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

by Julie Lessman

  “But what is she doing here?” he asked with a scowl, directing his attention to Miss Penny as she doused a clean rag under the pump and rubbed it with carbolic soap.

  She scuttled over to Allison with the rag, squinting to study her skinned palms. “Miss McClare had a little accident and scraped her hands, so I’m cleaning them up before you escort her home.” Ignoring his searing gaze, she swished impatient fingers toward a fresh-baked loaf of bread on the counter. “Have a slice of bread while you wait, so you’re not growling like a bear.”

  Allison chanced a peek and wished she hadn’t. His jaw looked like rock peppered with dark bristle, making the slits of his eyes all the more ominous. “What kind of accident?”

  “Just never you mind,” Miss Penny said, gently swabbing the dirt from Allison’s hands to reveal red palms scraped free of skin. “It’s been taken care of and it’s none of your business.”

  ———

  “The devil it isn’t.” Nick hurled his coat over the hook by the door and strode toward the princess, a muscle pulsing in his cheek as he eyed the shawl she now pinched with bloodless fingers. Beneath its gauzy weave, he spied a hint of skin peeking through what looked like a gape in the shoulder of her sleeve, and a flash of fury curdled his stomach. He took one look at the beautiful disarray of black curls tumbling down that remarkable shirtwaist stained with dirt, and his gut turned over. His gaze flicked up to a pale face that only emphasized startling green eyes, and the nervous tug of teeth on those full, pink lips told him this brainless beauty had done exactly what he warned her not to do. He bit back the outrage that teetered on the tip of his tongue and singed Miss McMule with a scathing glare. “I-repeat. What-kind-of-accident?”

  Miss Penny released a heavy exhale, giving Miss McClare’s arm a final pat before she turned to face him, a plea for compassion glimmering in her eyes. “She’s had a traumatic night, Nicholas,” she said quietly. “She doesn’t need you to add to it.”

  Normally he relented where Miss Penny was concerned, but the idea of anyone laying a foul hand on this stunning, albeit senseless, creature boiled his blood. The tic in his cheek joined forces with the one in his jaw. “Are you going to tell me what happened, or will I have to—”

  “I was accosted, all right?” The creature literally groaned the words, fingers quivering as she brushed a glossy black curl away from her ashen face. The green eyes, usually shooting sparks where he was concerned, actually melted into glistening pools of apology that completely bewitched him. “I . . . owe you an apology, Mr. Barone,” she whispered, one of the rare times she actually pronounced his name correctly. “You were right—I am too stupid to teach . . .”

  Miss Penny’s head whirled, her wide eyes inflicting the same level of guilt his grandmother had whenever he stepped out of line. “You actually said that?”

  “No, it’s true, Miss Penny,” she continued in a rush, heating his face with an ardent defense he in no way deserved. “Mr. Barone tried to warn me, but I argued with him, stubborn to the core, doing exactly what he said I would do—part of the upper crust who thinks they can go off half-cocked doing whatever they bloomin’ well please.”

  The gape of Miss Penny’s eyes matched that of her mouth. “Nicholas Barone!”

  He slid a sweaty finger inside his collar to loosen the chokehold from Miss McClare’s praise, wishing she’d stop defending him and just whack him with a stick instead. “Look, I didn’t mean it exactly that way . . .”

  “No, you didn’t,” Miss McClare said quietly, the candor in her tone disarming any temper she may have provoked in the past. Her eyes locked with his, completely void of any guile. “I’m learning, Mr. Barone—slowly, mind you, because I’m not all that bright,” she said with a hint of jest before those green eyes deepened with true sincerity, “that you’re just a very frank person who hates to see people so oblivious to harm.”

  He blinked, wishing they could just go back to insults. He was pretty sure anger was a lot safer than this dizzy heat whirling inside, leaving him tongue-tied.

  “Nicholas?” Miss Penny lifted her chin. “What do you say?”

  He mauled the back of his neck. “Uh . . . okay, I guess.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Nicky,” she said with a fold of her arms, tone stern despite a bare hint of a smile. “You say, ‘Thank you, Miss McClare, and I’m sorry for being so brash.’ ”

  He swallowed the foot in his mouth, eyes on Miss McClare as he inclined his head toward Miss Penny. “Yeah, what she said.” His momentary awkwardness gave way to a clench in his gut over the danger this woman encountered tonight, nearly becoming another statistic. His face calcified along with his tone. “I’ll take you in to file a police report.”

