Alli spun around. “Oh, no you don’t—your obligation officially ended with our last lesson. I am now skilled and perfectly able to take care of myself, remember?”
Drumstick lodged in his teeth, he held the screen door open with a roll of his eyes. “Not on my wasch, Mish McClare,” he said, voice nearly indistinct for the food in his mouth. He plucked the chicken leg out and motioned for her to go. “Your uncle hired me to teach and see you home until the last class, and that’s what I intend to do.” He sent Mrs. Lemp a wink. “Keep a plate warm, if you please, Mrs. Lemp, or I’ll be showing you ‘crusty.’ ”
A chorus of giggles and goodbyes followed them out the door as Alli shook her head, skittering down the steps like a frisky puppy in dire need of a leash. “Honestly, Nick, you don’t have to walk me home. All I really need are directions to Spanish Alley, and I’ll be fine.”
He froze on the steps—while the chicken froze in his mouth. “What?”
She turned at the bottom of the stairs, the picture of innocence. “I was hoping to visit a friend who has done our laundry for years now—Lili Chen. She lives on Spanish Alley, I understand, but she’s always picked up and delivered, so I’ve never actually been to her shop.”
The drumstick nearly crashed to the ground along with his jaw. “In Chinatown?” he rasped, choking chicken crust down before he sailed the bone into the trash barrel at the back of the yard. His eyes bulged as he wiped his fingers on his handkerchief, unable to comprehend this woman’s latest harebrained notion. “Are you crazy?”
The green eyes narrowed. “No, Mr. Pinhead, I’m not, but I have my suspicions about you if you think you can dictate where I may go.” The chin rose. “One . . . two . . . three . . .”
He groaned, biting back the insult that hovered on the tip of his tongue. “I’m-sorry-Miss-McClare,” he enunciated in a clipped tone, careful to meet the terms of their truce, “but Chinatown is part of the Barbary Coast and far too seedy for you to go alone, remember?”
She blinked, obviously taken aback by this bit of news. She gummed her lips in thought. “Oh. I guess I forgot.”
He fought a grunt with a strain of his jaw. Oh, big surprise.
Her chest rose and fell with a heavy draw of air before she expelled it again, tone considerably more amenable. “Well, then, if you don’t mind, Nick, can I trouble you to accompany me to Spanish Alley on our way home?”
“I mind,” he said in a near growl, steering her through the side alley to the front. “There’s no way you can go traipsing through Chinatown on social calls this time of night, so you may as well forget it.”
She balked with a dig of her heels. “And just exactly why not, Mr. Barone?” The clipped use of his formal name gave fair warning her ire was on the rise.
He turned and parked hands low on his hips, feeling a bit of jaw-grinding coming on. “Because the sights you’re likely to see at night are not pretty, Miss McClare. There are brothels on every corner where women and little girls peer at you through iron-barred windows. Poor souls sold into prostitution at a young age and exposed to harsh treatment and disease.”
“Why, th-that’s n-nothing short of b-barbaric,” she stuttered.
He folded his arms, her rich-girl naïveté starting to rankle. “So is living in the lap of luxury on Nob Hill, Miss McClare, while children sleep in gutters with rats, but it happens.” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth when a sheen of tears welled in her eyes. Releasing a heavy exhale, he plunged his hands in his pockets, suddenly ashamed for the way he always harped on her wealth. As if she could help being born with a silver spoon in her mouth. “Look, Alli,” he said quietly, “I apologize for that last remark. It was . . .”
“Rude and unfeeling?” She blinked several times as if to dispel her tears, and he sighed again, wishing she didn’t elicit such protective feelings.
“Yeah, and ‘testy, crusty, and cantankerous,’ ” he said with a faint smile, hoping to coax a similar response. “Forgive me?”
She peered up beneath dark lashes spiked with moisture, those lush lips quivering into a smile so sweet, it took everything in him not to pull her into his arms and taste it for himself.
“On one condition.”
He couldn’t contain the groan this time. “What?”
She tilted her head. “Take me to Chinatown, please? Just once?”
