by Delynn Royer
“It is?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well, what do you think I should do about Melissa?”
Emily’s fingers moved swiftly to replace the used type, plucking and dropping each letter, space marker, and symbol into its proper compartment.
“What have you done when this sort of thing has happened in the past?”
“What sort of thing?”
“When a woman said no to you.”
“No woman ever has.”
She stopped and stared at him. “What do you mean, ‘no woman ever has’?”
Karl shrugged. “Just what I said. No woman has ever said no to me.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“It’s the truth.”
Emily studied him critically before returning to her task. He was going to need more work than she’d thought. “All right, then. Use your imagination. What do you think you would have done if a woman ever had said no?”
“I imagine I would have cut my losses and moved on to the next one.”
“The next woman who caught your fancy?”
“Yes.”
“Then, why not try that?”
“But I—” He paused and Emily sensed him stewing for a moment before he finished. “I don’t think I want to move on just yet.”
“I see.” She let him stew a bit more before offering a new solution. “If you’re determined to win Melissa, perhaps you should leave off with your usual sweet talk or whatever it is you do, and instead go straight to the heart of the matter.”
“Which is?”
Emily looked to see that Karl was bent forward, waiting intently for her answer. “Show her that you’ve changed, that you’ve become responsible and dependable.”
He just stared at her.
“Show her that you’re serious,” Emily clarified.
“Serious?”
“You are serious, aren’t you?”
“Well... yes,” he said, straightening with a thoughtful frown. “I suppose so. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Indeed?” she asked back. “Perhaps you should consider volunteering at the Home for Friendless Children. I’m sure they could use your legal advice with adoptions. That might convince Melissa that you’ve left the irresponsibility of youth behind.”
Before Karl could reply, there came another knock at the front door. He cocked his head and arched an eyebrow. “Busy at this time of the evening, aren’t you?”
“Not normally, but I’ll take any business I can get. Could you see who it is? Tell them I’ll be with them in a second. I’ve got my hands full of turpentine and ink.”
“My pleasure.”
As Karl went for the door, Emily crossed to the back of the shop to find the washstand behind a storage cabinet. Standing over the basin, she poured some fresh water, then began scrubbing at her stained fingers with a bar of soap. Upon hearing Karl greet her latest visitor, however, she froze in midstroke.
“Well, well, speak of the devil. Mr. Gallagher himself.”
No, Emily thought. She couldn’t bear to face him. Not after what had happened Sunday.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Ross demanded .
“I might ask the same of you, Gallagher. I know for a fact that you’re supposed to be engaged to the other one, but you just keep insisting on buzzing around this one.”
Emily squeezed her eyes shut and willed her galloping heart to slow. As was its habit of late, however, her body paid no heed whatsoever to her mind’s commands. Her face was growing so hot, it felt as if she’d taken fever, and her hands were shaking. Damn Ross Gallagher. What did he want now? He’d told her that he didn’t love Johanna, yet she had heard that he’d turned up at the Fulton House with the Davenport family just last night. Either he’d lied to her or he felt that love had little to do with marriage. Either way, Emily was furious with him. He was playing her for a fool. Even worse, she was furious with herself for losing all common sense and succumbing to temptation a second time. Good Lord, she could barely think.
"... a word with her in private, if you don’t mind,” Ross was saying. The tension in his voice suggested that Karl was about sixty seconds away from having his nose broken again.
“Why, I don’t mind at all,” Karl said flippantly, “but I’m not the one to ask.” He raised his voice. “Miss Emily? Gallagher claims he wants a word with you in private. I told him that we’re on our way to supper and that if he wishes to confer with you, perhaps he should endeavor to come by during normal business hours. What do you think of that?”
Knowing that she either had to face Ross or flee rabbit-like out the back door, Emily wetted a clean towel and pressed it to her cheeks. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
After tucking away some stray hairs, she removed her apron, smoothed her skirt, and told herself to be calm. A moment later, she was stepping out from behind the cabinet. She rolled down her dress sleeves in a casual manner and wore what she hoped was a serene and unruffled expression. “Good evening, Ross.”
Ross stood just inside the front door, glowering at Karl and carrying a parcel wrapped in newsprint and twine in one hand. The instant his gaze shifted to her, however, Emily felt another blush creep over her cheeks. She spoke quickly to squelch it. “What brings you by after hours?”
“I have something for you.” He shot another glare at Karl. “But I wasn’t planning on an audience.”
Karl merely smiled and touched the brim of his hat. “I can wait for you outside, Miss Emily.” He paused significantly. “If that’s what you want?”
That was not what she wanted, but she’d have to face Ross some time. Better now in private than accidentally on the street with Johanna on his arm. “That will be fine, Karl. Thank you.”
Ross waited for the door to close behind Karl before he turned back to Emily. His tawny brown hair was combed back, but, as always, stubborn wisps had broken free to fall over his forehead. The cut of his jaw was squared, the shape of his handsome mouth distressingly reminiscent of sensual delights. He had no business looking so good to her at the end of a workday.
“It appears that the police will be pressing charges against Arnold Gibson,” he said.