  “Oh, no, I can’t!” she cried, the distress in her face bleeding into her voice. “I mean I . . . I don’t want to alarm my mother, Mr. Barone, and I still have my purse and person intact, so I assure you, no harm’s been done.”

  He made a rude point of scanning her slowly, from the haphazard tumble of curls and stained bodice, to the dust and dirt embedded in her form-fitting skirt. Anger hardened his gaze as it trailed back up to settle on a milky complexion now as ruddy as her chafed hands. “No harm done?” he repeated coolly, the spasm in his cheek a perfect complement to the twitch in his hands that wanted to tear her assailants apart, limb by limb. “You could have been violated, Miss McClare, or worse—”

  “But I wasn’t,” she insisted in a rush, the blush in her cheeks now fading to chalk.

  “No, you weren’t.” His lips cemented into a thin line. “But the next victim might not be so lucky when the scum you refuse to report try it again.”

  Her face bleached as white as her rumpled white blouse.

  “Really, Nicky, don’t you think we’ve had enough melodrama for tonight?” Miss Penny slipped a protective arm around Miss McClare’s shoulders.

  He pierced Miss Penny with a hard stare. “You’re in agreement with this?”

  She hovered over the woman with a firm jut of her chin. “Allison has her reasons for not divulging this just now, Nicholas, and we must respect her wishes. Besides, she promised not to attempt walking outside by herself after dark again and plans to inform her mother of this soon.”

  His facial muscles went slack. “And you believe her? For blimey’s sake, look at her, Miss Penny! The woman has as much common sense as one of those confounded dainty cups those blue bloods use to sip their blessed tea.”

  “That is quite enough, Nicholas.” Miss Penny stared him down, hands lodged on Miss McClare’s shoulders like an undersized archangel ready to wage battle. “I will not stand here and allow you to berate a guest in my home. Please apologize.”

  Shades of his grandmother revisited, unleashing a trail of heat up his neck that scorched all the way to his cheeks. Gram had been the one human being he’d respected and admired enough to curb his temper. His lips gummed tight. No, make that two . . .

  “Nicholas?” The chin notched up.

  “I-apol-o-gize,” he ground out, the words distorted by the clench of his teeth.

  The silver-haired imp had the nerve to cock her head with a squint of blue eyes. “I don’t believe I quite understood that, Allison, did you?”

  Miss McClare’s lashes fluttered wide, green eyes dancing as a giggle actually broke from her mouth, perfect pink lips annoying him to no end. “No, I don’t believe I did. It sounded more like a strained grunt to me, although I suppose it could have been an apology in another language or dialect.” She scrunched her nose as she studied him, a gleam of trouble in her eyes. “Early Neanderthal, perhaps?”

  Between the two, Nick found himself totally disarmed and dropped his head to pinch the bridge of his nose, humor threatening the hard bent of his lips. He huffed out a sigh and looked up, the stiff planes of his face relaxing into a shadow of a smile. “All right, okay—you’ve made your point, ladies, and I apologize, Miss McClare, for losing my temper—again.”

  The smile the woman gav
e him spiked his temperature at least twenty degrees, causing the skin under his collar to break out in a sweat. “So, Mr. Barone, long e,” she said with an extension of her hand. “Shall we try this again—one more time?”

  Resigned, he shook his head and laughed, a slow grin sliding across his lips. He reached for her wrist rather than inflicting pain on her sore palm and pressed his thumb to her pulse, grateful it felt as erratic as his. “As long as there are no sticks involved, Miss McClare.”

  “Or hat pins,” Miss Penny said with a proud smirk. “Those two ruffians are sporting more holes than my best colander, I can promise you that.”

  Nick jagged a brow. “Two?”

  Miss McClare grinned, the glow of pride in her eyes as blinding as Miss Penny’s. “I actually poked them both, and I do believe I drew blood a number of times.”

  “Is that a fact?” Slipping his hands in his pockets, Nick lowered his head to emit a soft chuckle, wondering if maybe he hadn’t underestimated the little spitfire. Pulse finally calming, he glanced up, shooting her a shuttered smile that toasted her cheeks. “Good to know.”