“Allison, no—”
“But I’ve never been there before, Nick,” she said with that little-girl plea that reminded him so much of Lottie. “And I need to.” Her voice trailed to a whisper. “To see the . . . degradation that some women are forced to live with so I can understand and maybe help someday.” She gave him a hopeful look, compassion literally burning in those deadly green eyes. “Please . . . ?”
He mauled his face with his hands, the smell of fried chicken lingering on his fingers. I need to be whacked with that stick of hers for what I’m about to do . . .
“It’s the last time you’ll have to bother with me, I promise.”
Yeah, right. His eyelids lifted to take in the glow of adventure in her innocent face, the thrill of independence in eyes that already held way too much sway . . . He huffed out a blast of air that branded him for the moron she’d believed him to be. “In and out, then home, got it?”
“Oh, yes, yes!” She launched into his arms with a hug that robbed his lungs of all air, thankfully paralyzing his body lest he respond in a way neither of them wanted.
Or needed.
She pulled away with a giggle, the flush in her cheeks a perfect complement to creamy skin and ebony hair. “You won’t regret it, Nick, I promise,” she said with a bounce in her step.
Already do. Clamping a hand to her arm, he all but dragged her down the street while she chattered on, unable to shake the feeling that this was a tactical error.
Her lively step kept pace with his long-legged gait, scurrying to keep up. “And after Chinatown, you have my word that I’ll hop on that cable car and go straight home all by myself.”
“Wrong. After Chinatown, I’ll get on that stupid cable car to see you home, nausea or no.”
“Seriously, Nick, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, Allison, I do,” he emphasized with a stern lift of his brow. “The terms of my contract were to walk you home after each lesson and by thunder, I’ll honor them.” His lips thinned in disgust. “The last thing I need is your rich uncle on my back.”
Her excitement dimmed as she came to a dead stop, a hint of hurt in her tone. “You don’t like him, do you?” she whispered, sorrowful eyes indication she held her uncle in high esteem.
His jaw tightened as he secured her arm, tugging her on. “He’s not on my Christmas card list, if that’s what you mean.”
“Why?” she asked, voice quiet and gaze burning his profile. “Why don’t you like him?”
He shot her a sideways look, her uncle and Darla Montesino reminding him just why he didn’t trust the upper class. “Because I don’t trust rich men or their power-hungry families,” he said with a bite in his tone, wishing he’d never drawn close to Allison McClare.
“That includes me, I suppose?” The hurt in her voice made him feel like a jerk.
Expelling a weary exhale, he glanced both ways at the corner of Jackson and Montgomery. He gripped her upper arm to practically carry her catty-corner across the cobblestone street to Chinatown. “It did,” he groused, annoyed that he no longer looked at her that way. His voice softened despite the clip of his words. “But you’re different. Kind. Unpretentious. Giving rather than taking.” He released her arm on the other side of the street, continuing on with a brisk gait, hands shoved deep in his pockets and shoulders hunched. His eyes narrowed as he stared straight ahead into the kaleidoscope world of Chinatown—as foreign to the city as Allison was to the greedy and pompous upper class that had ruined his life. Bitterness roiled, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. “And nothing like your uncle.”
She slowed him with a gentle touch, d
rawing his gaze when she stopped. “You’re wrong about Uncle Logan, you know,” she said quietly. “He’s a good man, Nick.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “I’m sure he is to you, but the simple truth is men with money like your Uncle Logan execute power with a sharp blade.” His eyes locked with hers, ignoring the curious stares of Chinatown residents as they milled around them. “Haven’t you heard the expression ‘power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely’?”
Her chin inched up the barest degree. “Of course I have, but Uncle Logan is not corrupt.”
“Says the woman with a silver spoon in her mouth.” He huffed out a noisy breath, tired of pussyfooting with a society dame who didn’t know which end was up. “I don’t mean to offend, Allison, but your head’s in the clouds up there on that hill, totally ignorant of the damage men like your uncle do to the poor beneath their upper-crust feet.” His jaw hardened along with his tone while he stared her down, hands loose on his hips. “Like my good friend whose grandson was murdered because of a quarantine your uncle Logan helped put in place.”
