Bicycle Built for Two (15 page)

“Argh!” She jumped back. She looked
frightened. Fright was an expression Alex had never expected to see
on this particular face.

His heart continued to race, and he
continued to loom over her. She lifted a hand and pressed it to her
heart which was, presumably, thundering as hard as his. “Good Lord,
Mr. English, you scared me to death.”

Alex blinked at her. Somebody groaned at his
feet, and he glanced down to see the man who had, he assumed, been
bothering Kate. He scowled at him before turning his attention
again to Kate. “Are you all right?”

“Sure,” said she. “I’m fine.”

Her original sentence
finally registered on his brain. He goggled at her.
“
I
scared
you?
I
?” His gaze
shifted wildly between her and the man on the ground.

“Yeah. Shoot, I thought you were a madman or
something when you came tearing through that bunch of idiots,
punching and shouting.” She dropped her hand from her breast.

“A madman?” Insulted, Alex barked out, “Dash
it, Miss Finney, I was trying to help you.”

“Yeah? Well, thanks, I guess.”

“You guess? You
guess
?”

The men who had been gathered around Kate
began fading away. Alex observed their retreat with relief. He had
no doubt of his abilities—he’d been wrestling cattle for most of
his life; surely he’d be able to roust a gaggle of loutish young
men—but he didn’t really want to create a scene at his own fair of
which he was so proud.

“Well, I mean . . .” Kate hesitated, then
looked down at the man at her feet. He was beginning to writhe a
bit. “Um, thank you, Mr. English, but I really don’t need anybody
to come to my rescue. I’ve had to take care of myself all my
life.”

Alex opened his mouth. He
shut it. When he opened it again, he still wasn’t sure what to say.
He guessed she was right, dash it. But according to the rules
governing
his
world, such things as women having to defend themselves
against cads and scoundrels didn’t exist. The fact that they
existed in Kate’s world bothered him.

It was true that he’d never much thought
about life in the slums before he met Kate. When slum life had
intruded itself on his consciousness, it had generally been via the
newspapers through articles about crimes and human degradation.
Sometimes his lawyer spoke to him about various charities, to which
Alex donated sums of money. Now that he’d met Kate and her kin,
however, he knew more about who the people living on the “bad” side
of town were. They were a lot like him, in fact, and the revelation
had come as a rather unpleasant shock. And when his mother had told
him about her own poverty-stricken childhood, well . . . Alex just
didn’t know.

That being the case, he gave up thinking
now. He squinted at the man on the ground. He was a well-dressed
chap. Alex guessed his age as being in the mid-twenties. He was
either well set-up in the world, or had a good job. He was, in
other words, exactly like other men in Alex’s station in life, but
without Alex’s moral fiber. Obviously, this creature, under the
influence of bravery enhanced by alcohol, had been trying to seduce
Kate. Alex suppressed a strong urge to kick him in the ribs.

He asked Kate, “How did you get him to fall
down?”

Kate, also watching the man on the ground
and frowning at the sight, said, “Billy taught me how to flip a man
over my shoulder. This one hit another man on the way down, or he’d
probably be out cold.” She sounded disappointed.

“I see.” He wondered if she’d ever done that
particular flip to her father. The thought both saddened and
sickened him. He hated knowing that people like Kate, who was just
like anybody else in the world only poorer, had to endure such
difficulties.

Suddenly Alex was tired of the man on the
ground. The idiot was wheezing and groaning and generally behaving
badly, and Alex wanted him gone. Therefore, he bent over, grabbed
him by the front of his coat, and hauled him to his feet. He had to
hold on while the man swayed in front of him.

The man said, “Ung.”

Alex, shaking him hard, said, “Get out of
here, you. Now.”

The man said, “Arg.”

“And if I ever see you at the World’s
Columbian Exposition again, I’ll have you arrested for assault and
battery.”

The man said, “Ba’ry?”

Gripping the man in his right hand, Alex
reached back with the same hand, as if he were about to throw a
baseball, then flung the man, hard, away from him. He watched with
satisfaction as the man spun off, his arms windmilling, his feet
stumbling, his face a picture of shock and terror. Alex brushed his
hands together. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.” He turned to Kate
again. “Are you all right, Miss Finney?”

