by Tysche Dwai
She gave him a brisk nod before exiting the gambling hall. Her entire body shook. Dear God, she’d been caught. Yet she decided the man named Royce wouldn’t reveal her identity so long as she didn’t return.
Maybe the time had come to quit gambling. With the money she’d won she could pay off her debts and still afford several months’ room and board at her present domain. Best of all, she could send for her family. At long last, perhaps she could settle down and pen the novel she wanted to write, not another dime-store story.
If I win a few more times, I’ll have a better cushion. Is it worth the risk?
In less than an hour, it would be dark. She strode briskly down the street and headed for home. Stepping down from the boardwalk, she paused as a horse and rider sped by. She was midway across the street when she heard pounding hooves and squeaky wagon wheels coming toward her. Looking to her right, she saw a wagon barreling down on her and she picked up her pace.
Suddenly, a hard body slammed her to the ground. A pair of muscular arms settled around her waist and rolled her across the street just as the wagon passed by. Stunned, her face smashed into the hard-packed dirt road, Grace lifted the only part of her body she felt capable of moving—her face. The heavy body still lay atop her.
She squirmed beneath the weight and gasped aloud, “Let me up!”
The weight eased, and then a pair of hands pulled her to standing. In the dim light of dusk, Grace had no problem recognizing the big man in front of her. John O’Connell. A look of apology filled his face. “Sorry, mister. Thought you were about to become dust under those wagon wheels.”
Grace scowled at him but said not a word. If she spoke, he would recognize her in an instant.
His eyes narrowed at her continued silence and averted gaze. “Grace?”
Chapter Three
Grace made a production out of brushing off her suit. Looking furtively around, she was satisfied to see no one else about. They stood outside a saloon. The noise would prevent anyone from learning that the lucky Gray Morrison was actually Grace Morgan.
Although she’d won enough money to live on, and enough to send for her brother and aunt, there was no telling what tomorrow would bring. Maintaining her identity was important if she ever needed to gamble again.
“Yes, it’s me,” she muttered while heat seeped into her face. Lord, what must this man think of her?
“Why are you dressed like—”
Hearing voices nearby, Grace reached up, covered his mouth with her hand and shook her head. He nodded in understanding just as two men she recognized from the gambling hall earlier came into view.
The men scowled at her as they passed by.
Looking at John, she said softly, “You, sir, are too observant.”
He shrugged. “I’m a teacher. It’s what I do best. I read, watch, listen, learn then instruct. Besides,” he added with a smile, “You have the most memorable eyes. Now, would you care to explain to me why you’re dressed in menswear?”
“It’s none of your business.”
Drawing nearer, he said, “That won’t work any more, Miss Morgan. I’ve caught you red-handed.”
Giving a quick look around, Grace straightened her jacket. “It appears you have the advantage at the moment, doesn’t it?”
“Appears so, ma’am.”
“I’ve my reasons, and that’s all I’ll say about it.” And then, with indignation, added, “What do you think you’re doing?” He was practically dragging her down the street. She yanked herself free of his grasp.
“Escorting you home.” A confused look crossed his face, and he halted in front of her. “You aren’t pregnant, are you?”
“No,” she admitted.
“Then why did you lead me to believe you were? And why would you want to live in a house for women of unfortunate circumstances, anyway? What about your reputation?”
“It was cheap housing and all I could afford. As for my reputation, no one in Bozeman knows me.”
Frowning, he said, “How did you manage to get by your landlady dressed like a man?”
“That,” she said, “was fairly easy. As I was leaving, I explained to Mrs. Couture that I was a doctor there to pay a visit to one of the women. My landlady, thank the Lord, is not a bit observant. She didn’t recognize me, unlike you.”
“Yes, well, now we’ve got to figure out a way to get you back inside the house.”
Grace raised her chin. “I’ll find my own way, thank you very much.”
“You will need help.”
He pulled a tin box from his inside jacket pocket, opened the lid and pulled out a cigar. They set off once more as he tucked the box away. With the cigar clamped between his teeth, he dug a match from another pocket, struck it against a brick building in passing and lit the cigar. Grace enjoyed the silence between them, the aroma from his cigar somehow soothing her. Soon they reached her dwelling. Standing outside an iron gate, she stared up at the building.
“What is it?” John asked.
“You’re right. Mrs. Couture will be suspicious at seeing me a second time,”
“You’ll have to change clothes then.”
“I’ve no clothes with me other than what I’m wearing.” Scowling, she added, “It seems I didn’t plan this very well.”
“I gather this is the first time you have portrayed a man, then?” He snubbed his cigar out against the gate, tucked it back inside its tin box and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
“No, I’ve done it several times. It’s just that I’ve always taken rooms at larger hotels where no one would take much notice of another body coming and going.”
John shook his head and a crooked smile crossed his lips. “Well then, I suppose there’s nothing to do except take you home with me.”
She bristled on principle. “I beg your pardon!”
He tapped off the end of his cigar before tossing it away. Raising an eyebrow at her, he watched her with that mild smile.
