Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel (8 page)

“Nicholas?” The chin notched up.

“I-apol-o-gize,” he ground out, the words distorted by the clench of his teeth.

The silver-haired imp had the nerve to cock her head with a squint of blue eyes. “I don’t believe I quite understood that, Allison, did you?”

Miss McClare’s lashes fluttered wide, green eyes dancing as a giggle actually broke from her mouth, perfect pink lips annoying him to no end. “No, I don’t believe I did. It sounded more like a strained grunt to me, although I suppose it could have been an apology in another language or dialect.” She scrunched her nose as she studied him, a gleam of trouble in her eyes. “Early Neanderthal, perhaps?”

Between the two, Nick found himself totally disarmed and dropped his head to pinch the bridge of his nose, humor threatening the hard bent of his lips. He huffed out a sigh and looked up, the stiff planes of his face relaxing into a shadow of a smile. “All right, okay—you’ve made your point, ladies, and I apologize, Miss McClare, for losing my temper—
again
.”

The smile the woman gave him spiked his temperature at least
twenty degrees, causing the skin under his collar to break out in a sweat. “So, Mr. Barone, long
e
,” she said with an extension of her hand. “Shall we try this again—one more time?”

Resigned, he shook his head and laughed, a slow grin sliding across his lips. He reached for her wrist rather than inflicting pain on her sore palm and pressed his thumb to her pulse, grateful it felt as erratic as his. “As long as there are no sticks involved, Miss McClare.”

“Or hat pins,” Miss Penny said with a proud smirk. “Those two ruffians are sporting more holes than my best colander, I can promise you that.”

Nick jagged a brow. “Two?”

Miss McClare grinned, the glow of pride in her eyes as blinding as Miss Penny’s. “I actually poked them both, and I do believe I drew blood a number of times.”

“Is that a fact?” Slipping his hands in his pockets, Nick lowered his head to emit a soft chuckle, wondering if maybe he hadn’t underestimated the little spitfire. Pulse finally calming, he glanced up, shooting her a shuttered smile that toasted her cheeks. “Good to know.”

7

A
llison hurried to keep up with Nick Barone’s long strides down the trash-littered sidewalk of Jackson. Her heart pumped with excitement from strolling through the devil’s lair—as Miss Penny called it—as much as from the detective’s breakneck speed. Athletic by nature, she usually had no problem keeping up, easily outdistancing Blake or Jamie in summer games of tag. But Nick Barone was a mountain of a man with less patience than her, evidently, when it came to achieving a goal or reaching a destination. Hands buried in his pockets, his trademark scowl was firmly in place, and she almost wished those two hooligans would chance a repeat encounter. She prided herself on being a strong woman who could take care of herself, but never had she felt so safe, so protected, so free as she did now, with him by her side.

He’d said precious little since they’d left Miss Penny’s, apparently still miffed over his failed attempt to get her to file a police report once Miss Penny wasn’t around to defend. But Allison stood her ground, explaining her burning need to explore independence in her new life as a teacher, something that would be squashed in a heartbeat if her family found out about the incident right now. She was determined to keep it to herself until she could prove
the cable car was safe. As long as she took it before dusk, that is, which she fully intended to do. Or at least until she could talk Mother into acquiring a firearm, something Miss Penny felt was advisable in a neighborhood on the edge of the Coast.

Mouth compressed as stiff as his manner, Nick had allowed her to chatter ad nauseam for several blocks, his brooding gaze continually sweeping the doorways and alleys of the bars they passed. Occasionally he’d answer a question with a sideways glance and a faint smile, as if he found her amusing, but in no way did he afford her the courtesies she was used to with most men. Not the offer of his arm to escort her, the attentive interest of a suitor, or even the polite banter employed in social situations. Which was just as well, she supposed. Judging from the time she’d spent with him thus far, he was nothing more than a prettier, grumpier rendition of the type of men who tended to break her heart.

Eyes straight ahead, he remained silent at an intersection to allow a horse and buggy to pass, giving Allison a chance to catch her breath and study him unaware. Without question, he was one of the most handsome men she’d seen, although his manners and short moods dispelled any attraction, at least mentally. But physically? A lump bobbed in her throat. When his thumb had grazed her wrist, she was sure the leap of her pulse would bruise both her skin and his. He’d seemed little-boy awkward when Miss Penny scolded, but the moment he’d touched Allison’s arm, pinned her with those hypnotic eyes, she sensed a confidence and control that bordered on cocky, as if he were used to the approval of women. Her lips squirmed.
Cave women, no doubt.

