The Confidential Life of Eugenia Cooper Part 10

She was a beauty, this odd combination of cowgirl and lady, and Daniel was reluctant to let go. "Are you steady on your feet now?" he asked, hoping she might say no.

"I am." Eyes of columbine blue fringed with thick dark lashes rose to meet his stare, and he felt the impact to his toes.

Her answer disappointed him, though he'd never liked a helpless woman. "You're sure?" His words came out half an octave lower than he expected. She didn't seem to notice as she stared at him with a look he'd seen on women much less interesting than this one. An odd thrill surged through him as he realized they were flirting. He'd indulged in his share of it before, but never had he enjoyed it quite as much as now. Emboldened, he continued. "Because I could stand here holding you up all afternoon if need be."

"And I could let you," he thought he heard, though it might have been wishful thinking on his part.

When she said no more, Daniel rushed to fill the silence, afraid she'd notice he still held her. "Perhaps we could wait until the rest of the Wild West show returns for you. Surely you're the star attraction."

"In my dreams," she said with a wistful grin, seeming to study a spot somewhere behind him.

"No," he said, recognizing he was acting as foolish as a boy barely out of knee pants but unable to stop himself, "not in your your dreams." dreams."

Blue Eyes jerked her attention back to him. "No?"

"No," he said gently as he leaned toward her. "More likely in mine."

When she formed the word oh oh, her lips pursed, and Daniel stared. What was happening to him? A perfect stranger had captured his attention like no practiced belle of the ball had ever managed. All save one, that is.

The reminder almost caused him to let go. Almost made him look away from the lips he inexplicably wanted to remember tonight when he laid his head on his pillow.

"Everything all right over here, folks?" George called.

Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel saw the clerk approach. He released Blue Eyes and took a step backward. "Just fine," he said, forcing his attention onto the clerk.

"Thank you," the woman said as she moved away, shrugging out of the buckskin jacket and disappearing behind a display of handbags.

Daniel itched to follow and at least inquire as to her name, but wisely stood his ground, even when he heard the thud of boots. .h.i.tting the floor. A woman like that could get under a man's skin, and he couldn't allow such a thing.

Not anymore.

"Something I can help you with, Daniel?" George inquired.

It took a moment to remember exactly why he'd come into Fisher's at all. "A surprise for my daughter," he finally said. "Something to make her forgive me for my absence."

"I've got just the thing." George scampered away, leaving Daniel to search the store for Blue Eyes.

He found her near the front again, this time with a fresh copy of Mae Winslow's adventures in hand. Boldness overtook him, and he sauntered her way. Perhaps he too would take up reading the penny dreadfuls. He picked up the first one he saw.

"That Mae Winslow's quite a character," he said as casually as he could manage. "Always one adventure after another."

She held a copy of the same book against her chest, one hand s.h.i.+elding the cover. "What?" she asked as if she'd not heard him. "Oh, yes, I suppose. At least, I've heard." Her cheeks grew a shade closer to scarlet. "That is, I've known people who've purchased the books and told me her adventures are quite..."

"Adventuresome?" he supplied.

"Yes." She carefully replaced the book on the shelf, then turned to study a display of shaving cups.

Daniel set his book beside hers, then slid up next to the woman who'd well and truly entranced him. "Please tell me you're not in the market for one of these for your husband."

Just before she ducked her head, Daniel thought he saw her smile. "No," she said.

Interesting. But did that mean no husband or just no, she wasn't buying something for him? How to find out? If only he had more practice in this area. His skills were more than rusty.

"Your brother, perhaps?"

This time she met his gaze with what appeared to be a twinkle in her eyes. Long lashes swept cheekbones set high under porcelain skin. "No, I rather doubt Connor is in need of one at present."

"A pity," he said, brus.h.i.+ng her sleeve as he reached past her and took up one of the ridiculous mugs. Instead of regarding the crockery cup, he never broke his eye contact with her. "It's possibly the finest example I've seen in a very long time. Just beautiful, with the kind of lines that would make a man happy to reach for it every morning."

"Sir," she said softly, with just the right combination of outrage and interest to make a man grin, "are we still talking about the shaving mug?"

"No." He spoke slowly, deliberately. "I'm not certain we are, and I do apologize."

"Were I to accept your apology," she said, stepping away just slow enough to allow him to replace the mug and follow, "then I would also have to accept the fact that you are not a gentleman." She paused in her motion and he did the same. "And I'm reluctant to do that. Surely you understand."

He did. A bead of perspiration trickled down the back of his neck and disappeared inside his collar.

"I think you'll be quite happy with what I've found, sir," George called, his mission accomplished far too soon.

"Thank you, George," Daniel said, but when he turned back to the woman, she was nowhere to be found. He reluctantly returned to the counter and paid for the gift, waiting while George wrapped it, not realizing until he'd left the store that he didn't even know what he'd bought.

