by Regina Scott
Not that she’d ever seen that side of him, come to think of it. But it had to be there. She merely had to bring it out.
As in the tale of the ugly duckling she’d read as a child, she was certain Hart McCormick had a swan inside. He just didn’t know it yet. But, with her at his side, Seattle would soon see what a fine man held the position of deputy sheriff. And then the ladies would come running.
* * *
Hart dragged his feet going to the Pastry Emporium that afternoon. He told himself he had work to do. That was why he’d been out on the docks, after all. Weinclef at Kelloggs’ had confessed to finding another newcomer beaten in the alley beside the store. Hart wasn’t about to let the gang claim another victim. Whoever recruited the poor fellows must have a pleasing disguise, because the immigrants went willingly and didn’t want to implicate their benefactor in their troubles.
So, after seeing Beth off, he returned to the top of the docks, watching as the passengers from the San Francisco run climbed up onto the planks. The first pair were grizzled sourdoughs, looking for better pickings, it seemed. Likely they’d be too savvy to run afoul of Seattle’s newest gang. Next up the ladder from the longboat was a dapper gentleman with a lady and two lads in tow. They were probably safe as well. Single fellows were easier to peel away.
The next fellow was the perfect candidate. Tailored coat and plaid trousers, big grin on his face, as if even the frontier town delighted him. Carpetbag in hand, he strutted up the pier.
A lad materialized from behind a crate, startling the fellow. Hart frowned as the pair exchanged words. Then the youth fell into step beside the newcomer, as if guiding him along the dock.
Hart met them at the top of the wharf, feet planted and stance wide. The youth blanched. He could have been as old as fourteen, though his slender build and short stature made it equally likely he was younger. He quickly tugged down on his tweed cap and lowered his gaze, but not before Hart made out thick black hair.
“Afternoon,” Hart drawled. “I’m Deputy McCormick. Where might you be going?”
The man beamed at him. “My new friend here was about to show me a suitable place for a gentleman to lodge in your fair city.”
“Wasn’t that neighborly of him?” Hart eyed the youth. “Where are you headed, son?”
He bolted.
While the newcomer called out in protest, Hart gave chase. The adolescent darted among the wagons waiting to be loaded. Horses shifted, wagons swayed, drivers shouted a complaint. Nothing stopped the youth. Nothing stopped Hart either.
His quarry wove in and out among the traffic on Commercial Street, then paused before a shop. Was he daring Hart to follow him? Hart didn’t look at the name of the proprietor before diving after him.
Three women cried out, and he managed to stop himself before plowing into them. He recognized the two Denny ladies. He couldn’t mistake the woman with them.
Mrs. Jamison drew herself up. “Really, Deputy! What is the meaning of this?”
Hart nodded to her, gaze sweeping the shop. It ought to have been easy to spot a lad among all the fripperies, yet everything looked much as it had yesterday. “Forgive the interruption, Mrs. Jamison. I followed a possible felon into this shop. Did you see where he went?”
The Denny ladies clutched their chests as if fearing for their lives.
Mrs. Jamison narrowed her eyes. “Felon? What nonsense. The only person of the male persuasion to come through those doors in the last hour was my brother.”
Mrs. Arthur Denny, wife of the railroad president, collected herself and stepped forward, blue skirts swinging. “There must be some mistake, Deputy. Mrs. Jamison and her brother are new to our shores.”
“And she is a terribly talented seamstress,” her sister, who had married the wealthy land developer David Denny, brother of Arthur, added. “She and her brother are a credit to our town.”
Hart nodded. “Good to know. I’d like to meet the fellow.”
The Denny ladies looked to their hostess. Mrs. Jamison’s bow of a mouth was pressed tight together. Then it widened to a smile. “Why, certainly, Deputy. I’ll just fetch him for you.” She passed through the curtain at the back of the shop.
The two dark-haired sisters busied themselves with the sketches they must have been perusing before he’d burst in on them. He could imagine Beth poring over the things as avidly.
