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Oh, dear, she should have considered that during dinner.
While delivering Mr. Hotel Owner his just rewards had been deeply satisfying, the little show had drawn the attention of every diner in the hotel restaurant. She would have to be more discreet in the future.
“At least the snow has quit,” Jess said, fitting his sister into the curve of his elbow.
The poor little thing continued to squirm and fuss. She hadn’t been out of her or Jess’s arms in ever so long.
Pain cramped Lilleth’s fingers. They felt like frozen claws clutching the handles of the valises. “That’s a mercy, but the wind! Make sure to keep the blanket over Mary’s head.”
“She keeps pulling it off.”
It wouldn’t take long for her tiny ears to freeze, even covered by a hat. They needed shelter and they needed it now. The dark and the cold were swiftly becoming mortal enemies.
A church, then. Perhaps they would find sanctuary there, if only for this night. Lilleth scanned the rooftops of town, looking for a steeple. Where could it be?
Every town had a church! Hopefully, she’d find one with someone in attendance.
“Look there.” Jess pointed down the street. “There’s a lamp on in Mr. Clarkly’s library.”
“Hurry, Jess, we’ve got to get there before he puts it out and turns in for the night.”
Doing so took longer than she dreamed it would. The boardwalk had grown icy. Jess half slipped a dozen times. In the end, she abandoned the valises in front of Horton File’s Real Estate, Homes for Sale or Rent. She took Mary from Jess’s arms and steadied him.
“The lamp’s just gone off!” Her brave young nephew sounded truly alarmed.
“We’re nearly there. He’ll hear us when we knock.”
She prayed that he wouldn’t turn them away. For all that he was a stranger, Mr. Clarkly seemed a decent fellow.
It took forever, but at last they stood in front of the door of Clark Clarkly’s Private Library.
Lilleth knocked. Stabbing pain shot through her frozen hand. She bit her lip to hold in the agony and keep the tears out of her eyes.
Footsteps sounded inside, coming toward the door. Lilleth would simply faint into his arms if he attempted to turn them away, and it might not be an act.
The door opened.
“Mrs. Gordon!” Mr. Clarkly gaped at her without his spectacles on. Even in her desperation, she noticed that he had uncommonly appealing eyes, blue with green flecks. Bless the man for a saint, those eyes reflected more than a bit of concern.
He reached for Mary and tucked her in the crook of his arm. With his free hand he touched Lilleth’s shoulder and drew her inside.
“Come in, young man,” he said to Jess. “You look frozen through.”
“I’ll just go back,” Jess said with chattering teeth, “f-for th-the bags.”
“Well now, that won’t do.” Mr. Clarkly poked his head out the door and peered at the bags lying on the boardwalk a block down. “They’ll be safe enough until I get a fire going. Here, take your sister and sit on that chair. There’s a book beside it on the table. That should keep her distracted until she’s warmed through.”
Clark Clarkly knelt beside the fireplace, urging a small flame to life. He performed the chore quickly. His shoulders flexed and contracted under his shirt with his brisk movements.
Praise everything good that the man built a fire with more skill than he displayed walking.
He stood up after a moment, seeming taller than she remembered, straighter of form.
“Thank you, Mr. Clarkly.” That simple phrase didn’t begin to express her gratitude. “I can’t think of what might have happened if—”
“No thanks needed, Mrs. Gordon.” He took her cold hands in his big warm ones for an instant while he led her toward a chair by the fire. “Sit tight while I fetch your bags.”
Mr. Clarkly hurried out the door and closed it behind him before the wind could sweep away the warmth beginning to hug the room.
His gait had been quick, efficient. Judging by his swift return, he hadn’t taken a single tumble while he was fetching the bags.
He dropped them on the floor, and then instantly forgot he had put them there. His first step forward brought him stumbling across the room, where he careened off his desk and landed at her feet, with one hand caught in her skirt.
“So sorry...I beg your pardon. My glasses.” He glanced about, blinking hard. “Blind as a bat without them.”
“Mr. Clarkly.” She untangled his hand where it gripped her ankle through her skirt. “I am the one indebted to you.”
One could almost wish, however unkind it might be, that he wouldn’t find his glasses. He had eyes a woman could look into and get lost.
