by Pamela Nowak
“When the practical Daniel took over again?” There was no goading this time, just a simple statement of fact.
“That’s right.”
“So start the letter with that.”
He shook his head. “Sarah, I can’t share that with the entire population of Denver.”
“Why not? Because it isn’t correct to do so?” She tilted her head in challenge.
He pushed the paper away and slouched in the chair. “Emotions are personal.”
Behind him, she stood silent. Then she slowly and deliberately rested her hands on his shoulders. “But don’t you see? Those emotions are what elicit response. People think, ‘My God, what if it were my children?’”
Heat from her hands penetrated his shirt. Daniel tried to ignore her touch. Her firm fingers squeezed, offering reassurance. But it wasn’t the reassurance his mind rebelled against. He fought the instant defense that screamed against being touched so boldly by a woman and against the sudden jolt of attraction that poured through him.
He shrugged away from her hands and pushed back his chair, then stood and faced her. “I can’t do this.”
She tipped her head and caught his glance with her own. “You can,” she insisted. “What if Molly had stepped in front of Biscuit, and what if I had brought her home in the wagon? What would you be feeling then?”
He shut his eyes and brought his hand to his mouth, hating it that she could stir up visions he didn’t want to imagine. “Good God, Sarah.”
“You need to open that letter with a description of what you saw and felt in those first few seconds. Tell them about the red blood on Molly’s blue dress. Tell them about the tearstains on your daughters’ faces. Tell them about Kate’s shaky voice when she revealed that Biscuit was dead and that she and Molly had seen the whole thing. Let the readers feel the shock and fear and anger.”
Daniel listened to the earnestness in her voice and knew she would have no trouble pouring out such thoughts. He gestured to the chair. “You write it.”
She only stared up at him. “You need to write it. You’re the one who felt it.”
He shook his head and turned away from her. He couldn’t. Such things were private, not meant to be shared with anyone, an indulgence in self-pride that would once have netted him a full day of meditation on his knees.
He knew Sarah was waiting. He shook his head again, unable to fully explain. “Writing that down in a letter the public is going to read goes against my rearing, against everything my father ever taught me. I can’t.”
“Your father must have been quite a man,” she said, a challenge in her voice.
He turned on her sharply. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. You make him sound like the devil himself. He was a good and pious man, who knew well the dangers of wallowing in the cesspit of emotions. He was the pillar of the community, the yardstick everyone measured themselves against.”
“That’s a pretty heavy responsibility,” she countered.
“My father served as the one and only minister in Sutton, Indiana. His character was above reproach, and I’ll thank you to quit using that tone when you refer to him.”
They were face to face, Daniel not knowing where his vehement defense of his father had come from. He certainly hadn’t felt that way growing up. Still, everyone had held the Reverend Ebenezer Petterman up as an example. He was right to defend him. He was.
Sarah lowered her gaze and took a deep breath. When she looked back up, her big eyes were once again empty of accusation. “Then I guess we’d best leave the subject.” A beguiling smile filled her face. “But he sounds like a self-righteous stick-in-the-mud, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you,” he said softly. “Good God, Sarah, why do you dig so?”
“Why don’t you?” Her eyes were luminous.
An overwhelming urge to touch her cheek coursed through him, then away. He knew he should move back, but didn’t. “Enough. You are trying my temper.”
“Really? I’d hardly noticed.”
He hated her sassiness, and he loved it. Good God, what was she doing to him? “You write the letter.”
She raised one blond eyebrow. “Your temper’s showing.”
“Write the blasted letter,” he ordered, trying to escape from the emotions she was stirring.
Sarah’s eyes widened even more, but she didn’t back away,
Daniel felt as if he were drowning. She was too close, her eyes too captivating, his feelings too jumbled. He’d barely moved and all of a sudden she was in his grip, his mouth descending on hers in an impetuous kiss.
Her lips were soft and slightly parted in surprise.
He pulled away and stared into those big violet eyes.
