “You’re right. I did want to see how Jeremiah Wilcox would react. But I have my reasons.”
“Which are?”
Robert glanced out toward the street. It was utterly empty, dry leaves rustling in a chill wind that had begun to blow down from the north. “I’d prefer not to speak out here. Where could we talk in privacy?”
Privacy? There was a laugh. From the time she got up in the morning to the time she went to bed at night, Danica felt as if there was always someone watching what she did, whether it was Mrs. Wilson and Clara at the boarding house, or Mrs. Marshall and Danica’s own pupils at the school. Really, she had to wonder how anyone ever got away with anything in a place like this. Flagstaff’s denizens seemed so…omnipresent.
She said, “I have no idea, Mr. Rowe. I doubt that anything you wish to say to me is something you’d want overheard by Clara DeWitt. She does have a tendency to eavesdrop. And I’m afraid Mrs. Wilson is not much better.” It had been on Danica’s lips to invite him in to talk to her now, but that would give entirely the wrong impression. To have him inside the boarding house with her while they were all alone? If anyone ever learned of it, her reputation would be ruined, and she could say goodbye to the teaching position, the only thing that gave her an excuse for being here in Flagstaff.
“What about at the school on Monday, after you’re done teaching classes for the day?”
He really wasn’t going to let this go, was he? Danica wanted to say that wouldn’t work, but actually, she could probably manufacture an excuse to stay after Mrs. Marshall had gone home. Something about the floors needing an extra sweeping, or whatever. Although Mrs. Marshall was very dedicated, she had her own boys to look after, and so she tended not to linger at the school, but took her grading with her. And although it felt strange to her that Robert Rowe was willing to wait until Monday to have their conversation, Danica knew that was really the only solution. There would certainly be no privacy at the boarding house over the weekend.
“Oh, very well,” she said, knowing that she sounded ungracious in the extreme. “Come by a little after four. That should be safe enough.”
“Thank you, Miss Prewitt.” He hesitated before adding, “I appreciate the chance to clear the air between us.”
Danica didn’t know how much air would actually be cleared, but she only nodded. “Then I’ll see you Monday at four.”
He gave a small bow, not much more than a tilt of his head, and then he headed back down the porch steps.
She stood there in the light of the kerosene lamp, watching him go, and let out a breath. Somehow she had thought this would be so very easy, that she would go to him and tell him his life was in danger, and that she’d come here to help him. Now, however, she was discovering that he had an agenda and a mind of his own, and that things weren’t working out at all the way she’d expected.
This was going to be a very long weekend.
11
Of course Clara had to corner Danica the next morning. “Whyever did you leave so quickly? You only danced one dance!”
“I — I wasn’t feeling very well. I believe the punch didn’t agree with me.”
Clara sent her a skeptical look at that weak reply and opened her mouth to argue further, but after Danica made it clear she wasn’t going to answer any more questions — nor comment on her dance with Mr. Jeremiah Wilcox — the other girl more or less gave up. Anyway, she had to be at the store at nine thirty, and so was more or less out of Danica’s hair.
The remainder of Saturday was taken up by grading papers and helping Mrs. Wilson around the house. If the landlady had questions of her own about Danica’s conduct the night before, she kept them to herself, for which Danica was eternally grateful.
Church on Sunday was only slightly less awkward, but at least Jeremiah made no move to approach her. Lord knows what conclusions he’d drawn from her precipitous flight on Friday evening. Had he even seen her storm out? Hard to say, as he’d been sitting at the far end of the room, with a crush of dancers between them. But word had probably gotten around, the way it always seemed to in this small town.
Robert Rowe was conspicuously absent from the Methodist congregation. Danica didn’t know if that was because he attended a different church, or whether his clan was more like the McAllisters and worshipped in the old ways. If he did, he was probably keeping that particular fact well hidden. People around here tended to give you the side-eye if you even admitted you were Baptist. Wiccans would definitely be beyond the pale.
And school the following Monday…well, school was school. By that point, Danica had more or less broken in her uncomfortable boots, and broken in the students as well. Or maybe they had broken her in. At any rate, she was used to the routine, used to having to shift from subject to subject throughout the day. In a way, having to teach so many different things to children of so many different ages kept things interesting. It probably beat teaching five periods of algebra, day in and day out. Besides, there was the undeniable fascination of seeing and interacting with the children who were her aunts and uncles many generations past, as well as her own great-great-great-grandfather Wyatt, who was a well-behaved child and somewhat bookish, quite unlike his cousin Clay.
But then it was the end of the day, and the last of her students had trooped out. At lunch, Danica had informed Mrs. Marshall that she was going to stay behind and do some extra tidying up, as well as take care of that day’s grading at a proper desk instead of Mrs. Wilson’s dining room table. Apparently Mrs. Marshall saw nothing strange about this explanation, because she nodded and said she hoped Danica would have a nice, productive afternoon.
Productive? Probably not. But hopefully informative.
She did pick up the broom and sweep out the classroom. It seemed better to perform that chore first, since it would be pretty obvious if it was left undone. She’d just have to catch up on the grading later. Luckily, compositions written by seven-year-olds were fairly easy to blow through in an af
ternoon.
The back door creaked open, and Danica turned, broom still in her hand. Robert Rowe entered, then quickly shut the door behind him.
“Did anyone see you?” she asked.
“No,” he replied. “At least, I’m fairly certain no one did. I made sure to wait until the street was empty until I came onto the school property, and of course I came in through the back door.”
That would have to do, she supposed. Right then, it felt strange to be standing there with him looking at her, all alone in an empty classroom. Danica recalled the broom she had clutched in her hand and went to replace it in its spot in the corner behind her desk.
“All right,” she said. “So we’ve somehow managed to be alone so we can talk. What did you need to tell me?”
“Perhaps we should sit down.”
She gave the desks a dubious glance. Would her bustle even fit into one of those things?
“Go ahead and sit in your own chair, Miss Prewitt. I can manage.”
There was an undercurrent of amusement in his tone, but she chose to ignore it and went ahead and pulled her chair out from behind the desk. As she sat, Robert somehow managed to wedge himself into one of the student desks, his long, boot-clad legs sticking out in front of him.
Danica found herself stifling a smile of her own. “So, Mr. Rowe. Perhaps now you can provide some illumination?”
Before she asked that question, his blue eyes had held a glint she was already beginning to recognize, but his expression sobered abruptly as soon as the words left her mouth. “You know I told you that I had come here from Massachusetts.”
“Yes.”
“Did you also know that the Wilcoxes are also originally from New England, from Connecticut?”
This was going to be tricky, because she would have to push aside all the things she knew about her own family history and feign a convincing ignorance. “Are they? I hadn’t heard that. But everyone here in Flagstaff is from somewhere else, I suppose.”
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