She’d taken to hugging herself, and Alex
noticed that she seemed a little trembly, a reaction he wouldn’t
have anticipated in Kate Finney, who put on a good show of being
impervious to doubt and fear. “I’m all right,” she muttered.

After glancing around and deciding the world
was safe for ladies for another little while, Alex held out his
arm. “Here, you look shaky. Let me take you to a concession stand
for a cup of tea or something. I understand hot, sweet tea is good
for shock.”

She shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t
need any tea. I want to get to the hospital.” She took his arm,
though, and Alex felt a thrill of triumph. Then she looked up at
him, and his heart tripped and wobbled when he saw the worry in her
eyes. “Did you see Ma today?”

He reached for the hand she’d placed on his
arm and patted it. He didn’t dare squeeze it very hard for fear
she’d take the gesture, which was meant to be one of reassurance
and friendship, the wrong way. Kate seemed to take everything the
wrong way. These protective impulses that attacked him every time
he was in her presence needed some outlet, though, so he allowed
himself a small pat. “Yes. She’s doing—well.” That was a lie. The
woman was dying. Alex sensed that Kate wasn’t ready to admit the
truth yet, so he let the lie stand.

She glanced up at him, and Alex knew she’d
caught him in the fib. She didn’t let on. “Good. Did you ask her
about going to the country?”

“Yes. She wants to talk to you about
it.”

“Yeah?”

She looked pleased, and Alex got the strong
impression she hadn’t anticipated her mother’s reaction to his
invitation. It struck him as incongruous, but he had an impulse to
reassure her of Mrs. Finney’s devotion to her only daughter. “Your
mother depends on you, Miss Finney. She’d never do anything without
consulting you first.”

“Really? Do you really think so?”

Now how, Alex wondered, did this woman, who
appeared at first glance to be about as soft as old leather and
horseshoe nails—-maybe chain mail—come by her inner insecurities?
Were they another product of her environment and upbringing? Alex,
who had never had occasion to think about such things before he met
Kate, thought about them now. “Of course,” he said. “You’re the
mainstay of your family. Surely, you know that.”

He felt her shrug. “I guess.”

Shaking his head, he led her out through the
main gate to the Exposition. His carriage awaited his pleasure a
few feet away, and he considered how lucky he was. That’s another
thing he hadn’t bothered to think about much: Luck. He’d always
assumed his successful life and business career were the products
of his own hard work and intelligence. Since he’d met Kate, he’d
started questioning that assumption. In fact, Kate Finney had
managed to tip his world sideways quite effectively, and she’d done
it by her mere existence in his sphere. Strange, that.

They didn’t speak again until he’d guided
her into the carriage and climbed in after her. He sat across from
her and noted with interest that she didn’t seem ill at ease in his
company any longer. If she’d get over being so all-fired defensive,
they might actually be able to hold a civil conversation one of
these days.

He heard her take a deep breath.

“You’re not going to hold that against me,
are you?”

His nerves twitched. “I beg your
pardon?”

She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “That
scene back there. That wasn’t my fault.”

“Of course it wasn’t. Why would you even
think that I’d hold it against you?”

She huffed softly. “You were going to kick
me out of the fair because of my father. He’s not my fault, either.
And neither were those guys back there. They’re always standing
around the exit. Most of the time, they don’t know I’m the dancer
because I change and take all that makeup off. I wasn’t so lucky
tonight.”

He felt his lips tighten and told himself
not to be a fuss pot. Recollecting Gil MacIntosh’s brother Henry,
Alex made a conscious effort to be as unlike Henry as he could be.
“Bad luck.”

“It sure was.” Her expression turned
ferocious. “Even if somebody did recognize me, he shouldn’t assume
I’d entertain such vile suggestions.”

“Yes, well, I expect they think only a
certain type of woman would dance that way.” Was that the wrong
thing to have said? He sighed. Probably. It also sounded like
something Henry might say, and he was annoyed with himself.