  7

  Allison hurried to keep up with Nick Barone’s long strides down the trash-littered sidewalk of Jackson. Her heart pumped with excitement from strolling through the devil’s lair—as Miss Penny called it—as much as from the detective’s breakneck speed. Athletic by nature, she usually had no problem keeping up, easily outdistancing Blake or Jamie in summer games of tag. But Nick Barone was a mountain of a man with less patience than her, evidently, when it came to achieving a goal or reaching a destination. Hands buried in his pockets, his trademark scowl was firmly in place, and she almost wished those two hooligans would chance a repeat encounter. She prided herself on being a strong woman who could take care of herself, but never had she felt so safe, so protected, so free as she did now, with him by her side.

  He’d said precious little since they’d left Miss Penny’s, apparently still miffed over his failed attempt to get her to file a police report once Miss Penny wasn’t around to defend. But Allison stood her ground, explaining her burning need to explore independence in her new life as a teacher, something that would be squashed in a heartbeat if her family found out about the incident right now. She was determined to keep it to herself until she could prove the cable car was safe. As long as she took it before dusk, that is, which she fully intended to do. Or at least until she could talk Mother into acquiring a firearm, something Miss Penny felt was advisable in a neighborhood on the edge of the Coast.

  Mouth compressed as stiff as his manner, Nick had allowed her to chatter ad nauseam for several blocks, his brooding gaze continually sweeping the doorways and alleys of the bars they passed. Occasionally he’d answer a question with a sideways glance and a faint smile, as if he found her amusing, but in no way did he afford her the courtesies she was used to with most men. Not the offer of his arm to escort her, the attentive interest of a suitor, or even the polite banter employed in social situations. Which was just as well, she supposed. Judging from the time she’d spent with him thus far, he was nothing more than a prettier, grumpier rendition of the type of men who tended to break her heart.

  Eyes straight ahead, he remained silent at an intersection to allow a horse and buggy to pass, giving Allison a chance to catch her breath and study him unaware. Without question, he was one of the most handsome men she’d seen, although his manners and short moods dispelled any attraction, at least mentally. But physically? A lump bobbed in her throat. When his thumb had grazed her wrist, she was sure the leap of her pulse would bruise both her skin and his. He’d seemed little-boy awkward when Miss Penny scolded, but the moment he’d touched Allison’s arm, pinned her with those hypnotic eyes, she sensed a confidence and control that bordered on cocky, as if he were used to the approval of women. Her lips squirmed. Cave women, no doubt.

  “Does ‘Sin City’ amuse you, Miss McClare?” he asked, sliding her one of those veiled looks that made her think he could read every thought in her head, despite the fluff between her ears, of course. “Or does that shadow of a smile mean you’re laughing at me?”

  Heat scorched her face at his perception, and she quickly looked across the street, not a smart thing to do. The fire in her cheeks raged out of control over near-naked women in the doorway of a bordello, issuing lewd remarks to Nick as they passed by. Swallowing hard, she forced her gaze straight ahead, her good humor suddenly as depleted as the smile on her face.

  His husky laugh blended perfectly with the ragtime and ribald revelry that filled the night air along with the stench of whiskey and smoke. “What exactly did you expect to see on the Barbary Coast, Miss McClare—gentlemen with manners and ladies dressed for tea?”

  She glanced up to deliver a sharp retort and stopped at the sobriety in his eyes, sensing a compassion that seemed to fly in the face of all she knew him to be. Her ire drifted out on a weary sigh lost in a rash of profanity and slurs from men who whistled and raked her with salacious stares. “No, but I . . .” A knot of pride shifted in her throat and she gulped it down whole, suddenly ashamed of her naïveté. “Wasn’t expecting this,” she said faintly, embarrassed over the wealth and privilege that had blinded her to the plight of the lost and forgotten.

  For the first time, he took her arm and gently steered her to the corner of Montgomery where a motley group of people waited for the cable car. “It’s another world here, Miss McClare.” His voice was quiet as he laid a protective hand over hers. “One I’m glad you’re not privy to.”

  “But there are so many lost souls,” she whispered, unable to stop the tears in her eyes.