“I heard.”
Emily knew he hadn’t come by just to tell her about Gibson’s troubles, so she folded her arms and waited until he spoke again.
“I have a favor to ask.”
“Oh?”
He held out the wrapped parcel. “This is the first half of my manuscript.”
Emily stared at the parcel. Even when they were children, Ross had never allowed anyone, not even her, to read his work before he deemed it finished. “I don’t understand.”
“I want you to illustrate for me.”
Emily was left without words. Why was he coming to her with this now? Then, she remembered another parcel wrapped in newsprint, one with a blue ribbon tied around it. A box of soft French pastel crayons and a card that read, It’s lonely by the creek these days. I miss you. Can I have my illustrator back? Guilt. Ross felt guilty about what had happened in his parlor, and this was his way of smoothing things over. Well, it wouldn’t work. Not this time. “Perhaps you should seek a professional artist.”
“I don’t want a professional. I want you.”
“I doubt I could do it justice.”
“On the contrary,” he said, taking a step toward her. “You’re the only one I know who could do it justice. No one will see this book the way you’ll see it. When we were kids, you could always read beyond the words I’d put on paper. You could envision exactly what I imagined.”
For one terrible moment, Emily wavered. There was truth in what he said, but he was also very clever at using their past to play on her emotions—emotions that now pulled her in two directions. She understood his need to salvage whatever they could of their damaged relationship. In fact, she shared that need. Childhood bonds such as theirs were not easily severed. Never mind that she couldn’t make him love her the way she wanted him to, s
he could hardly bear to imagine going through life without his friendship. During her time spent volunteering at the soldier’s hospital in Baltimore, she had seen the tragic results of countless amputations. Arms. Legs. Vital parts. But no part as vital as a heart.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” she said, “and it’s not going to work.”
“What’s not going to work?” Ross took another step toward her, and Emily felt the urge to step back, but she resisted it. “What do you think I’m trying to do?” he asked.
“You’re trying to make up for... for what happened the other day, but it’s not necessary.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, it was a mistake. People make mistakes all the time. We’re perfect examples of that. We made the same mistake twice, but it won’t happen again.”
“It didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”
“Johanna might not agree.”
“I told you, I don’t love Johanna. I’m not going to marry her.”
“Oh? Does that mean you’ve broken your engagement?”
Ross was caught short. She’d maneuvered him right into a corner, and he felt like punching a wall. No, he hadn’t broken his engagement. Despite his efforts to get Johanna alone, he’d been circumvented at every turn. The day before last, as he’d walked her to the dress shop, she had been so gushing and happy about preparations for the wedding, he hadn’t found the heart to tell her the truth right there on the street. Later, he’d gotten tied up at the newspaper office until nine o’clock.
Last evening, he’d fully intended to get it over with, but was chagrined to discover upon arriving on her doorstep that Mrs. Davenport had planned for all of them to go to the theater. He couldn’t end his engagement while in public and in the company of Johanna’s parents as well as two prominent businessmen and their wives.
“No, I haven’t broken my engagement,” he admitted. “Not yet, but I’m going to.”
“When? At the altar?”
The anger in those stormy blue eyes was lethal, but Ross was feeling a bit short-tempered, too. He’d finally been able to talk himself into believing that his jealousy over Karl was ill-founded, only to come face to face with him upon arriving here tonight. Not only was Emily working for Karl every morning, now they were spending time alone after hours and planning to share meals in public.
“If I say I’m going to break the engagement, I’m going to break the engagement,” he said through set teeth, “but maybe you should explain exactly what’s going on with you and Karl.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed as if trying to read his mind, then she shook her head and jabbed a finger at him. “Oh, no you don’t. You can’t change the subject. I’m not going to answer that.”
“Fine,” he said, slapping his manuscript down onto a table. “Don’t answer it!”
“No!” Dashing to the table, she snatched the parcel and shoved it at him. “Don’t leave it. I can’t illustrate for you.”
“Why?”
“Because we can’t see each other anymore. We can’t be lovers and we can’t be friends. We can’t even speak on the street. Otherwise, it hurts too much. It gets too complicated. For both of our sakes, there has to be a clean end to it.”
Ross didn’t move. She’d said a lot of things in the heat of anger before, but she’d never said anything like that. “You don’t mean it.”
“Yes.” Again, she shoved the manuscript at him. “Yes, I do. Take it.”
He looked down to see that her hands were shaking. Whether she meant what she said he wasn’t sure, but right now, it was obvious that she believed it. Cautiously, he spoke. “Too complicated, you said. A long time ago, we promised to stick by each other always. Not just until things got complicated. We were only kids then, but I thought you meant it. Maybe it would have been easier for you if I’d stayed dead. If I hadn’t come back at all.”
At his harsh words, her face paled. “How can you say such a terrible thing?”
“Promises are easy to keep when we’re kids and things are going smoothly. It’s when we grow up and things get complicated that it really counts.”
She stared at him.
He took a step back, preparing to leave. “Just do this one thing for me, Em. Read it. Then if you still don’t think you can illustrate for me, I won’t ask anything else of you again.”