“Does ‘Sin City’ amuse you, Miss McClare?” he asked, sliding her one of those veiled looks that made her think he could read every thought in her head, despite the fluff between her ears, of course. “Or does that shadow of a smile mean you’re laughing at me?”

Heat scorched her face at his perception, and she quickly looked across the street, not a smart thing to do. The fire in her cheeks raged out of control over near-naked women in the doorway of a bordello, issuing lewd remarks to Nick as they passed by. Swallowing hard, she forced her gaze straight ahead, her good humor suddenly as depleted as the smile on her face.

His husky laugh blended perfectly with the ragtime and ribald revelry that filled the night air along with the stench of whiskey and smoke. “What exactly did you expect to see on the Barbary Coast, Miss McClare—gentlemen with manners and ladies dressed for tea?”

She glanced up to deliver a sharp retort and stopped at the sobriety in his eyes, sensing a compassion that seemed to fly in the face of all she knew him to be. Her ire drifted out on a weary sigh lost in a rash of profanity and slurs from men who whistled and raked her with salacious stares. “No, but I . . .” A knot of pride shifted in her throat and she gulped it down whole, suddenly ashamed of her naïveté. “Wasn’t expecting this,” she said faintly, embarrassed over the wealth and privilege that had blinded her to the plight of the lost and forgotten.

For the first time, he took her arm and gently steered her to the corner of Montgomery where a motley group of people waited for the cable car. “It’s another world here, Miss McClare.” His voice was quiet as he laid a protective hand over hers. “One I’m glad you’re not privy to.”

“But there are so many lost souls,” she whispered, unable to stop the tears in her eyes.

“Yes, but lost by choice.” His voice held a bitter edge.

“Not all,” she said softly, remembering several little girls who’d attended their first day at Hand of Hope School, daughters of women who worked in the brothels, according to Miss Penny.

He glanced at her then, the hard line of his jaw softening just a hair. “No, not all.”

Clang, clang, clang!

Allison looked up, the sight of a cable car chugging down the rails of Montgomery dissolving her melancholy mood. A thrill surged and her heart began to pound while a tiny giggle slipped from her lips. She fought the inclination to squeal, barely aware of the fingers she dug into his coat sleeve. “Oh, my very first cable car ride,” she breathed. “Can you tell?”

His mouth crooked. “Only by the bruise on my arm.”

Her giggle was almost decadent. “Oh, don’t be such a baby, Mr. Barone. This thrilling adventure may be ho-hum to you, but it’s a dream come true for me.” She sighed. “Mother never let us ride the cable car—too many germs.”

He surveyed the disreputable crowd waiting to board, nose wrinkling, no doubt, from the rank smell of unwashed bodies, stale alcohol, and burning wood from the cable car brakes. His smile took a wry twist. “Wise woman, your mother.”

The rumble of wheels and the click of rails stole her attention as the bright-red California Street cable car ground to a stop, its shiny wood benches facing out like an invitation to adventure. The small crowd moved forward while Mr. Barone held her back, allowing the others to funnel in first. When it was her turn to mount the single step, he assisted her up, then pressed a nickel into her hand. Adrenaline coursing, she promptly handed the fare to the driver before taking the last of two seats on an outer bench. She absently skimmed a hand to her abdomen, as if she could calm the flutters at the prospect of her first cable car ride.

“You gettin’ on or not, mister?” the driver said, and Allison glanced up to see Nick Barone standing stock-still before the platform step, eyes glazed and body stiff.

“Mr. Barone? Are you all right?” She ducked her head to peer into his ashen face, the stubble of late-day beard all the more apparent against his bloodless skin.

His Adam’s apple jerked as he nodded, fingers gripped white on the pole by the step while he remained rooted to the cobblestone street as firmly as the cable car rails.

“I don’t got all night, mister,” the grip man said in a growl. “Either get on or get off.”

Huffing out a sigh, Allison jumped up and pried his fingers from the pole, tugging on his hand as if yanking a mule. “Mr. Barone, please! You promised Miss Penny you’d see me home.”

His gaze slowly lifted, as if in a trance, and the muscles in his throat convulsed again. “All right,” he whispered, voice a strangled rasp, “but it’s only fair to warn you . . .” He appeared to stifle a belch while he remained inert, feet fused to the sidewalk and skin suddenly matching the green in his eyes. “I get . . . seasick.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” The schoolmarm surfaced when Allison tugged on the lobe of his ear, forcing him into motion as she dragged him up the step and onto the bench.

