Somebody Wonderful by Kate Rothwell Page B

blame,” Timmy interrupted. “But I fail to see why blame needs to be assigned.”
    He pulled her slightly away from the boys and was curt with her and, as usual, far blunter than he would be with any other woman. “This isn’t a safe area, miss. I told you before, in much of the city after dark, any woman would be taken for a whore. Here that’s true during the day, too. You of all people should know the danger of this area.”
    Interested but unafraid, she looked around at the motley collection of buildings and a garbage-filled empty lot near the sidewalk where they stood. About a third of the buildings had broken windows; some boarded up, most just showing gaping holes. Loitering men stood in the open doorway of a saloon, marked only with a dirty awning. A man leaning against the basement entrance to a stale-beer dive tipped his bowler to Miss Calverson and showed a near-toothless grin. He gave Mick the thumbs-up.
    In a low voice she said, “So this is near where you suspect I was grabbed? I wish I could remember more clearly. I do detect the scent of beer and burning scrap heap, which seems familiar. But if you worry about my safety, I should tell you that at the time I was ill prepared, Mr. McCann. Now I am not.”
    She reached to her hip, and when she raised her gloved hand, Mick realized she held a blade. Her loose grip showed she was a woman who’d been properly trained to use a knife as a weapon. She had a good fighting stance, legs apart for balance, low center. For the first time he noticed her dress was loose about the legs, and not in the current tighter fashion and he wondered if she had it made specifically so she could hunker down and balance better. Funny to see an apparent gentlewoman crouched in such a manner.
    The brother’s instruction, no doubt.
    Mick couldn’t help laughing. “Ah, no, I should not be surprised that you can handle a shiv,” he muttered to her. “And I will not fuss at you for I am not responsible for the safety of such a noted traveler as yourself, Timmy. Thank the good Lord. Might I see it?”
    He gave a low whistle and shook his head. “Ever used it?”
    “No,” she said cheerfully. “Not this one, anyway. I just purchased it this morning.”
    He didn’t have a chance to ask about past knives. Henry, behind them, held up a basket he’d been lugging.
    “We have brought you lunch, Mr. Mick. Miss Cooper thought you might like to join our picnic, since the day’s so clement and all.”
    “I’ll not stop for a break for nearly another half hour,” he said.
    “May we walk with you?” Timmy asked. And before he could open his mouth to answer, she added, “I know the boys and I shall be perfectly safe. Come on, Henry and Matt. We’ll stay within Officer McCann’s view now.”
    They strolled down the sidewalk like they were taking air in the park. Or were part of a damned circus parade with him as the last elephant in line.
    At least with Timmy ahead of him she wouldn’t try to slip her arm into his.
    Mick gave up grouching to himself about his uninvited company, and decided to be entertained by them instead. He walked behind, keeping watch for trouble, half-listening to their conversation.
    She spoke to the boys as she had to Rob, as seriously as if they were adults. They discussed baseball and Henry declared that cricket could not hold a candle to such a wonderful game. Timmy confessed she did not know either game well.
    “How can you not know cricket?” demanded Matt. “You’re a Brit, ain’t you?”
    “I may sound English,” she said, “but that is likely due to my brother’s and father’s influence. Since I turned five, I have spent perhaps five years total in Britain.”
    The boys and Timmy debated whether ice cream tasted better when the weather was too hot or just warm enough.
    They were moving on to the engrossing subject of popcorn—did it taste better with sugar or salt?—when Doherty came round the corner right in front of them. Probably to