He cleared his throat even though he hadn’t spoken his thoughts aloud. Both of the ladies were members of the Literary Society. No sense giving them more ideas.
Mrs. Jamison floated back in with a young man at her side. He wore no coat over his cambric shirt and wool trousers, and his black hair was parted to fall neatly on either side of his face. He acted more diffident, but Hart was certain the lad was the same one he’d chased from the wharf.
Mrs. Jamison’s long-fingered hand rested on her brother’s shoulder. “Bobby, this is Deputy McCormick. He wanted to meet you. Deputy, this is my brother, Robert Donovan.”
Hart inclined his head. The adolescent gazed back, mute.
“Donovan,” he acknowledged. “I’m glad to meet you. Tell me what you were doing down by the dock.”
Mrs. Jamison’s fingers must have tightened on his shoulder, for the cambric stretched under her hand. “You must be mistaken, Deputy. My brother knows better than to visit such a dangerous place.”
Still the lad said nothing. Hart cocked his head. “We know otherwise, don’t we?”
Donovan swallowed.
His sister’s hand slipped around his shoulders. “Oh, Bobby, you didn’t. I told you it was no good meeting the ship. None of your friends are coming north. And we don’t have the money to send you back to San Francisco.”
Donovan hung his head.
Mrs. Jamison met Hart’s gaze, tears shimmering in her violet eyes. “I’m sorry, Deputy. Bobby didn’t want to come north, but there was nothing for us in San Francisco after my husband died. Please forgive him if he caused any trouble. He just wanted to find a friend.”
As if fighting tears himself, Donovan gave a brave sniff.
Hart straightened. “No harm done. But do as your sister says, lad, and stay away from the docks. If you want to make friends, you’d do better to attend school.”
Mrs. Jamison beamed at her brother. “Of course. We’ll be enrolling him at the North School at the start of next term.” She turned her look on Hart. “Thank you, Deputy, for your kind concern. May I send something home to your sweetheart to show my appreciation? Perhaps a length of ribbon?”
“Mr. McCormick doesn’t have a sweetheart,” the elder Mrs. Denny put in with a sly look to Hart.
“Though many of his dear friends would like to see that remedied,” her sister added with a giggle.
Mrs. Jamison turned the same shade of pink as her wallpaper. “Then you must send her to see me when you propose. I specialize in wedding dresses.”
Hart tipped his hat. “Very kind of you, ma’am, but I’m afraid that time might be a long while coming.”
The seamstress fluttered her dark lashes. “Perhaps not as long as you fear. A lawman like you would make a devoted husband and father. See how well you did with Bobby?”
The boy glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. “I hope you’ll come by often, Deputy.”
His sister’s smile tightened. “Now, now, Bobby. Deputy McCormick must be very busy. We’ll be fine. Haven’t I always taken care of you?”
Her brother didn’t answer, dropping his gaze and shuffling his feet.
He didn’t fool Hart. There was something going on with Bobby Donovan and his lovely older sister. Hart made up his mind to keep an eye on them both. Right after he made sure Beth hadn’t settled on a bride.
Chapter Four
“Are you certain this is advisable, Miss Wallin?”
Beth smiled encouragement to the woman sitting beside her in the Pastry Emporium. Honoria Jenkins was a gentle lady who had been hired to teach at the newly opened North School, starting after Easter. Her light
brown hair, cornflower-blue eyes and rosy cheeks made her resemble one of the glass-eyed dolls on display at Kelloggs’.
“We are in a public place,” Beth assured her, waving at the neat little wrought-iron tables and glass display case the bakery boasted. “And I’m here as a chaperone.”
Miss Jenkins adjusted the brown velvet hat on her sleek hair. “But won’t Deputy McCormick suspect this is more than a casual meeting?”
Beth certainly hoped so. “As I mentioned, Mr. McCormick is seeking a wife. I’m merely facilitating introductions as his good friend.”
The schoolteacher eyed the door as if expecting Father Christmas to arrive with a bag of presents. “He sounds like quite a catch.”