Silly, Lilleth, silly, she chided herself. Getting lost in a man’s eyes. What nonsense!
Clark Clarkly had come to her aid and nothing more.
Still, it was disappointing to see him find his broken spectacles. He frowned at them, tossed them aside and rooted through a desk drawer until he found another pair.
The man did need to see, after all. She’d be a silly goose to believe that staring into a man’s eyes would result in anything more than heartache, even if he did seem uncommonly kind.
Relief eased the iciness from her bones as much as the flames did.
Mr. Clarkly sat on the floor, playing with Mary and speaking to Jess in low tones. The fire crackled, sounding like music in the cozy library. A teakettle in another room began to whistle.
What she wouldn’t give to be able to sing the rest of the tension from her body. But no, that might not be wise. The chances were slim, but her voice might be recognized.
But humming, now that would be a comfort. Anyone could hum and sound the same. So she did. She hummed her favorite tune, one that had comforted her since she was a little girl.
For some reason, that made Mr. Clarkly quit talking to Jess and stare at her with the most peculiar expression on his face.
There was something almost...but not quite, familiar about it. Well, that was silly. She’d never met Mr. Clarkly until today.
* * *
“This ought to warm you.” Trace grazed Lilleth’s hand, passing her a cup of steaming tea.
He didn’t think her fingers looked as blue as they had.
What wouldn’t he give to be the man with the right to hold them to his heart and warm them thoroughly.
After half an hour beside the fire she had only now quit shivering.
Her husband couldn’t be worth much, allowing his family to become wandering icicles.
“I can’t think of how to thank you, Mr. Clarkly.” She closed her fingers about the teacup and shut her eyes for an instant. “I thought I’d never be warm again.”
Trace crouched beside her chair. He had a mind to stroke the ringlets that strayed from under her hat. He’d give up a lot to be able to loop his thumb through one of those red curls, to touch it in the familiar way a man would touch his woman’s hair.
In any event, she wasn’t his woman. Even if she were free, he wouldn’t risk his assignment by revealing his identity. He couldn’t. The patients at Hanispree depended on him.
His family was counting on him to deliver an exposе by the New Year. Being employed by one’s parents added extra pressure to deliver. Not only that, there was sibling rivalry to be taken into account.
All his brothers and his sister worked for the Chicago Gazette. Although, since his sister had become a mother, she had quit the investigative side of the business. On occasion the job became dangerous.
That was one of the reasons that the Ballentines sometimes worked in disguise.
The other reason was that several of their investigations were sufficiently well known that the Ballentines were often recognized. When a case involved secrecy, as this one did, a disguise was called for.
He had picked Clarkly because the character was as unlike his real self as could be. No one could possibly recognize him.
It wasn’t easy living in the skin of someone who wasn’t real. It was lonely, not being able to let anyone close.
Still, his job was deeply rewarding and made the temporary isolation worthwhile. Over the years his investigations had improved the lots of many people. They’d put swindlers out of business and criminals behind bars.
He couldn’t imagine doing anything else for a living.
Trace watched Lilleth sipping from the teacup. He’d always found her mouth to be pretty, but now, as a woman full grown, her lips were a man’s fantasy. Moist with hot tea, they glistened in the glow of the fire.
“Mrs. Gordon.” Crouched down as he was, his eyes met hers over the rim of the cup. Her mouth stilled over a porcelain rose. “There’s something troubling me. I hope you don’t consider this forward of me to ask, but Mr. Gordon...oughtn’t he be—”
Her pretty lips puckered, as though they had tasted something sour...or needed to be kissed.
For the hundredth time since he had run Lilleth down at the train station, he cursed the decision to become Clarkly. He ought to have adopted his favorite identity, Johnny Kaid, fastest cowboy with a rope or a gun.
Curse it! Johnny was daring, but Clark was safer, and safe was all-important at this moment.
“Here? By my side, you mean?” Lilleth set the cup on her lap and stared down at it. “My husband ran off. I don’t know where he is.”
“It was nearly a year back,” Jess said, hugging his sister close. “Mary was only a newborn.”
Poor, brave Lils! On her own with two young children.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” He couldn’t help it; he reached over and held her fingers where they gripped the cup.