She couldn’t help considering his proposition as a solution to her dilemma. Tomorrow, when the shops opened, she could purchase a new gown, underpinnings and shoes. What a complete waste of money that would be. She remembered then how she’d left the window to her room on the second floor open.
“Come around the back with me a minute.” She strode briskly across the lawn and to the back of the house.
She heard John on her heels, muttering, “What in the world do you have up your sleeve now.”
Casting a quick grin at him, she whispered, “Aptly put, Mr. O’Connell. I think I’ve a solution as to how to get inside the house without being caught.”
He groaned as he looked up at the tree to which she was pointing.
“No. Absolutely not. You’re not going to climb it.”
“True. I’m not, but you are.”
“Excuse me?” he said, sending her a narrowed look.
“What would your mama think if you didn’t come to my aid in this moment of my need?”
John’s jaw jutted out. “You’re serious.”
She nodded.
Heaving a sigh, he tore off his jacket and rolled back his sleeves.
Grace was satisfied when John, a large, masculine specimen if there ever was one, easily climbed the tree. Just the thought of having to deal with Mrs. Couture made her shudder. Anger filled her then. She didn’t owe the woman any explanations.
“Which window is it?” he called out as quietly as he could.
“You’re right in front of it. Oh, John! You are the most chivalrous of men to help me this way.”
“Oh-oh,” he remarked.
She shouted, “What is it?”
“Quiet!” he ordered. “Mrs. Couture is in your room.”
“Darn it!” Grace replied.
“Even worse.”
“Heavens, what?”
“She’s looking straight at me.”
“Oh, no!”
Mrs. Couture’s scream rent the air at the same time John scrambled down from the tree.
On the last branch, his shoe got caught in the foliage. He fell the rest of the way, landing on his ass on the hard-packed ground. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed her arm and started running like the hounds of Hell were on their heels. When they’d put a few blocks behind them, their run slowed to a casual stroll and they walked side by side, hands buried deep in their pockets.
Grace shivered when a police trolley pulled by horses tore past them, horns honking.
John grimaced. “Damn, the fool woman’s reported me to the police.”
“Do you think she recognized you?”
He paused a moment then said, “I don’t think so. If she had I’m guessing she would have thrown up the sash and frozen me with one of her looks, or given me a tongue-lashing, or, worse, shoved me out of the tree.” He scowled at Grace as they turned a corner. “Are you satisfied now? Whatever gave you such a hair-brained idea, anyway?”
Grace shrugged. “I thought it worth a try. It seems now I’ve no choice but to go home with you and return in the morning for my possessions. I’ve a feeling, after discovering I’ve been gone all night, Mrs. Couture won’t want me staying at St. Angel’s. Do you have a house?”
“I’ve an apartment on the University of Montana campus.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “You’re a professor, not a teacher.”
“Same thing,” he replied modestly.
“I see.” She’d been right from the beginning; he was an educated man. Suddenly she felt intimidated by the fact. Obtaining a degree in literature and writing had always been her dream—one she guessed she would never fulfill. Her parents had had little education. Her father had been a textile merchant who subsidized his meager living by gambling. Instead of bringing home his earnings, however, he spent it on drink.
Straightening her spine, she said, “I thank you for your offer and I accept, Mr. O’Connell.”
“John, please.”
“John,” she said agreeably. She noticed how his face softened when he looked down at her. As befitted a gentleman, he no doubt wanted to take her arm. With her dressed as a man, it simply wouldn’t look proper.
“Have you a spare bedroom in your apartment?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, no, but we’ll figure something out.”
Grace caught the heightened color of his cheeks and laughed.
His head whipped toward her, and he scowled. “What?”
“You’re embarrassed at the thought of me staying with you, aren’t you? You needn’t have invited me, you know. I’ve always been a resourceful woman.”
“You call dressing yourself like a man, and living in a home for wayward women resourceful?”
“As a matter of fact I do.”
“I call it pure stupidity,” he snapped.
Anger and hurt flared through Grace at the man’s audacity. How often had her own father called her stupid? How often had he called her ridiculous? Never could she please the man. She’d even taken up learning his card games and playing against him to try and earn his admiration—and love. It hadn’t helped. It was only after he died a year ago that she began to think she wasn’t stupid or ridiculous. He’d simply been a hateful, cruel man who happened to also be a drunkard. Her mother had tried to make up for her father’s shortcomings with his children. Her attempts hadn’t eased Grace’s feelings of inadequacy. With her growth in confidence in the past year, she’d vowed to never allow anyone to bring her down again.
“You can take your offer...” she began, but couldn’t finish. Turning on her heel, she stalked away. If she stayed, she knew she’d do something she’d regret. Bash him over the head, for one.
“Wait! Grace, stop!”
She heard his footsteps behind her and broke into an all out run, her footsteps pounding in her ears against the wooden planking of the boardwalk.
After turning two more corners, she didn’t hear him any more and slowed her pace as she tried to decide where to stay for the night. She turned around to scan the street, satisfied when she didn’t see him. She faced forward again, and John suddenly appeared right in front of her.