Ross didn’t give her another chance to protest. Instead, he turned and left the shop. When he closed the door behind him, though, he had to stop to get his bearings. He could feel his heart knocking in his chest like he’d just finished a hundred yard sprint.
For the briefest of seconds, he’d seen in her eyes what he’d hoped to see—that she still cared for him—but it was a mixed blessing. Emily never did anything halfway. When she believed in something, she believed one hundred percent. If she fought, she fought hard; if she loved, she loved forever. Yet that sort of single-minded commitment was fraught with risks. If she was hurt, the wound cut deep. Convincing her that he could be trusted not to hurt her again wouldn’t be easy. It had been a mistake to come here before he’d had a chance to end things with Johanna.
“Judging by the look on your face, I assume you two haven’t managed to settle anything.”
Ross had forgotten about Karl. He stood less than five feet away, leaning back against the brick front. He appeared to be observing the traffic on the street as he cupped his hand to light a cigar.
“And I suppose that’s just fine with you,” Ross said.
Karl’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Not at all. Your concern that I’m stealing away your woman is ridiculous. It’s ridiculous now, and it was ridiculous all those years ago. She’s always been yours, even if you were too busy chasing after Johanna Davenport to see it.”
“I never said I thought you were stealing her.”
“No, you didn’t, but it’s as plain as the nose on your face.” Karl gave him a smirk. “Or perhaps I should rephrase that to say it’s as plain as the nose on my face.”
For a long moment, Ross eyed the telltale bump that marred Karl’s profile. His anger with his boyhood friend had been misplaced from the beginning, and deep down, he’d known that all along. “I suppose I should say I’m sorry.”
“That would be a good start.”
Ross walked over to lean back against the building next to Karl. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and let out a rueful sigh. “I never should have hit you.”
Karl blew a frothy smoke ring. “Agreed.”
“I’ve been acting like a jackass.”
“Double agreed. Would you care for a smoke?”
“No, thanks. I’m on my way to see Johanna.”
“She’s not a good match for you, old pal. She may be delicious to look at, enough to get any man’s pecker up, but marriage... that’s going a bit far, if you ask me.”
“It seemed like the right thing to do a few months ago.”
“Before Emily came back to town, you mean.”
“Yes. Now, I can’t think of anything worse. How did I get myself into such a mess?”
“Sex.”
Ross frowned.
“Not sex?” Karl asked when he didn’t reply.
“To be honest,” Ross said, “I was trying to be practical.”
“Practical? Are you sure it wasn’t sex?”
Ross thought about his perplexing lack of reaction when he’d kissed Johanna during their picnic. “Yeah, I’m sure, but that’s beside the point. I’ve recently come to the conclusion that there’s more to all this man-woman stuff than a good roll in the hay anyway.”
“Really? Are you positive?”
Ross let out a dry laugh. “You just wait, old pal of mine. One of these days, you’ll wake up to find that some woman has gotten a hold of your heart so tight, you won’t be able to think straight. You won’t be able to eat. You won’t be able to sleep. It’ll be pure hell.”
Karl squinted at him doubtfully, then shook his head and took a puff from his c
igar. “It sounds like pure hell, but it’ll never happen.”
“We’ll see,” Ross said, taking his hands from his pockets and straightening.
“Where are you going?”
Ross felt satisfied that he had finally taken care of unfinished business with his friend. Now, though, he had much more unpleasant business to take care of.
“I’m going to see Johanna.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ross’s confrontation with Johanna went even worse than he anticipated. It was clear by her surprised expression when she came to the door that she hadn’t been expecting him, but she recovered quickly, donning her brightest smile and society-hostess manners.
Her poise and etiquette were probably the most valuable skills she’d learned from her otherwise ineffectual mother, Ross thought as he led her to the front porch swing. That poise, however, utterly disintegrated when he told her he wanted to break their engagement.
“No,” she gasped, “I just can’t believe it. I won’t.”
“Johanna, I’m sorry,” he said. And he meant it as he placed a hand on her arm. “I honestly believed that our getting married was the right thing to do, but I see now that we don’t belong together. We never did.”
“No!” she repeated, yanking her arm away. “This simply cannot be! The wedding is little more than a week away! Do you know how many people we’ve invited? I’ll be humiliated!”
“It’s better to break off now than to find out later that we made a mistake.”
Johanna shot up from the porch swing. Even though she had not been expecting company, she wore an elaborate yellow dress trimmed with purple ribbon. It was a frock Ross didn’t remember seeing before. He watched the hem of her hoopskirt bob angrily as she paced the length of the wooden porch.
“I simply won’t have it! I won’t!” She stamped her foot, then whipped around to pin him with a savage glare. “It’s another woman, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”
Ross almost denied it, then stopped. Now was not the time to embark on a whole new run of lies. “Yes,” he said carefully, “but she’s not the reason you and I don’t belong together.”
“Pah! Not the reason? How can you sit there and tell me that you’ve been consorting with another woman and that she isn’t the reason you’re breaking off our engagement? That’s the most ludicrous—”