Aw, hell. He hadn’t meant to do that. He hadn’t meant to do that at all.
* * * * *
Sarah slammed the cup of lukewarm coffee down on her desk and slumped forward, cradling her chin in her hands. The kerosene lamp’s weak light cast an eerie glow over the cluttered telegraph office. She glanced at the clock. Lord, it was only two a.m., with hours yet to go before her new shift was over. Curse the men in her life for making things difficult.
She was tired and cranky and sick to death of kowtowing to Frank Bates and molly-coddling Daniel Petterman.
Or was it herself she was molly-coddling?
Sarah scowled at her coffee. Lord, not only was Daniel aggravating, but he was getting under her skin. She should have belted him across the face right then and there. And she would have … except … she couldn’t.
She settled her head on her arms. It had happened so quickly, the heat of Daniel’s strong hands on her upper arms, the sudden warmth of his body as he pulled her close, the surprising touch of his lips on hers. She’d felt that brief kiss to the tips of her toes. Even the memory of it brought goose bumps to her flesh.
She didn’t slap him because she enjoyed it, and that bothered the daylights out of her.
The realization hit her hard. She’d spent the evening trying to convince herself that it was the shock that had immobilized her, or perhaps Daniel’s surprised response, the confusion in his penetrating hazel eyes as he drew away from her. Daniel hadn’t meant to kiss her any more than she’d meant to peruse his body after she rode double with him through the streets of Denver the other day. Her face grew hot with the memory. Something drew them together, and she didn’t like it.
The man was maddening, with all his burdensome concern with decorum. How in the world did he ever accomplish anything productive? And his outdated and uninformed view on women irritated her to no end.
Yet he kept intruding into her thoughts.
He hadn’t even looked her in the eyes. He’d paced around the coffin shop with his hands stuffed uncomfortably into his trouser pockets, muttering his regrets and soliciting her forgiveness.
Even though they both knew the kiss wouldn’t have happened without her prodding, she was sure of it.
She’d poked at his emotions, stood there and blatantly soothed his tight muscles, urged him to surrender to his feelings, put her face so close to his that they could feel one another’s breath. She all but invited his kiss.
Maybe she should have hit him just to clear the air.
Except that she’d enjoyed it. It kept coming back to that.
In the end, he didn’t say a word about her behavior. He simply shooed her out of the shop, refusing to work any further on the letter. He instructed her to write it herself, the way she wanted it, and to sign his name.
That was easier said than done. Her most recent draft of Daniel’s letter stared up at her. She glanced at the paper on the desk and read the words. Frowning, she crumpled the page and tossed it across the room. It landed on the floor, near the stool, with the other five pages she’d started and discarded.
Sarah kicked the desk with her sturdy work shoe and cursed. Lord, wasn’t it time yet for the next train to come through? She peered into the coffee cup, worst coffee she’d ever had.
No wonder Bates
hadn’t protested when she requested the transfer. Jim had done some checking, and it didn’t look like Bates would be removed as primary op anytime soon. Jim had already filed an official protest and sent it on up the line. Bates’s uncle held just enough company stock to make things complicated. But, as Jim told her, Bates would prove his own inadequacy, given time. It wouldn’t take too long before the man hung himself. Meanwhile, Jim would put her on the night shift. She’d still get her secondary op time in and it would distance her from the errors Bates was sure to make.
But the late shift, or trick, was a miserable one. The wire stayed unbearably quiet, except for routing orders. The leftover coffee tasted like it had been there for days and the great empty depot resounded with eerie echoes. Sarah sighed into the silence, then crossed the small office and tossed the stale coffee out the window.
The signal lantern sat in the rail yard, where she’d forgotten it, beside the main switch. She grimaced and rotated her aching shoulders. Throwing the switches was by far the worst of the shift’s duties.
As the sole employee on duty, she was now responsible for both relaying the routing orders and carrying them out. The heavy levers of the siding switches were harder to push than she had anticipated. It took every ounce of her strength to move them. She’d be sore for days.