Out on the sidewalk, he consulted his watch and thought of finding his way to Charlotte's school rather than the office. Only the need to send out several telegrams and finalize his plans to fire the governess sent him up the street toward his workplace, though not without a last glance toward the store, in case the blue-eyed woman reappeared.

Gennie stumbled toward the counter on wobbling knees, careful to note the direction the intriguing man had departed. "I'll pay for the novel," she told the clerk, "and the rest will go on Mr. Beck's household account."

"Is that so?" the fellow said, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "I wonder why he didn't tell me himself. You're sure he'll approve?"

"Actually, it was Tova. She's the-"

"Housekeeper." He nodded. "Yes, I know. Now that you mention it, I recognized the dress you came in with as one she bought for you." The clerk leaned closer. "So," he said with what seemed like quite a bit of innuendo, "you're the gal who's been hired to tame Charlotte Beck."

"I am."

His laughter grated on her, but she maintained her dignity and her silence.

"You're an awfully pretty woman to be going about such ugly business." He slapped his palm on the counter, and Gennie jumped. "For all I respect Daniel, I sure don't understand why he doesn't turn that girl over his knee and-" He shook his head. "Well, I can't judge, and goodness knows he's had his share of difficulty that goes beyond a misbehaving child. Poor man's been hounded mercilessly by the local women ever since he lost his wife, you know."

An interesting fact. Not that it was any business of hers. An adventure of the Wild West variety did not depend in the least on Daniel Beck's domestic situation.

"I couldn't help noticing you've attracted a bit of interest, but I've got to warn you, la.s.soing that one's a lost cause."

Her brows shot up in outrage, but she quickly tamed them. Loath to discuss her personal business with a shopkeeper, Gennie withdrew the appropriate amount of money from her reticule and pushed the coins toward him. "If you'll excuse me, I'd prefer to settle my account now."

"I see." He looked toward the door, then slowly back to her. A strange look crossed his face as he regarded her in an odd way.

"Is there a problem?" she asked, adjusting her collar and straightening her cuffs.

"Problem? No, miss. Just speculating on something I ought not speculate on." He went back to tallying the amounts with his pencil. "Should I have these items delivered, or will you be taking them with you?"

Gennie decided to ignore the man's poor behavior in favor of taking the high road. "I'll have them now, please."

Just then, the door opened and Isak stuck his head inside. "I've finished my errands, miss," he called. "Just want to let you know I had to leave the wagon around the corner. Too much traffic out front. So turn left when you come out the door and go around the corner in the opposite direction from Mr. Beck's office."

"I don't know where his office is," she said, "but I'm sure I can find the wagon."

The clerk never looked up. He wrapped her purchases, then without comment offered a slip of paper for her to sign. As she gathered the packages and made her way to the door, she heard the clerk make a tsk tsking sound.

She froze, then glanced over her shoulder to see the man regarding her openly. "What?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Can't say as I blame him. 'Course, once Anna Finch hears tell of this, you can expect she'll not like it one bit."

Gennie opened her mouth to speak, but the words refused to come. "I am not that kind of woman," she finally managed. "And anyone who takes issue with my employment is advised to lodge a complaint with Mr. Beck himself."

"Oh, I doubt he'd put up with anyone telling him a pretty thing like you doesn't belong under his roof."

Gennie drew herself up to her full height, ire coursing through her veins. This man was insufferable, his insinuations intolerable. "I repeat," she said, "I am not the type of woman to entertain the advances of a man with whom I am not betrothed." And yet she'd just stood in broad daylight in full view of the front window of Fisher's and flirted shamelessly with a total stranger. "And I demand an apology, sir," she added with more bravado than she felt.

"Of course you're not," he said, though his tone and expression betrayed his words. "And I do beg your pardon."

To stay and fight the clerk's impression of her bore hard on Gennie, but she reminded herself this was a man with whom she would likely never have any further contact. She squared her shoulders and turned away, not sparing the awful man even the briefest of parting words. As she huffed around the corner to the wagon, Isak took her packages, then lifted her onto the seat.

"Something wrong, miss?"

"No," she said as she tried to still her shaking limbs. "Everything is fine. Wonderful, in fact."

But as Isak pulled the wagon around and turned in front of the store, she couldn't resist giving the place one last look of disgust, even as her knees continued quaking. How dare that awful shopkeeper think she might be carrying on with Daniel Beck. A man who couldn't even stay home long enough to raise his child certainly held no appeal for her. That nice man with the lovely accent, on the other hand, that was another story altogether, one she might have pursued under different circ.u.mstances. Indeed, had she not had a perfectly wonderful man waiting for her back in Manhattan, she might have...might have what?

