The Confidential Life of Eugenia Cooper Part 9

"Charlotte," Gennie said firmly, "while I disagree that any breakfast is sufficient for a growing child, there's nothing to be done for it this morning. But you'll need a cloth to remove the stain."

The girl looked at Gennie as if she'd grown a third eye. Willfully, she stabbed her fork into the pie, then went back to reading her book. Behind her, Elias watched with interest until he saw Gennie's pointed stare. Then, suddenly, something on the stove seemed to catch his attention, and he turned his back.

Tova stepped into the room, a basket of clean laundry in her arms. While Elias greeted the housekeeper, Gennie kept her attention focused on the girl.

When it became apparent that a showdown was not likely to produce a winner, Gennie decided to try a different means of reaching the child. She'd already thought of several possible activities-china painting, embroidery, and a lesson in the care and braiding of hair, among them-for the hours between school's end and dinner's beginning, all of which would be beneficial for a girl's upbringing.

On second thought, perhaps embroidery wasn't such a good idea. The thought of Charlotte Beck in possession of sharp objects made Gennie s.h.i.+ver.

"After school today, I've an afternoon of adventure planned for us, Charlotte," Gennie said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

The girl continued to turn pages in her book, though Gennie noted a brief look of interest.

"Then it's settled," Gennie said. "I'll fetch you from school myself."

"I think that's a grand idea," Elias said. "Isak can fetch you wherever the two of you would like to go."

Tova's inelegant snort caught Gennie off guard. Rather than argue, Gennie rose and nodded before escaping. She was a coward, true, but some battles were better fought in small skirmishes, and she intended to meet Charlotte Beck on the battlefield immediately after school. There was no need to do the same with Tova.

A visit to the carriage house kept Gennie well away from the perturbed Scandinavian housekeeper. The horses, a bay and a well-matched pair of chestnut mares, were exquisite. She stepped carefully across the straw-covered floor to rub her hand over the muzzle of the bay. As she did, the makes.h.i.+ft shawl slipped, and Gennie reached to adjust it.

"She's a spirited one."

Gennie turned toward the voice and found Isak watching her.

"That one's Mr. Beck's favorite."

"She's exquisite. They all are."

Isak ducked his head as he stepped past her and opened the stall. Gennie watched as he led first one chestnut then the other out and harnessed them to a waiting wagon.

"A moment of your time," Tova called, exiting the house and walking toward them. The housekeeper thrust a folded piece of paper in Gennie's direction and gave her a look that dared her to complain. "Isak," Tova said without taking her eyes off Gennie, "your other duties will wait until after the governess has completed her errand."

Before Gennie could form a question, Tova dismissed them both and stalked back inside. She turned to Isak, who seemed amused.

"It appears I'm to fetch you to the grocer's," he said.

"More than just the grocer's, it seems." Gennie consulted the paper and discovered the list of destinations was much longer than a mere trip for foodstuffs. "Perhaps you should have this." She handed him the paper.

"My mother wishes you to be out of the house for an extended period, I think."

"Her wish is my command." The sarcastic statement slipped out before Gennie could stop it. "Oh my, I'm terribly sorry. That was an awful thing to say. It's just that she seems to have taken a dislike to me."

"I wouldn't be so worried," Isak said. "I'm sure she likes you just fine."

"She picked out the dress."

"Ah, I see." His laughter was contagious.

"Miss McTaggart."

Gennie froze at the sound of Tova's reproving voice. Isak's merriment ceased, though his smile was only barely tamed.

"I require my tablecloth to remain here," Tova said as she approached.

Isak made it his business to be occupied with securing the horses by the time his mother reached Gennie. He did, however, send her a most impudent wink.

"The tablecloth," Tova said, her arm outstretched.

Gennie gathered the makes.h.i.+ft scarf closer. "I need it."

"Likely to sell," Tova snapped. "I'll not have Mr. Beck's things go missing."

"Sell?" Gennie straightened her spine and eyed the woman with what she hoped was something akin to superiority. "I'll have you know the only reason I need this thing is because you chose this horrid dress for me."

The housekeeper's face flamed bright red. Behind her, Gennie heard Isak's footsteps retreating into the carriage house.

"And furthermore..." Gennie caught her breath as well as the expression on Tova's face. "Never mind."

