A muffled thwack resounded from the backyard of Cole’s mother’s apartment complex, triggering his alertness. Was the intruder trying to break in again? He hurdled the picket fence, sprinting toward the noise. Several hall rugs were draped over the clothesline, and stocking-clad legs were visible below the tremoring foyer runner. His pulse slowed. Nothing out of place.
He wasn’t keen on the idea of Mom being outside in the cold, especially when the low, gray skies threatened snow. He’d put the classified for a housekeeper in tomorrow’s afternoon edition. No more stalling.
Cole unbuttoned his coat and tugged his tie knot, thankful he’d turned his article in early so he could help with whatever needed doing before the gala tonight.
Soft humming floated on the brisk air. Definitely not Helen Parker. Curiosity forced his feet into motion toward the mystery rug assaulter. A flash of blonde hair froze his steps.
Elissa.
Why was she here? And wielding an old broomstick like Max Carey at Forbes Field? A smile overtook his mouth. This was a picture he wanted branded into his memory. This image spoke of a girl he’d once known before sophistication had gobbled her up. Attired in a faded dress, petite Elissa swung away while humming “You Call Everyone Sweetheart.”
Cole inched toward her, drawn by her carefree movements and glowing complexion.
She took another shot at the rug, expelling a veil of dust.
He closed in. “I’ve only called you that.”
She shrieked and turned, the broom handle whacking him in the side of the head, his hat falling to the ground. He doubled over, eyes stinging and vision blurring.
“Oh, goodness.” Slender fingers clutched his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”
He sucked air through his teeth. “Nope. Just admiring the dead grass.” And as soon as his ears stopped ringing, he’d lift his head.
“Let me see how bad it is.” Her breath feathered against his temple, and the gentle pads of her fingertips stroked his hair. “You’re not bleeding, but there’s a raised, tender area. Right here.” She skimmed the spot above his ear.
He pushed his palm against his eyes, hoping the pressure would alleviate the throbbing ache.
“I’m sorry, Cole. You frightened me.”
He’d be beaten senseless any hour of the week to earn the compassion saturating her voice. The soft lull drew him to full height, his composure stabilizing with each passing second. Her radiant complexion, the natural pout of her lips, the pencil-thin brows that raised and dipped with her words swelled his interest. Yet what held his breath captive in his chest were her eyes, a deeper hue of blue lingering behind unshed tears. “Elissa. I’m okay.” For the most part.
A heavy exhale lowered her shoulders. “I thought … you were at the office.” If her bottom lip quivered anymore, he’d be obliged to soothe it with his.
Should he mention she’d referred to him by his given name? Better not. If he didn’t draw attention to it, maybe she’d continue. After five days of enduring her stiff addresses, his fortitude could stand a break. He snatched his hat from the ground, brushed it clean, and carefully placed it on his head with a crooked smile, mindful of his injury. “You didn’t have to.”
“To what?” She talked to his collar.
“I wanted someone to assist my mother, but I didn’t expect it to be you.”
Her chin snapped up, her features tightening. “You think because you told me your mother needed help, I bowed to your request and scurried over here?”
He slacked his hip against the clothesline post and folded his arms. “Hey, if you want the job, I’d like to conduct a proper interview. How about dinner tomorrow?”
She shoved her hands on her hips, her eyes slits of ice. “I’ve never met a more infuriating man.”
His grin stretched wider. “I didn’t think you needed the money, but I’ll pay you for what—” He held up a hand, and she batted it down. “Stop, Elissa. Every laborer is worthy of wages.” Laughter rolled in his chest as he reached for his money.
“So you’re going to pay me for five years’ worth?”
His fingers fumbled his billfold. “Five?” Her words staggered into his heart and regained footing. “You’ve been coming here the entire time I was gone?”
“Yes.” She stooped and picked the broom handle off the ground, chewing her bottom lip. Was she embarrassed he knew her secret or fuming at the reminder of his absence? Or both?
A biting breeze curled lazy snowflakes around them, but warmth flooded Cole. Even when he’d hurt her, abandoned her, she had looked after his mother. Could she be more endearing? But distrust glazed her eyes thicker than the ice patches on the sidewalk.
“I had no idea.” He traced a seam on the rug hanging beside him. If he didn’t keep his fingers busy, they’d most likely reach for her. And she wasn’t open to that. Might never be. “Mom never said a word.”
She shrugged. “I asked her not to.” Her hand was shaking. Or was she shivering?
Shouldn’t he have noticed the way she rubbed her hands over the thin fabric of her soiled dress? Or the quick spurts of breath tugging her shoulders forward? Fine gentleman he was. “Where’s your coat?” He asked even while shrugging off his own.
“Inside. I didn’t want to get it dirty.”
“So you’d rather get ill? Smart.” He wrapped the wool coat around her slender shoulders, surprised she accepted the gesture.
A small smirk tipped her lips, but not enough to satisfy him in his pursuit of an all-out, nose-crinkling grin.
“I was only going to be out here for a couple minutes. But you distracted me.”
“Now we’re even.” He latched his gaze on hers. “You’ve distracted me since the moment I saw you at the courthouse.”
Her soft expression turned rigid. Swirling around, she pulled a smaller runner off the line and hung it over her arm. Golden tendrils of hair escaped from her scarf, falling across her jaw, reminding him of earlier days when her locks had been short, and he had coursed his hands through them. He’d favored that style on her. His Spark.
“I meant what I said right before you nailed me with the broomstick.”
“Didn’t catch it.” With her free arm, she reached for another rug, but Cole stepped in front of her, catching her hand.
