Flora's Wish (3 page)

Light poured out of the windows, flanking the ballroom to slide across the woman's high cheekbones and mass of coppery curls before spilling over the edge of the ledge and onto the lawn four floors below. Were he not in such a ridiculous predicament, Lucas might have stopped to admire her beauty.

Instead, he was forced to keep his mind on how he might bring her back indoors without causing harm to either of them. He had a fine filament rope in his hidden pocket and the spikes he'd worn last time he had to climb, but neither was likely to save both of them.

At least not at the same time.

Of course, he still had the one weapon that had seen him through many a tough spot. He'd been a man of prayer ever since he was dunked in the creek by the circuit-riding parson some ten years back. Tonight, however, Lucas petitioned the Lord as he never had before.

Wings would help, Lord, but until I've perfected a pair that works well enough, I'd settle for a good bit of patience and a nice patch of solid ground
. At that moment, he stumbled on a crack in the ledge and had to grab for the wall.

“If it's all the same to You, Lord, I would prefer to reach that ground under my own steam,” he muttered as he fought to catch his balance along with his breath. “And using the elevator.”

“What's that?” The woman glanced his way. “Why are you following me?”

“I've nothing better to do.” He gestured to the far side of the building, now some thirty yards away. “How about we both head that way?”

But her attention had already gone back to the ballroom. Her fingers toyed with the bauble at her throat, and she appeared to be concentrating on something other than her own safety.

Lucas cautiously moved a few steps closer. “Is something going on in there?”

He spied Mrs. Honeycutt speaking with an older woman. Their conversation, while animated, did not appear to be worthy of deep interest, and yet his companion seemed unable to look away.

“Someone you know?” he asked gently. “Other than Mrs. Honeycutt?”

She nodded.

Apparently the daredevil was a woman of few words, for she offered nothing in the way of explanation. “All right,” he said. “We really ought to get back inside.”

Nothing.

Again Lucas fought the choice words biting at his tongue. The irony of two adults in ridiculous masks standing on a ledge four floors up hit him. What Pinkerton agent worth his badge would get into a predicament like this on what was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission?

He glanced up to gauge the distance and then reached into the special pocket in his jacket. Moving the hearing device aside, his fingers retrieved an ebony pipe.

“Please don't smoke that near me.”

His attention was jerked back in her direction as he unscrewed the bowl from the pipe. Again he found her watching the pair of women instead of him.

“As you wish,” he said as the specially made bullet containing filament line dropped into his palm.

He returned the pipe to its place and pulled his climbing spikes out of a tobacco pouch he retrieved from another pocket. Then he took his revolver from his chest holster and removed the bullets from the chamber, replacing them with the one holding the filament line. Then the gun went back into its hiding place beneath his jacket within easy reach for the moment he might need it.

Lucas carefully knelt to fit the spikes into place along the soles of his boots. Rising, he said a quick prayer and then closed the distance between them.

She jolted at his sudden move and said with surprise, “Do you mind, sir? I'm rather busy here.”

“Busy doing what?” He could only surmise that she was still staring at the partygoers. “If you're so interested in what's going on inside, why don't you let me escort you there? Then we can both get back to what we came to do.”

“That depends,” she said as she adjusted her mask. “If you were doing something illegal behind those palms, I'd rather not be associated with your return to the ballroom.”

“I assure you there's nothing to fear.”

Her gaze moved down from his eyes until it rested on his feet. “There is if you insist on wearing those while we dance.”

L
ucas couldn't help but grin. “So we're dancing, are we?”

“We are. In the absence of an opportunity to play chess, that is.” She continued to stare at his feet. “Are those spikes? What were you planning to do, climb the wall?”

“Never mind.” He made short work of removing them and returning them to the tobacco pouch. “There. Back to normal.”

The wind swirled around them, but the woman seemed oblivious. “Are you some sort of inventor?”

Another gust of wind buffeted him. “Could we talk about this inside?”

She turned her back on him and walked away as if she were taking a stroll down a garden path. If she and here sister weren't circus performers, the reason was not for lack of talent. Or looks. Though her clothing spoke of wealth, it didn't take much to imagine her dressed for participation in high-flying antics at Mr. Barnum's circus.