Sarah rubbed her eyes and returned to the desk. She might just as well write the letter and get it over with. Her thoughts scattered. Was Daniel sitting in his tidy white house behind the coffin shop, unable to sleep? Was he tossing in his bed? Maybe the kiss hadn't even bothered him.
She should have insisted that he write the dratted letter in the first place.
Men! Bates had delayed her rise to primary op by at least a month, and then Daniel had balked at writing the letter. How in the world was she ever going to get anything important done?
Sarah plopped into the chair and pulled out a fresh piece of paper while she thought over Daniel’s clipped comments about his father. No wonder he was such a stick-in-the-mud. How could someone live his entire life within those narrow confines? How could he subject his daughters to the same stifling rules? It was time Daniel learned there was more to life than that coffin shop and his stuffy little world of self-denial.
How, heaven help her, was she going keep Daniel involved with the cause if he wouldn’t even write a letter?
He was so concerned about public appearances. If she could just force his hand a little. Smiling in spite of herself, Sarah dipped her pen into the inkwell and began the letter again.
Daniel Petterman was about to challenge the good citizens of Denver to join him at the next City Council meeting where he intended to make a public protest against the dog bounty.
* * * * *
Four days later, Sarah sat on a hard-backed chair near the front of the City Council gallery. The place was packed. Grim-faced parents filled the seats, muttering angrily about the bounty issue. At the rear, a group of grocers complained about the problems caused by the stray animals. A bespectacled doctor wandered in, nodding at those he knew. Since Daniel’s letter to the editor had appeared, the News had published a flurry of ever more hostile letters on both sides of the issue.
Bill and Elizabeth drifted in, a triumphant smile gracing Elizabeth’s elegant face. Bill’s glance darted around the crowded room, no doubt taking note of who was present. They spotted Sarah and settled next to her.
“Where’s Petterman?” Elizabeth asked.
Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “He hasn’t made his appearance yet. Do you think he’ll really show?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Without a doubt. That challenge was a stroke of brilliance, pure brilliance. Look at the response. And yes, Daniel will be here. He issued the call to action, after all, and a professional businessman can’t go back on such a public statement.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I just wish you could have written his speech, too.”
“There’s our man,” Bill announced. He rose and gestured to Daniel.
Daniel glanced at the trio, his face filling with distaste.
“We’ve saved you a chair,” Bill called with a wave.
Daniel moved across the room with reluctance. His hazel eyes bore into Sarah and she was glad for the buffer of the crowd.
Pumping Daniel’s hand, Bill made short work of introduction. “My wife, Elizabeth—I call her Libby.” He gestured to the women. “And you already know Sarah Donovan.”
Daniel curled his lip and Sarah held back a smile. Lord, he was angry.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Daniel replied. “How do you do, Mrs. Byers?”
“Oh, please.” She waved her hand dramatically. “Call me Elizabeth. Bill, move over. You’ll have a better view next to the aisle. Daniel can sit next to Sarah.”
Daniel stood stone-faced as the newspaperman and his wife shifted to the right. He took the empty chair, then glared at Sarah. “You have some nerve,” he whispered.
Sarah batted her eyes at him and smiled innocently. “I?”
Daniel’s face darkened and he leaned toward her. “You overstepped your bounds, Sarah, and you know it.”
“And you overstepped yours.” She let the statement sink in, refusing to take all the blame, even if it was deserved. Besides, it was a good enough excuse. She’d be hog-tied if she’d reveal her true reasons to him. “I don’t think I was quite clear about that the other day. This should clarify things nicely, I should think.” She gave him a smug smile.
“Is that what this is all about? Good God, Sarah, I apologized.”
Elizabeth peered at them, her eyebrows raised.
Sarah kept her voice low. “Yes, you did. But I forgot to slap you. I figured this would be a good substitute punishment.”