"Turn around," Tova said, her voice hard as steel.

Gennie turned and slid the table scarf off her shoulders to reveal the gap in her dress. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, quickly, Tova finished the job of b.u.t.toning her in and yanked away the scarf.

"Isak!"

A moment later, Gennie was lifted onto the wagon seat as Tova bustled back toward the house. To Gennie's surprise, the housekeeper paused at the door to call to her.

"Add one more thing to the list."

Isak handed Gennie the list and a pencil. "All right. What is it?"

Tova straightened her spine and gave Gennie a look of distaste. "See that you find an outfit that does not cause me this sort of trouble. Mr. Beck keeps an account at Fisher's."

Gennie nodded, her smile concealed behind her hand. Perhaps she and the stern housekeeper might become friends after all.

Isak made short work of negotiating the distance to downtown Denver, though finding a place to park the wagon took some doing. The city appeared no different than Manhattan, Gennie decided. A definite disappointment.

Before Isak took the list and went about collecting the needed items, he pointed Gennie toward Fisher's Dry Goods. She went willingly. Never had a shopping trip been so needed.

As she stepped inside the store, Gennie paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light. What she saw when her vision cleared was truly a disappointment. Instead of row upon row of beautiful dresses, she found precious few garments among the items for sale.

"Careful," a bespectacled young man said as he climbed off a ladder in the rear of the store. "The floor's been freshly waxed."

"Thank you." She picked her way toward the clothing section.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" he called.

"I'm in need of dresses," she said. "And all that goes with them, actually."

The clerk gestured to his left, where bolts of calico were piled nearly to the ceiling. "We've enough fabric to make any housewife smile."

Calico. Housewife. Smile. Where she came from, those three things did not go together.

"Actually," she said, turning from the mountain of cloth, "I'd hoped to find something already made."

He nodded as he adjusted his spectacles. "I shoulda pegged you for a store-bought gal."

"A store-bought gal," she said in her best attempt to be serious. "Yes, that's me."

"Then come this way," he said. "Fisher's Dry Goods has the broadest selection of ready-made clothing this side of the Rockies."

"Indeed." Gennie fell in step beside him, pausing only when she pa.s.sed a display of jewelry items made from bear teeth, or so the sign boasted.

"Over here," he called. "Might I show you anything in particular?"

"I'll browse, thank you," she said, though she held out little hope she might actually find anything among the slim choices the lone clothing rack held.

Somehow, she pulled together a decently constructed dress in a lovely shade of blue, and a hat that matched. While it was nothing near her usual mode of dress, Gennie felt sure she could endure her short time in Denver clothed in such a manner. A smart pair of shoes in something approximating Denver's version of the latest Paris fas.h.i.+ons was added to the stack on the counter. When she returned to New York, she'd have a check sent to Mr. Beck as reimburs.e.m.e.nt.

She could do with this for a few days, but one good dress was not enough. The hideous garment she wore notwithstanding, she would need a second set of clothing. This she found in a mint-colored ensemble, which she decided to wear out of the store.

The surprised clerk pointed her to a back room, where she shed the saffron dress and tossed it into a rubbish bin. Gennie donned the mint gown and tied a ribbon sash around her waist, already feeling more like herself. And more like an adventurer. Perhaps she'd find someone to take her on a tour of Denver. If Mr. Beck released her from her duties, she'd have plenty of time to see the sights.

For that, she would need a proper riding outfit. She found a jacket in a lovely buckskin with fringe on the sleeves. Holding the supple leather to her nose, she inhaled what she knew immediately to be the fragrance of the Wild West.

As Gennie slipped it on over her new dress, she instantly felt transported to the pages of last month's novel. In it, Mae had worn a jacket much like this one while rescuing three small children from a mountain lion's attack.

A pair of boots beckoned, and she reached for them. Sliding out of her shoes, Gennie stepped into what could have pa.s.sed for a pair of Mae Winslow's own footwear. They were big enough to share and flopped when she attempted a step, but she didn't mind. The store was empty except for the clerk, who had returned to whatever called him up on the ladder.

Boots and a jacket with fringe on it. All she needed was a buckskin skirt and the appropriate hat, and she'd be as close to a Wild West adventure as she'd been since arriving in Denver.