“Ouch, that hurts,” he snapped, the pain obviously breaking through his stupor.

She slapped his hand when he tried to bat her away. “It’s a cable car, Mr. Barone, not a frigate. Now, you sit right there until I pay the man, do you understand?”

His jaw began to grind. “You are one pushy dame, you know that?”

“And you are nothing but a big baby,” she said with a menacing glare, digging a nickel from her reticule. She handed it to the driver, then wiggled into the tight space between the oversized sissy and a pie-eyed man who actually gave her a wink. Inching
closer to Mr. Barone, she decided the green tinge of his face was less threatening than the lurid look of the other man.

The cable car lurched to a start, and Allison squealed, forgetting all challenges to her peace of mind as a breeze lifted the stray curls at the back of her neck. “Oh, this is so much fun!” she said with a giggle, craning to see down the street.

She spied the four-story Montgomery Block, one of the largest buildings in the West, and nearly swooned as always over one of her favorite landmarks. “Sweet bliss, I just read a wonderful article about the Montgomery Block!” She shook Mr. Barone’s arm, hardly believing he had his eyes closed. “Oh my goodness, did you know Mark Twain met a San Francisco fireman named Tom Sawyer in the Montgomery Block sauna and used his name for his novel
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
?”

Fingers welded to the pole arm of the seat, Mr. Barone’s eyes opened long enough to sear her with a dazed stare. A grunt escaped his pale lips when the cable car bell rang, eyelids sinking closed again as the car eased to a halt. The grip man called out the next stop, and Allison’s sympathy rose when Mr. Barone stifled a heave. “You’re taking your life in your hands,” he said with a groan, lunging for his handkerchief as the car began to glide.

“That seems to be a trend in your company, Mr. Barone.” A soft smile tugged at her lips.

“It’s Nick,” he said, jaw clamping when the car jolted from a particularly hard jog on the rails. “Yeah, well, this time I may ruin your dress instead of your stick.”

“I’ll take my chances, Mr. . . . Nick,” she said quickly, relishing the independence of calling him by his Christian name. “Something I’m realizing one must do with a man of your ilk. And, please—call me Allison.”

One eyelid peeled up. “A man of my ilk?” he repeated, rag to
his mouth to ward off the threat of what appeared to be the rise of his last meal.

She scrunched her nose, biting back a smile. “You know—cranky.”

His lips pinched even tighter than before, obviously thinner than his patience. “You’d be cranky, too, lady, if your stomach was churning like San Francisco Bay during a squall.”

“Goodness, does this happen every time you ride a cable car?” she asked, wondering how the man kept anything down while riding public transportation.

“No idea,” he said with a growl that faded into a moan. “First time.”

Her head wheeled to face him, eyebrows tented in shock. “What? This is your first time on a cable car? Then how on earth did you know you’d be sick? Do you get sick on boats?”

“No.” It was a croak as he smothered what could have been a belch.

She squinted. “Then I don’t understand. If you don’t get seasick, then why—” Her eyes went wide. “Wait—you’re afraid, aren’t you?”

Well, that certainly helped his color. Blood gorged his cheeks. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snarled, singeing her with a glare.

Oh, good—familiar territory!
“Sweet mother of mercy, you
are
, aren’t you?” She clamped a hand to her mouth to smother a laugh, the idea of this mammoth, gun-toting grouch afraid of anything delighting her more than it should. She forced a serious demeanor, noting from his ruddy color that their sparring had apparently taken his mind off the ride. “For heaven’s sake, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, Nick,” she said sweetly. She tilted her head, attempting to contain the chuckles that bubbled up in her chest. “Unless, of course,” she whispered in a voice hoarse with restraint, “you’re
afraid of mice too . . .” Her laughter broke free in a glorious swell of giggles joined in by the sloshed man beside her.

The gray-green eyes narrowed over the handkerchief he held to his mouth. “Don’t tempt me, Miss McClare—I had kippers for lunch.”

“Oh, look!” she cried when the cable car coasted to a stop. “There’s the Golden Era Building!” She jumped up to seize the brass-plated pole, hand holding on to her hat as she bounced on the platform. “I read a wonderful article in
The San Francisco Examiner
about its fifty-year anniversary.” She whirled around, breathless with excitement, shouting to make herself heard over a steam piano from a passing melodeon music hall. “Mr. Barone!”