“No need to fret, Mr. Clarkly.” Lilleth shrugged. She sighed and looked into his eyes. “It’s been a while now, and to tell you the truth, my husband was a worldly man. In many ways life is easier without him.”
“Pa liked his spirits.” Jess covered Mary’s ears. “More than most.”
Trace’s world bucked and shifted beneath him. Having Lilleth within touching distance had been temptation enough, with a loving husband standing between them. Without him things had become complicated.
He let go of Lilleth’s hands. The man was gone, and no good, but that didn’t make her any less legally wed.
“If I can help you, all you need to do is ask.”
“You’ve been kindness itself already. You did no less than save our lives tonight.” She set the cup aside. “Please, won’t you call me Lilly.”
He forced a smile when he wanted to frown. She hated that name. What had happened to make her use it?
“I’d be pleased if you would call me Clark.” He pursed his lips, about to offer something improper, given that she was someone else’s wife. But he couldn’t see any help for it. “I’ve a room upstairs. I’d be pleased if you and the children would sleep there tonight.”
She took off her hat. Whorls and curls reflecting the fire’s glow broke free of a bun that would never be able to confine them.
“You are our very own angel, Clark, sent straight down from heaven.”
That comment evidently pleased young Jess. He suddenly grinned so widely that the freckles on his cheeks appeared to dance.
Trace was no angel. Not by a yard. An angel wouldn’t be glad that her worthless husband had run away.
A heavenly being wouldn’t fidget in his chair all through this long, blustery night, wondering if the virtueless rogue was dead so that he could kiss his wife. A woman he had no business kissing even if she were free.
Chapter Three
“Say your prayers, Jess.” Lilleth listened to the wind whistle around the dormers of the tidy upstairs bedroom. Mary and Jess lay side by side in a cozy-looking feather bed that Mr. Clarkly had put fresh linens on before retiring downstairs to sleep, presumably, in a chair. “And don’t forget to mention Mr. Clarkly.”
“Do you think my pa might have sent him to us?”
“Who’s to know? I can’t say that he didn’t.” To see the children safe and snug did seem a miracle. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Clarkly’s generosity—well, that outcome didn’t bear thinking of.
She hadn’t had a reason to be truly grateful to a man since she could remember. Not since she was a little girl and believed that princes, knights and cowboys rode to the aid of ladies in need.
In those days she’d had a hero. He was her champion and she’d seen her future in his smile. They’d been as close as berries on a vine the summer that she was twelve years old.
She had loved him with all her young heart, and he must have loved her as well, for he had defended her against a pair of bullies and become seriously injured. Then, to her everlasting horror, before his wounds had begun to mend, her mother had shattered her world.
In the dead of night, she had woken Lilleth and Bethany, packed them up and moved three states away to be with the latest in a constant string of inappropriate beaux.
It wasn’t that her mother was a whore in the normal sense, as her reputation suggested. It was more that she was needy. She let men take care of her in exchange for her affections. Unfortunately for Lilleth and Bethany, their mother’s affections latched on to the wrong sorts of men.
As little girls they had become skilled, yes, even creative, at keeping one step ahead of groping male hands. Because of Bethany, what might have been a harrowing lot became a game. Lilleth’s older sister never let her feel less of herself because of the behavior of men. Together, they practiced ducking, dodging, stomping and pinching. At night they would whisper in bed, recounting tales of near escape and retaliation. Some girls might have withered under such an upbringing, but she and Bethany dodged and ducked through it all.
But life was what it was. Lilleth had been formed by it and so had her sister. Bethany escaped into marriage, while Lilleth took her voice on the road with a traveling show.
Since Bethany loved her husband and Lilleth loved to sing, it had all turned out well enough.
Until six months ago, that is, when Bethany’s husband had died suddenly of a fever.
Lilleth kissed Jess good-night and stroked the curly hair at Mary’s temple. Her nephew would be a good man. Bethany would raise him to be like his father.
“Uncle Alden can’t get to us here. Mr. Clarkly is downstairs.” Jess yawned and turned on his side, facing the blaze that Clark had laid in the small upstairs fireplace. “We’ll get Mama out of that place, just see if we don’t.”
“We will, I promise we will,” Lilleth said. Firelight cast shadows on Jess’s face, making him look like a miniature of his father, Hamilton.