“Yeah? What type of woman is that, Mr.
English? One who has to make a living? Is that the type you
mean?”

“Hold your horses, Miss Finney. I didn’t
intend any slights. It’s only that most people don’t think about
dancing as a—well, as a proper or desirable way for a woman to make
a living. Don’t throw anything at me. You know it’s the truth.”

“Maybe, but it pays a heck of a lot more
than working in the slaughterhouses or the department stores.” She
was back to being belligerent. Alex wondered if he’d ever knock
that chip off her shoulder. “I know it for a fact, because I did
both of those things before the Exposition opened.”

Good Gad, had she really? A slaughterhouse?
An internal shudder rattled him. Kate Finney’s life sounded like
pure hell to Alex. He spared a moment to marvel that his opinions
about her had undergone such a profound change in the short time
he’d known her. “I see.”

She glared at him. The light in the carriage
was dim at best, but Alex felt that glare through his entire being
and braced himself. He was beginning to anticipate Kate’s reactions
to what she perceived as slights or insults.

“You don’t, either, see,” she said sharply.
“How could you? You’re a rich man, not a poor woman.”

“Right.” He pondered the futility of trying
to explain himself and decided he might as well. Why not? The
hospital was still a few blocks away. Who knew? He might even get
through to her one of these days, although he doubted it. “I’m a
man who is comfortably situated in the world.” He spoke
judiciously, hoping not to rile her any more than usual.

She muttered, “Huh.”

“I know you think I was born rich, but I
wasn’t. My family’s circumstances have always been comfortable. I
understand that yours were not. That, as you’re fond of pointing
out, isn’t your fault. It isn’t my fault, either, however, and I
find myself becoming rather tired of being picked on because I
wasn’t born poor. You’re a real snob, Miss Finney, did you know
that?”

“Me? A snob?” Her voice rose. “What are you
talking about?”

“You. You look down your pretty little nose
at everyone who wasn’t born in your same circumstances. That’s not
fair of you. I’m doing my best, given my circumstances. You’re
doing your best, given yours. I’d say we were pretty equal.”

“Equal. Sure. We’re about as equal as the
queen of England and a mud lark.”

“Which one of us is the mud lark?” He
smiled.

Kate didn’t. “You are.”

“I figured as much.” Alex thought about
giving up and decided not to. “You’re a lot of work, Miss Finney.
Did you know that?”

“I am not! It’s not my fault you decided to
help my mother!”

He smiled. “Your mother isn’t any work at
all. You’re the one who causes all the trouble.”

“Nuts.” She turned her head, probably to
look out the window. Alex had pulled the curtains, however, so
there was nothing to look at but cloth.

“No nuts. It’s the truth. Every time anybody
tries to do anything at all for you or a member of your family, you
suspect them of underhanded motives. Every time anybody says
anything, you assume they mean something else.” He made an effort
to keep his expression mild as she gave up staring at the curtain
and glared at him. “You know it’s the truth, Kate.”

“Huh.”

Silence settled over them, much to Alex’s
relief. Deciding not to break into it because he knew speech from
him would only precipitate another argument, he contemplated his
traveling companion. She presented a complex problem, did Kate
Finney.

Truth to tell, he was beginning to wonder
why he even tried with her, but something inside him kept
propelling him. He liked Bill Finney. He liked Hazel Finney. Kate
Finney was a major challenge, but one that Alex found intriguing.
It had become important to him, some time between the day he’d met
her and now, that he break down her defenses. Not in a bad way. Not
in a way that would hurt her. He wanted to get through to her, to
prove to her that not everybody in the world was against her and
her family. He thought it would be to Kate’s benefit to learn to
trust someone someday, and why shouldn’t that someone be Alex
English?

And how he was going to accomplish that
monumental task was presently beyond his ken. She was a woman who
had grown up living in fear of the one man in her life who was
supposed to have been her protection and haven. Her defenses were
thick and solid. It would take a lot of patience and endless
endurance, and he wasn’t sure he was up to it. Or even why he
cared. She was wearing him out.