  “Yes, but lost by choice.” His voice held a bitter edge.

  “Not all,” she said softly, remembering several little girls who’d attended their first day at Hand of Hope School, daughters of women who worked in the brothels, according to Miss Penny.

  He glanced at her then, the hard line of his jaw softening just a hair. “No, not all.”

  Clang, clang, clang!

  Allison looked up, the sight of a cable car chugging down the rails of Montgomery dissolving her melancholy mood. A thrill surged and her heart began to pound while a tiny giggle slipped from her lips. She fought the inclination to squeal, barely aware of the fingers she dug into his coat sleeve. “Oh, my very first cable car ride,” she breathed. “Can you tell?”

  His mouth crooked. “Only by the bruise on my arm.”

  Her giggle was almost decadent. “Oh, don’t be such a baby, Mr. Barone. This thrilling adventure may be ho-hum to you, but it’s a dream come true for me.” She sighed. “Mother never let us ride the cable car—too many germs.”

  He surveyed the disreputable crowd waiting to board, nose wrinkling, no doubt, from the rank smell of unwashed bodies, stale alcohol, and burning wood from the cable car brakes. His smile took a wry twist. “Wise woman, your mother.”

  The rumble of wheels and the click of rails stole her attention as the bright-red California Street cable car ground to a stop, its shiny wood benches facing out like an invitation to adventure. The small crowd moved forward while Mr. Barone held her back, allowing the others to funnel in first. When it was her turn to mount the single step, he assisted her up, then pressed a nickel into her hand. Adrenaline coursing, she promptly handed the fare to the driver before taking the last of two seats on an outer bench. She absently skimmed a hand to her abdomen, as if she could calm the flutters at the prospect of her first cable car ride.

  “You gettin’ on or not, mister?” the driver said, and Allison glanced up to see Nick Barone standing stock-still before the platform step, eyes glazed and body stiff.

  “Mr. Barone? Are you all right?” She ducked her head to peer into his ashen face, the stubble of late-day beard all the more apparent against his bloodless skin.

  His Adam’s apple jerked as he nodded, fingers gripped white on the pole by the step while he remained rooted to the cobblestone street as firmly as the cable car rails.

 
“I don’t got all night, mister,” the grip man said in a growl. “Either get on or get off.”

  Huffing out a sigh, Allison jumped up and pried his fingers from the pole, tugging on his hand as if yanking a mule. “Mr. Barone, please! You promised Miss Penny you’d see me home.”

  His gaze slowly lifted, as if in a trance, and the muscles in his throat convulsed again. “All right,” he whispered, voice a strangled rasp, “but it’s only fair to warn you . . .” He appeared to stifle a belch while he remained inert, feet fused to the sidewalk and skin suddenly matching the green in his eyes. “I get . . . seasick.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” The schoolmarm surfaced when Allison tugged on the lobe of his ear, forcing him into motion as she dragged him up the step and onto the bench.

  “Ouch, that hurts,” he snapped, the pain obviously breaking through his stupor.

  She slapped his hand when he tried to bat her away. “It’s a cable car, Mr. Barone, not a frigate. Now, you sit right there until I pay the man, do you understand?”

  His jaw began to grind. “You are one pushy dame, you know that?”

  “And you are nothing but a big baby,” she said with a menacing glare, digging a nickel from her reticule. She handed it to the driver, then wiggled into the tight space between the oversized sissy and a pie-eyed man who actually gave her a wink. Inching closer to Mr. Barone, she decided the green tinge of his face was less threatening than the lurid look of the other man.

  The cable car lurched to a start, and Allison squealed, forgetting all challenges to her peace of mind as a breeze lifted the stray curls at the back of her neck. “Oh, this is so much fun!” she said with a giggle, craning to see down the street.

  She spied the four-story Montgomery Block, one of the largest buildings in the West, and nearly swooned as always over one of her favorite landmarks. “Sweet bliss, I just read a wonderful article about the Montgomery Block!” She shook Mr. Barone’s arm, hardly believing he had his eyes closed. “Oh my goodness, did you know Mark Twain met a San Francisco fireman named Tom Sawyer in the Montgomery Block sauna and used his name for his novel The Adventures of Tom Sawyer?”