“Oh, he is.” Beth picked up the cup of chamomile she had ordered. “Upstanding, loyal, a hard worker. He’s the law in this area.”
Miss Jenkins sighed. “How heroic.” She turned her blue gaze back to Beth. “Why aren’t you pursuing him yourself?”
Beth’s face heated. She set down her cup and selected one of the lemon drop cookies, her personal favorite, then took a bite and swallowed before answering.
“He’s like a brother to me.”
The lemon drop was like dust in Beth’s mouth. Maddie Haggerty, longtime friend and owner of the Pastry Emporium, must have had an off day. Beth took another sip of the tea to wash things down. It didn’t help.
Suddenly the couple sitting closest to the window gasped, and others began rising. Beth caught a glimpse of a dark-coated rider and a black horse pelting past, heard the shouts accompanying them. Her heart started beating faster.
Miss Jenkins pressed a hand to the ruffles at her throat. “What is it?”
“Deputy McCormick, I believe,” Beth answered, rising. “Come on.”
She hurried to the window, where the other patrons had collected, voices buzzing as they vied for the best position to watch. Beth squeezed in and pulled Miss Jenkins with her. Down the block, Hart and Arno veered against a team of horses thundering along, reins flapping. As she watched, he leaned over in the saddle, caught the reins, and pulled both Arno and the team to a halt. The elderly driver trembled while his wife buried her face in his shoulder.
“Runaway team,” someone said. “Good thing McCormick was on duty.”
“As usual,” Beth said, drawing a breath.
Miss Jenkins pulled her gaze from the street to stare at Beth as the others returned to their seats. “How can you be so calm? Someone might have been killed.”
“Possibly,” Beth allowed, taking her arm to lead her back to their table. “But you see how he rescued them. Mr. McCormick is a gentleman who can be counted upon.”
Miss Jenkins looked thoughtful.
They had no sooner settled themselves than the door opened to the ring of the shop bell. Hart stepped inside, leather duster settling against his black boots. His hard gaze bypassed the display counter with its dozens of frosted and spiced treats, and narrowed in instead on the patrons gathered at the tables. Some of the other patrons applauded. He gave them a nod.
Beth rose as he approached.
He removed his hat, the sunlight from the window gilding his short-cropped black hair. “Miss Wallin.” His look moved to her companion.
As if she was guilty of some crime, Miss Jenkins paled, and she pushed the cookies away from her.
“Good afternoon, Deputy,” Beth said determinedly. “May I introduce a new acquaintance of mine, Honoria Jenkins. Miss Jenkins, this is Deputy Hart McCormick.”
Hart inclined his head. “Ma’am.”
She dropped her gaze. “Deputy. Won’t you join us?”
With a look to Beth that held any number of misgivings, he drew up a chair.
“Cookie?” Miss Jenkins asked, offering the plate. “They’re quite good.”
“No, thanks,” he said. “Never was too partial to lemon.”
She set down the plate, wrinkling her nose. “Too tart. I quite agree.”
Odd. She’d consumed four of the things before Hart had arrived and even agreed with Beth they were one of Maddie’s best.
“That was very brave of you just now,” the schoolteacher continued, folding her gloved hands demurely on the table. “Miss Wallin told me you’re quite the hero, but now I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes.”
His gaze swung Beth’s way, and she had to stop herself from squirming. She raised her chin instead. “Everyone here saw what you did. We all know you stand between the citizens of the county and every sort of danger.”
He snorted, leaning back in his chair as if to distance himself from the very notion. “Folks in King County are pretty good about spotting danger and protecting themselves. I’m just here for when things get out of hand.”
Miss Jenkins leaned closer to him. “And do they get out of hand often?” she asked.
Hart frowned as if he could not understand her breathless interest.
“Miss Jenkins is new to our shores,” Beth explained. “I’m sure she’d appreciate your assessment of the area.”
Hart shrugged. “Things are fairly safe. Only had one cougar attack in the last month, and Sheriff Wyckoff and his dogs chased it off. Natives left on this side of the Sound are friendly for the most part. Last time anyone was murdered was a few months ago—family out Columbia way—shot in their beds. We strung up the killers.”