Then she spied the section reserved for reading materials. There, prominently displayed on a shelf near the store's entrance, was the latest edition of Mae Winslow's adventures.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she couldn't move fast enough to fetch the slim volume from its resting place. The oversized boots slowed her down, but she managed a decent pace as she crossed the store.

Just as she reached for the novel, the store's door opened, hitting her squarely on the backside and sending her sprawling. She landed in a most unladylike heap, and volume XXVII of Mae's adventures came to a stop against a pair of well-worn boots.

Following them upward, Gennie's gaze slid past long legs, broad shoulders, and an even broader smile set between a pair of deep dimples. A fringe of sandy hair nearly hid eyes the color of a stormy afternoon as he leaned over her.

"What have we here?" he said in a dreamy combination of slow drawl and British aristocracy. "George," he called to the clerk, "it appears Mae Winslow has stepped off the pages of her latest penny dreadful and landed in your store."

Mae urged Lucky to a trot and left what remained of the shot-up snake baking in the afternoon sun. The skin would make Henry a lovely belt, and the rattles, well, maybe they'd entertain a little Henry Jr. someday.

"Henry Jr." She laughed as she spurred the horse to a full gallop. "Wouldn't that just be the dandiest thing? And maybe a little Mae, as well."

The Bible said a man with a quiver full of young 'uns was a man well blessed. Not that Henry's quiver would be full anytime soon. Even if they were married, she hadn't seen soap and water in a week. Likely he'd prefer she kept to the trail than start keeping house for him.

And for today, that suited her just fine. Especially with a dark cloud looming on the horizon. Mae stood in the stirrups and pushed her hat back, letting the wind do the job of brus.h.i.+ng the tangles from her hair. She'd ride for the caves and wait out whatever storm was blowing in.

Then tomorrow she'd see Deadwood and dear Henry.

Daniel could have stared at the woman sprawled before him until forced to stop, but propriety required he help her to her feet. How best to accomplish the trick eluded him, however, as the woman seemed incapable of helping in the process.

He offered his hand, but she merely stared. A question as to how he might a.s.sist went unanswered.

She seemed stunned into a complete stupor. Being a man, and a poor example of gentlemanly virtues on occasion, he took the opportunity to stare. And it was quite the opportunity.

Hair the color of honey and the texture of silk tumbled over the too-broad shoulders of the buckskin jacket and teased the collar of a prim and proper frock the shade of pistachio ice cream. Her cheeks had pinked to match her lips, forming a contrast that set his mind reeling.

Then he spied the boots.

While he'd never manage to wedge his feet into them, they were obviously far too large for this make-believe cowgirl. They also proved a great hindrance when she attempted to scramble to her feet, for the overlong soles merely slid along the polished floorboards like sleds on the North Slope. With nothing to hold her feet to the floor, the boots skidded and slipped but did not allow her to stand. Asking her to remove them would be most improper, as would questioning why she wore them in the first place.

Yet despite the oddness of her ensemble, she did look quite fetching in it.

"You're staring," she said, and unless he misunderstood, she'd added a saucy tone to the chastis.e.m.e.nt.

"I am," he said, "though no man with a pulse would fault me for it."

"And you have me at a disadvantage," she said, "for should I find fault with you, I've no recourse but to endure it."

Daniel grinned. Had this creature just crossed the delicate line between being a damsel in distress and being a damsel who was interested?

"Then I shall remedy the situation," he said, "though I might have to resort to extraordinary measures. Your ensemble, well, presents a bit of a problem."

"Yes, about that-"

He held up his hand to silence her. "No, don't tell me. You've gone missing from the Wild West show."

"Not exactly."

"You're a western version of Little Bo Peep, only instead of sheep, you've lost your cattle. I'm quite handy at finding things, so perhaps I might be of a.s.sistance."

"Indeed, you might," she said. "Though the a.s.sistance I most sorely need is likely not something you can help with. Now if you will excuse me, I'll gather my dignity."

"I beg to protest," he said. "I find your dignity quite intact."

"And yet I am sprawled on the floor like a wanton woman. Which I am decidedly not," she added quickly and with great emphasis.

"Ah, I do see the dilemma."

There was nothing to do but haul her upright, which he did. She landed on both feet, or rather both boots, and began sputtering some sort of nonsense that Daniel waved away even as he held tight to keep her from pitching forward.