Gennie sighed and banished the thought. She did have a perfectly wonderful man waiting for her back in Manhattan, and in less than a month she'd be seeing him again. And perhaps she'd be brazen enough to ask for another of the banker's wonderful kisses. Gennie touched her lips, then felt shame rise inside her.

When had she turned into such a brazen hussy? First she'd practically fallen at the feet of that gentleman in Fisher's, and now she sat in a wagon on a public street, imagining a man's kisses.

Mama would be shocked and disappointed, wondering what had happened to her well-heeled debutante daughter.

Gennie smiled behind her gloved hand. Perhaps some of the Wild West had already rubbed off on her, just enough to make life interesting.

Unfortunately, it got more interesting when Isak pulled the wagon to a stop near Charlotte's school.

"I'll wait while you fetch her," he said nonchalantly.

"All right." Gennie climbed from the wagon and strolled toward the schoolhouse. How difficult could this be?

"Miss?" Isak called. "There's fresh mud in the street. I'd be careful if I were you."

She was about to ask why when the first volley hit her squarely in the jaw. Swiping at the splattered mess of mud, Gennie looked up to see Charlotte Beck standing at the edge of the schoolyard, a wicked gleam on her face and several children egging her on.

Gennie took a deep breath and walked toward the Beck child. It would never do to allow the heathen to know she'd hit her mark not only with the mud, but also with her attempt to rile her governess.

Her hands thick with mud, Gennie reached Charlotte and grasped her firmly by the wrist, staring down the onlookers and daring them to comment. No one moved or spoke.

"Eww," Charlotte said. "You're getting me dirty."

"Come along. I'm sure your friends have places to be as well." Gennie gave the a.s.sembled crowd a pointed look that sent them scattering. "Or perhaps I should go in and have a visit with your teacher."

Charlotte's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

"I would," Gennie said, "though I don't think it will be necessary today. After all, we're headed home."

Charlotte seemed surprised. "You said we were going to have an adventure."

"That was before you chose to pelt me with mud." She paused to consider her words. "Now the adventure shall be a bath, with soap and shampoo. Then we shall address your wardrobe and attempt to do something with that hair of yours. Into the wagon with you."

The menacing look from breakfast returned. "I don't want to. I want Tova to come and fetch me later." She made a decent attempt to yank her arm from Gennie's grip, but failed.

Gennie swiped the last of the mud from her jaw and shook it from her free hand, even as she tightened her grip on the girl. "You'll come now, Charlotte Beck, or I'll know the reason why."

"The reason why is, I don't like you, and I'm too old to have a governess."

Charlotte paused to reach down, ostensibly for more mud. Gennie countered by picking up her pace even as the girl dug in her heels. By the time the pair reached the wagon, Gennie's skirts were sodden with mud, as were Charlotte's overalls.

To his credit, Isak only quirked a pale brow as they approached, then quickly recovered to hand first Charlotte then Gennie up into the wagon. "Home?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes," Gennie said. "Please."

They rode in silence, Charlotte wedged between her and Isak. Gennie kept a close watch on the girl lest she bolt and run, something more likely than the possibility she might ride quietly home without further complaint.

And yet she did, much to Gennie's surprise. As the wagon turned a corner and the Beck home came into view, Gennie had only one thought: Thank You, Lord, that this is only temporary. Thank You, Lord, that this is only temporary.

As soon as the wagon rolled to a stop, Charlotte scrambled over Isak and ran into the waiting arms of Tova.

While Isak slipped off into the stables, Gennie gathered her packages. With the same care she'd taken the first time she was introduced to Mama's dear friend and the inspiration for her name, Empress Eugenia, Gennie straightened her spine and walked with her head held high.

"What is the meaning of this?" the housekeeper demanded as she held the girl at arm's length.

"Ask Charlotte," Gennie said. "And don't have Isak bother with preparing the bath. I can see to it myself." She paused to look down at the Beck girl. "Come with me."

"No." She tightened her grip around Tova, who looked none too pleased to be tarred with the same mud that covered the child. "Tova won't make me. She's not mean like you."

"I must say the child is a bit upset." The housekeeper gave Gennie a severe look. "Perhaps you've been too hard on her."

"Tova," Gennie said as firmly as she could manage without giving her rising temper free rein, "until I am replaced, I am the child's care-giver. I do not tell you how to carry out your duties, and I would appreciate it greatly if you gave me the same consideration."

While the housekeeper stood open-mouthed, Gennie grasped the wrist of her charge and led her inside.

Fat raindrops pelted the ground and spotted Mae's best buckskin jacket, so she decided to see if Lucky could ride between them. It was a theory tried and tested back home when she was a barefoot girl and Papa knew more than all the books in the library. She'd asked him if it were possible to run fast enough to stay dry, and he'd told her there was one way to find out and that was to try. If it didn't work today, maybe next time it would.