“Punishment?” Daniel whispered, incredulous. “Oh, now, that’s low. I would have thought you a bit more open minded.”
“I am. I just thought that a backward thinking man such as you might misinterpret my tolerance. I didn’t want you to assume a lack of morals on my part.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” He threw up his hands in a helpless gesture.
“Have you ever noticed how often you curse around me?”
“That’s it, right there, around you.” He was pointing now, more animated than he’d been in their previous discussion. “You can ask anyone in this room if they’ve ever heard me speak that way before, and they’ll tell you it isn’t my habit. You have this uncanny ability to make me do things I do not do.”
Sarah glanced around the room, realizing others were beginning to stare. She dropped her voice again. “And if you quit feeling guilty about doing them, you’d realize it makes you feel better to say what you mean and be done with it.”
“Just because you say anything that pops into your head doesn’t mean we all have to.” The words came out in a hiss.
“I’ll have you know that most of the time, I give a great deal of thought to my words before I say them.” She straightened and smoothed her dark green skirt.
In front of the room, the city councilmen were entering and taking their seats.
Sarah leaned toward Daniel, tossing him one last challenge. “Speaking of thoughtful words, I’m quite sure you have a stirring speech planned for the folks tonight.”
“Hmph,” was all he said.
“Shush,” Elizabeth admonished. “It’s time.”
The audience murmured quietly as the councilmen went about their business. Coughs and sneezes filled the air as they moved down the agenda. A few seats away, a lady with a baby stood and left the room, the odor of the infant’s soiled diaper lingering in their wake. Elizabeth pulled a packet of lemon drops from her purse and passed them down the row. Daniel popped one into his mouth. Sarah smiled at the pucker that appeared on his face as he sucked on what was likely a forbidden treat.
“We now move to our final item of business. The Council has received a petition requesting repeal of the dog bounty statute. Are there public comments at this time?” The chairman tapped his gavel, silencing the
muttering crowd.
The petition had been an unexpected Godsend, lending more legitimacy to the public outcry. Sarah wasn’t sure if Elizabeth had played a role in instigating the action or not, but she was pleased nonetheless.
Daniel sank into his chair and Sarah leaned toward him. “Your public is waiting.”
He frowned at her.
“What if it had been Molly or Kate in the wagon, Daniel? What if those boys had shot your child? All that blood. Would she have lain there, suffering, calling for her daddy? Could I have kept her alive until I pulled that wagon, dripping blood all the way down the street, to your house? Would you have held her lifeless body in your arms only to carry her inside and make her coffin with your own hands?”
“Good God,” he muttered as he stood and waited to be recognized.
The City Council Chairman nodded at him solemnly. “State your name and address for the record.”
Sarah crossed her hands and waited for Daniel to begin, hoping he was stirred up enough to deliver a rousing speech.
Daniel cleared his throat and introduced himself, then closed his eyes and drew a breath. “Last week, my daughters trudged into my front yard, blood covering their usually neat dresses. It was enough to pull me to their sides immediately. My first thoughts centered on them. Were they hurt? What had happened? By the time their protector explained that it was their beloved dog, Biscuit, whose blood covered their clothes, my concern had turned to anger. Those of you who know me know that I am not a man given to displays of emotion. But I tell you now that I was scared and I was angry. What kind of law encourages ruffians to kill family pets and endanger this community’s children? Has the City of Denver sunk so low?”
Silence reigned as his words hit home, then shattered as he sat and one after another in the audience vied for attention.
Elizabeth patted his arm and offered her praise while Bill nodded his assent.
Daniel slouched in the chair and closed his eyes.
Sarah granted him his peace. Lord, he looked overwhelmed. What came so easily for her must have been a monumental effort for him. She’d pulled off her letter assignment well and, despite her worries, he hadn’t muffed it. Elizabeth would make sure the local suffrage leaders knew of her abilities. Next time, they would offer a bigger assignment, one she could carry out easily, without involving anyone else.