All blood siphoned from her face, making her wide green eyes and coal-black hair all the more stark and beautiful. “What d-do you mean?” she whispered, her hurt unleashing his guilt.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging the seeds of a headache as he exhaled loudly. “Look, Alli, that was uncalled for and I apologize.” Glancing at his watch, he forced a tight smile. “It’s getting late, so let’s not ruin the last few minutes we’ll ever spend together, okay? I’ll give you a quick tour, and if you’re a good girl, I’ll even buy you a moon cake.”
That did the trick. Nick battled a grin when her eyes circled as wide as her mouth. “Oooo, what’s a moon cake?” she asked, clearly sidetracked from their clash over her uncle.
His grin broke free at her little-girl enthusiasm, pride swelling that he could be the first to introduce her to this Chinese tradition. “Don’t get too excited—they don’t taste all that great, but it’s part of the Chinatown experience. It’s a moon-shaped pastry with this awful lotus-seed paste, kind of fruity, but a bit sour in taste.”
His gaze flicked to where tattered red flags of a Chinese bakery waved in the breeze, and he pressed a palm to her back to speed up her pace. Which wasn’t easy. She was like Alice in Wonderland, jaw slack and reticule clutched to her chest while she gawked, drinking in every detail as if it were the green tea Ming Chao served in his restaurant.
He latched on to her arm to guide her where he wanted to go, but that didn’t stop her head from swiveling to and fro, mesmerized with something as simple as a neighborhood grocery where dead ducks hung limp and greasy in dirty windows. She wrinkled her nose at the putrid smell of garbage from baskets of rotten vegetables thick with flies, tainted further by the body odor of the milling crowd. Her pace slowed when she spotted a ragged little boy chatting with a white-bearded man in front of a ramshackle store, the boy’s knee-length queue snaking down his back. A cloud of sweet smoke drifted in the air, engulfing both the boy and the old man as he puffed on a long, carved pipe.
A frown marred her features as she swallowed hard, apparently no longer enthralled with the scent of opium now that she knew what it was. “Do a lot of people smoke opium in Chinatown?” she whispered.
Nick’s mouth crooked. “Enough.”
“Oh,” she muttered weakly while a knot shifted in her throat. Her gaze strayed across the street where ten-foot wooden doors lined the front of a chipped stone building. Emblazoned with garish yellow stars and grimy windows with tarnished brass grates, it obviously intrigued her like everything else in Chinatown. “Oh my, what an . . . interesting building,” she whispered, a hint of reverence to her tone. “Is that a church or a temple?”
He couldn’t help it—he grinned. “It’s a brothel, Miss McClare—yet another reason why you need an escort, if you can’t tell a house of prostitution from a house of God.”
Her cheeks bloomed with color, and he shook his head. If ever there was an innocent, it was Allison McClare, and the very thought tightened his grip on her arm.
“Oh, my.” She peeked up with such an adorable smile, his heart did a flip. “You were right—this is too seedy for me alone, which makes me all the more grateful for your company.”
He pursed his lips, unable to thwart a flicker of a smile. “Yeah, well, it’s the last time, Miss McClare, so get your fill now because my days of playing escort are over.”
Her chin jutted high. “Yes, they are, and I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done, not the least of which is allowing me to experience a part of my city I’ve longed to see forever.” The color heightened in her creamy cheeks as she clutched his arm with a new bounce in her step. “And you have my word,” she continued in a bubbly rush, “after Chinatown, I’ll hop on that cable car and go straight home all by myself. Then your chore will be over and done forever.”
Over and done forever? The rapid-fire tirade of a high-pitched Chinese argument interrupted his thoughts along with the tinkling of music. All at once, a man flailed through the air to land hard on the sidewalk in front of them, causing Allison to jump back with a squeak when he retched in the gutter. Nick hustled her past with a dry quirk of his lip while he stifled a grunt, returning to his former thought.
Wanna bet?
17
Clinging to Nick’s arm, Alli stared in awe, head back and jaw slack, eyes as round as the gape of her mouth. Never had she seen anything so exotic, so foreign, . . . so heartbreakingly poor!