Miss Jenkins was turning whiter with each word.
“But everything in Seattle is fine,” Beth rushed to assure her. “Kind people, industrious...”
“Few drunken brawls on the weekend, petty theft in the mercantiles...”
“Four churches now,” Beth continued, raising her voice.
“A gang along the waterfront, beating and robbing newcomers.”
Beth gave up and glared at him. “A vicious gang, in Seattle?”
“Never underestimate man’s ability to prey on man, Miss Wallin,” he insisted, with a nod to Miss Jenkins. “Or woman.”
She rose in a flutter of brown, like a sparrow startled from its nest. “Thank you for inviting me to tea, Miss Wallin. I fear I must be going. I’ll be starting work shortly, and I won’t have time for more of these...social events. Deputy.”
Hart had risen when she did, but she scooted out the door before he could bid her farewell. With a frown, he settled himself back onto his chair. “Curious woman. Doesn’t say much.”
“Because you wouldn’t let her get a word in,” Beth accused. “What were you thinking, filling her head with dangers and drama? I’ll be surprised if she sets one foot outside her door the next two days.”
Hart reached for a cookie. “If she’s that timid, she shouldn’t have come to Seattle.”
Beth stared at him as he popped the morsel whole into his mouth. “I thought you didn’t like lemon drops.”
“They’re tolerable,” he allowed, reaching for another.
Heat flushed through her and not from embarrassment this time. “You did that on purpose.”
“Did what?” His face and voice were bland, but he didn’t fool her.
“You went out of your way to be unpleasant to Miss Jenkins. Surely you guessed I was trying to match you up with her.”
“Couldn’t think of any other reason she’d be here.”
Beth threw up her hands. “You didn’t even try to see if she was suitable.”
“We won’t suit.” He’d finished the last of the cookies and pushed the plate away. “No man wants a wife who can’t stomach to hear about his work.”
There was that. Beth sighed. “Very well. I suppose she might be too timid for a fellow like you.”
He nodded, leaning back in his chair as if satisfied. Something inside her itched to remove that smug smile.
“I should have thought to ask,” she said sweetly. “What do you prefer in your bride?”
His smile snuffed out. “I’m not looking for a bride.”
Stubborn! Like most of his kind. Beth smiled at him. “You’re quite right. I’m seeking you a bride.” She lea
ned forward. “You don’t have all that many choices, you know. There are still far more men than women here. And the other ladies I’ve approached have been reticent.”
He nodded. “Good. I always knew the ladies of Seattle were a smart lot.”
“But that doesn’t mean there aren’t ladies who would be willing to have you court them,” Beth insisted. “I’ll try to take your ideas into consideration, if you’d care to share.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, setting his badge to winking in the light. “Never gave it much thought.”
“Really? I know women who have the gown all picked out and are just waiting for the fellow to go on their arm.” When he frowned, she pushed on. “Let’s start with physique. Slender or ample?”
Was that a touch of color working its way into his firm cheeks? “I am not having this conversation with you.”
She smothered a laugh, keeping her tone pleasant. “Whyever not? It’s in your best interest. I certainly don’t want to waste my time on women you wouldn’t look at twice.”
“This whole thing is a waste of time,” he grumbled, shifting in his seat.
“Blonde, brunette, raven-haired, redhead?” Beth persisted.
He glanced toward the curtain covering the opening to the bakery kitchen, where the redheaded Maddie Haggerty was likely hard at work. “There’s something to be said for red hair.”
She’d wondered from time to time whether Hart had had a soft spot for the spunky Irish baker before Maddie had married her dashing husband, Michael. She must have been sitting too long, for the little chair seemed suddenly hard.
“Not too easy to find them,” she said. “What else?”
She heard his sigh. “Can’t you leave well enough alone?”
She almost gave up. His shoulders were tight, his hands braced on the table as if he wanted nothing more than to escape. She reached out, laid her hand atop one of his.