Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel by Julie Lessman Page B

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. Inchingcloser 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 tohis mouth to ward