Chinatown. So close and yet so very far away. Where the air was alive with myriad smells and odors that whirled Alli’s senses—roast duck and ginger and fried noodles that Nick referred to as chow mein, all mingling with the mystical scent of perfume, opium, and something smoky and sweet Nick identified as incense burning on temple shrines. Groups of men dressed in dark shift-like jackets congregated in front of storefronts with wooden awnings and massive glass lanterns, eyeing her with curiosity through narrow eyes. Silver-haired matrons hurried by with young girls in tow, each arrayed in loose black silk coats and trousers, all casting furtive glances her way. Alli caught her breath at the beauty of amber skin aglow with dark, almond-shaped eyes and shimmering jet-black hair adorned with ornaments.
“Oh my, this is fascinating,” she breathed, her ears tingling from the melodic shwish-shwish, sheee-shee of conversations she didn’t understand, or the bumble-bee hum of a musical instrument Nick confirmed as a Chinese flute. Her body buzzed with adrenaline as he ushered her through the crowded streets, eyes flaring wide at myriad three-story structures—some brick, some wood, some with metal and wood canopies sheltering the sidewalk—all riveting!
She listened when Nick pointed out various sights and sounds and smells, her gaze darting from faded silk and bamboo lanterns suspended from overhangs to hodge-podge balconies where large porcelain pots overflowed with spindly flowers and plants. Huge yellow flags with blue dragons held her spellbound, whipping over the rooftops in the opium-scented breeze. Impoverished yet fascinating, the fourteen-block square was as unique to the city as the people themselves.
Her initial desire to visit their laundress Lili Chen suddenly resurfaced and she spun to a stop, hands clasped in prayer. “Oh, Nick, here I am in Chinatown for the first time in my life and probably the last, and I’d give anything to meet some of its people.” Her teeth tugged at her lip. “Like maybe a visit to Lili Chen’s home? You know, just to say hello?”
His lips flattened into a scowl while he snatched her arm to continue on. “I already told you, you won’t be welcome there, so get that idea out of your head right now. This is a tight-knit community, Alli, where privacy is paramount.” He steered her safely past a parade of four laughing little boys who were waving sticks, marching single file with white and black skullcaps on their heads. “They don’t need you nosing around, visitors barging in where they’re not wanted. This is a city within a city for a reason—to maintain their privacy and traditi
on. Everything they need is right here—work, food, schools, entertainment, newspapers, education—you name it.”
A cramp squeezed in her chest, as tight as the grip of Nick’s hand on her arm. She slowed her pace, blinking hard to deflect the moisture that threatened over the keen disappointment she felt. Was it so wrong to want to experience the culture of this exotic place, to meet its people and learn of its customs so maybe someday she could reach out to them? Good heavens, she’d waited twenty-two years to explore this city she loved, and here she was—oh, so close!
Too close. “B-but . . . but—”
“But nothing, Miss McClare,” he groused, “case closed.” He slid her a look and groaned when he obviously spotted the tears in her eyes. Halting on the sidewalk, he mauled his face with his hands, a mutter under his breath merging with a loud growl from his stomach. “You are one monumental pain in the posterior, you know that?” He huffed out a sigh and angled to face her, hand slung low on his hips. “I guess you’re hungry too.”
She caught her breath, not daring to believe what that comment might mean. She nodded, fingers pinched white on the purse in her hands.
“Figures.” Jaw tight, he snagged her arm and all but lifted her off her feet, barreling down the street so fast, she had to hold on to her straw hat.
She was winded and breathing hard when he finally came to a stop. Even so, the air heaved still in her throat as her eyes slowly scanned up. For surely the sixth time that night, her mouth gaped in amazement at the unusual sight of plaster walls emblazoned with mural paintings of exotic birds and landscapes. Interspersed throughout were colorfully clad Chinese figures depicted in various scenes. “Oh my . . . ,” she whispered again, the air in her lungs slowly seeping through parted lips.
Nick nudged her from behind. “I thought you were hungry,” he whispered, the warmth of his words in her ear causing her to whirl around with heat in her cheeks.
“I . . . I am,” she said, suddenly in awe of another massive structure looming overhead, only this one was eyeing her with a half-lidded gaze that caused her stomach to flip.
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