Grace screamed. “My, God, you scared the ever-living... You shouldn’t sneak up on people!”
“And you shouldn’t have run off the way you did,” he muttered. “Come home with me. Whatever I said or did, I apologize. In good conscience, I cannot allow you to roam the streets like this. It’ll be dark soon. It’s not safe.”
Grace felt like an utter fool running off the way she had. She felt even worse when she saw the sincerity in his face. She had nowhere else to go and so, with a nod, she fell into step beside him.
Wordlessly, they arrived at the school a short time later. Grace’s gaze swept the lawn before her, eying the massive brick buildings that appeared dignified and austere—places where people came to learn everything they would need to pursue their life’s ambition. Excitement filled Grace at the thought of attending classes.
“What do you teach, John?”
“Agriculture.”
She stared at him, eyes widening. “Truly? You mean farming?”
He nodded.
“You have farming in your blood then?”
They walked past the last building and crossed an expanse of grass. “Yes, my family has been farming in Minnesota for three generations. Since I’m an only son, it was difficult for my father when I decided not to follow in his footsteps by actually farming the land. Luckily, two of my sisters’ husbands gladly worked for my father ever since they married into the family.”
“Why did you become a teacher?”
“In my seventh year in school, I had the opportunity to attend a special school of higher learning in St. Paul. I had tested well, and my teacher at the time managed to secure a scholarship for me. My father wasn’t happy about it, but my mother insisted I be given the opportunity.” He smiled and added, “My father, while a hard taskmaster, would never think to make my mother unhappy so he reluctantly consented. Moving to the city afforded me an opportunity to see more of the world. I knew after the first year I wasn’t meant to be a farmer. I could teach about it. I obtained scholarships each year, so I stayed on and graduated. I had received several offers to attend colleges across the country. I chose, for my parents’ sake, to stay closer to home.”
“And now you’re far, far away from Minnesota.”
He nodded. “And enjoying every minute. It is time I led my own life.” He glanced down at her. “How about you? Where are you from? I hear the Deep South in your voice.”
“Georgia.”
“Ah,” he said, “A place I’ve dreamed of visiting, but haven’t yet had the opportunity.”
He paused outside a three-story red brick building, one of several in a row on a block, and pulled a key from his pocket. After unlocking the door, he motioned her inside. He covertly looked around before entering behind her and closing the door.
Professor Roger Carlson stepped out from behind a tree and smirked, watching John O’Connell enter his apartment—with another man. No guests were allowed in the employees’ apartments and Roger felt it his duty to report the new professor to the college’s President, Randall LaFoy.
Roger wore the absent-minded professor façade well, a disguise for his true purpose at the college. Spying on the new staff for human frailties encompassed many...intriguing tasks. After years of keeping his own secrets, Roger found himself jealous of the two men—no matter what their relationship.
His eyes narrowed when he thought of the smaller man. There was something about him that bothered him, exactly what he had no idea. He’d find out sooner or later.
Chapter Four
John snapped the door closed and leaned against it, watching his houseguest move through his apartment and into the parlor. An uneasy feeling had come over him as he stood outside his apartment moments ago.
He had glanced around before entering, but hadn’t noticed anything unusual. Imagination playing tricks on him, he mused, knowing well it was against house rules to have any visitor
s. But he couldn’t ignore the fact that Grace had nowhere else to go.
He stayed against the door, his arms folded across his chest as he watched her peruse his personal possessions. She bent over to examine a photograph of his family on a side table. Her jacket had ridden up in the back, revealing a plaid-covered, curvaceous bottom. Abruptly, she straightened and turned to him and he met her eyes.
“This,” she said, waving her arm around the room, “is much nicer than my rooms. Standard fare for professors?”
“No. I’m subletting the place from another professor who is in Europe teaching for the school year. I was lucky.”
She raised her brow. “And if you hadn’t been lucky?”
Laughing, he said, “I’d be staying in one of the tiny apartments in a student dormitory.”
Smiling, she sank onto the end of the divan. “With the students? Now that would be interesting, you have to admit.”
“True. And I very well may end up there next year since the owner of this apartment will be returning.”
“Tell me more about yourself, John O’Connell.”
With a shake of his head, he sat on the opposite end of the divan. “I believe it’s time you talked about yourself. What are you doing here in Bozeman? Apparently, you’re alone. Are you employed?”
She sighed and murmured, “I gamble for a living.”
“You...gamble? Isn’t that sort of risky? Why not pursue reputable employment?”
“Because I have no employable skills, for one thing. I’m good at gambling.”
“I’d hardly call gambling a means for making a living,” he said dryly.
“On the contrary, if one is good enough, it’s very lucrative.”
“Have you no other skills, then?”
“No, unfortunately. My parents didn’t believe in women being educated beyond the basics of reading and writing and a bit of ‘rithmetic, and how to manage a home.” She sighed and added, “They expected me to marry a local boy. I refused. Attending college has always been my unfulfilled dream.”