That thought almost undid him, as did the breeze that skittered past. Lucas leaned against the stone wall to catch his breath.

“Do you need my assistance?” the object of his thoughts tossed over her shoulder.

“No, just…” He shook his head. “It's not important.”

Erasing the image of a red-haired aerialist from his mind, Lucas followed close behind, one hand resting on the hotel's facade for balance. Finally they reached the broad expanse of balcony on the far end of the building.

“Avert your eyes, please.”

When he complied, she climbed over the railing and onto the balcony. He discovered this when she told him he could follow her. Lucas caught up to her just as she reached the entrance to the ballroom.

To his surprise, Blue Eyes linked arms with him. “Now, if you would do me the honor of waltzing me across the dance floor, sir.”

He looked down at her and shook his head. “Don't you mean
around
the dance floor?”

“Oh, no. Across the dance floor, and promise me you won't stop until we reach the elevators.”

Understanding dawned. “So I'm your cover?”

“Spoken like a lawman,” she said as she led him inside. “Or a criminal. I'm still not certain which.”

“Does it matter?”

“Not tonight.”

Her smile was easy to reciprocate, and before Lucas knew what was happening, the woman had him parading her across the room in time to the music. She was light on her feet, which made the experience uncomfortably pleasant.

Such was his concentration on trying not to enjoy himself that he almost missed the fact they had danced themselves past the Crescent Hotel employees stationed at the doors and almost to the elevator. Lucas gave her one last twirl, and then she reached to press the down button.

The music still swirled around them, and Lucas found himself reluctant to let her go. “It would be a pity to waste the music while we're waiting for the doors to open.”

“Why not? You're a wonderful dancer.”

“Thank you.” Finally a good reason for all those dancing lessons his proper New Orleans grandmother had made him take.

They fell into step beneath the grand chandelier that dominated the passageway. When the elevator chimed, Lucas swung her around one last time and then drew her close. “I believe that's your ride home.”

“Yes,” she said slowly as she peered up at him. “It is.”

Was that reluctance Lucas heard in her voice?

“We could always dance another round. Or perhaps you would like to go back into the ballroom and hide behind the potted palms again. Whomever you were looking for is likely wondering where you've gone.”

She seemed thoughtful. “No. I've decided the man I'm looking for isn't in the ballroom.” A pause. “I should know my own fiancé even with a mask on, don't you think?”

Now that was an odd question. “I guess so.”

She shrugged. “What about you? I don't suppose you found the person you were searching for either.”

“Why would you think that?”

She shook her head. “You're with me, and I'm certainly not whom you were hunting.”

Lucas ignored the loaded statement. “I suppose not. And despite the fact I've struck out tonight, I'm pretty good at finding folks. Maybe you could tell me whom you're looking for. I might have seen him.”

The doors began to shut, and she reached over to cause them to open again. “I doubt you would know him,” she said as she stepped inside the elevator car. “He's with the railroad.”

“Try me.”

“His name is Mr. Will Tucker.”

The elevator doors closed, and only then did Lucas realize he didn't even know the woman's name.

But he would. Soon.

The next day, Flora gave up any pretense of practicing the watercolor lesson she'd learned that morning and chewed on the end of the brush as she tried to convince herself that Will Tucker was still alive. A check of her watch showed that Mr. Tucker was exactly seventeen hours shy of being two weeks late for his promised arrival. And he was a half day late for their debut at last night's dance.

With neither a telegram nor a note to offer any reason for his tardiness, the evidence did not favor a positive outcome. And with Grandmama likely to pack up at any moment, the situation had become dire indeed.

The last thing Flora needed was to return to Natchez without a solution to the problem Grandfather Brimm handed them all with his will. Perhaps she could find the fellow who had entertained her on the ledge and then danced her across the ballroom. He'd seemed like the sort who might know how to hunt for someone.

At least, he'd given her that impression last night.

How she would find the fellow was a mystery in itself, but though he was masked, she did have clues in his impressive height, his dark hair, and the unique shade of his gray-green eyes.

A movement caught her attention, and Flora turned toward it. The man who had openly watched her from across the dining room this morning and then regarded her impassively from the south portico at midday now stood in the shadow of the very gazebo she'd been trying to capture on canvas.