She jerked her fingers from his, disgust flooding her eyes as if she’d touched a snake.
“I said, I only called you that.” The weight of the runner on her arm pulled the jacket collar off her shoulder. He adjusted it for her, catching the way her frame stiffened beneath his fingertips. “You were humming ‘You Call Everyone Sweetheart.’ Truth is, the only woman I ever called sweetheart … was you.”
Elissa blinked, willing herself to harden against the words squeezing her chest. Yes, he’d called her sweetheart. Her ears almost tingled from the memory of the soothing timbre of his voice when he’d spoken it after their first kiss.
A snowflake landed on her cheek, the chilled prick shoving her back to reality. “You don’t expect me to believe that.”
Of course, he’d had sweethearts. What about the rumors of him and that silent-film glamour girl? She bit the inside of her cheek. How many times had she come close to knocking the cozy picture of him and Kathleen Stigert off his mother’s wall with the feather duster? The woman had fame, fortune, and more curves than the Monongahela. Not to mention, a natural poise that poked Elissa’s jealousy.
He exhaled, the vapor from his breath as hazy as the emotion in his eyes. Was he frustrated? Hurt? And why did she care?
“It’s the truth, whether you believe it or not. I’ve never forgotten—”
“Don’t.” She tossed the rug back on the line with the others and jerked out of his finely cut overcoat. The earthy scent of vetiver and sandalwood charged the snow-ridden air. What did he do, wash his coat in his expensive—no doubt, foreign—cologne? “Spare me one of your signature speeches.” She shoved the jacket into his hands. “I’ve scratched below the gilded surface of your words and found them cheap and flimsy. Spoken by a man with more ego than integrity.”
She ducked under the clothesline and walked as fast as her frozen limbs would carry her. Forget the rugs. She’d come back later for them. If at all. Mrs. Parker would understand. The woman had her son back, and—
Her shoes were no match for the icy walk. With her feet sliding forward, the rest of her stumbled backward into … his arms.
“I got you.” His breath pulsed in her ear.
She slid her eyes shut, collecting herself, ignoring the broad chest pressed to her back. Trying to ignore. With masculine delicacy, he set her onto her feet. The cold air burned her lungs. “Thank you.” Polite, calm, and perhaps the greatest bit of acting she’d ever performed because her insides hummed with chaos, embarrassment, and a terrible thing called attraction.
He nodded, a tenderness dabbing his brown irises. “You okay?”
“Yes.” She adjusted her sleeve and pulled together whatever was left of her composure. “I should be leaving now if I’m to look respectable for the gala tonight.” One glance beyond Cole revealed he’d left his jacket on the muddy, white-dotted ground. A prick of guilt stitched through her. He must’ve rushed after her as soon as she’d set her feet in motion. “Please relay to your mother I’ve left.”
“May I see you home?”
Her back molars ached from clenching her jaw, but she’d yank out her bicuspids before she’d let Cole see her teeth chattering. When she felt confident her lips weren’t frozen together, she answered. “No. I’ll take a shortcut through Wadsworth Avenue.”
A deep groove set between his brows, and he dipped his head. “That’s not a shortcut. It’s the back way. Take the cable car, and you’ll get home sooner.”
Which she knew. But confessing would mean she’d have to admit she traveled the back streets to avoid anyone seeing her filthy and dressed shabbily. She studied the cracks in the mortar behind Cole’s head. It was bad enough for him to see her this way. While he’d never call her that name she’d once been taunted with, he knew the pain involved with “Shadyside Slob.” She cringed at the thought.
“What I want to know is how you do that.”
She slid her gaze to him. “Do what?”
“That.” He made a circular motion around her face. “You hold your head perfectly still. Don’t you ever get a crick in your neck?”
She threw propriety aside for a costly second and rolled her eyes. “I need to leave.”
“Wait.” His massive palm cupped her shoulder, his expression turning serious. “What about tonight? Can I escort you to the gala?” Warmth seeped from his touch, his tone, threatening to melt her defenses.
She shrugged, but his hand remained bonded to her. “Adam is taking me.”
He brushed snow from her collar, a wry smile forming. “Do you call everyone sweetheart?”
“Cole, I ought to slap you.” Her fingers itched with readiness, but she bunched them at her sides. “If you think you can march back into my life after being silent for years, you’re delusional. Nothing you say or do will change my opinion of you.”
All smugness fled, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not the same man who left you at Union Station.”
Her lungs iced over, her breaths shallow. That wretched day. “No, you’re worse. Because then you trampled my heart, and now that it’s whole again, you return and hassle me. Do you want to destroy it? Is that your intention?” Her breath puffed between them. “There’s one thing you haven’t considered. This time, I won’t let you do it.” She spun on the balls of her feet, conscious of the icy ruts in the walkway. He called her name twice, and for once, it was nice being the one who walked away.
Frost etched a web of crystal lace on Elissa’s bedroom window. She ran her thumb along the inside of the glass, taking in the slight chill with a sigh. At least the rest of her was warm now. After her extended moments outside with Cole, she’d feared her marrow had frozen in her bones. She released a breath, fogging the pane before her. Cole’s face when she’d confessed her service to his mother feathered her thoughts. His eyes had widened and then flooded with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher—something between shock and admiration. And why had her breath flitted in her chest at his appraisal? Traitorous.
“You’re wearing that tonight, dear?” Elissa’s mother stood in the bedroom doorway, a grin brightening her face.
Elissa pasted on a smile. “No, my dressing gown isn’t what I’d call formal. But you, Mother, look stunning.”
“Thank you.” She entered the room, her burgundy gown flowing with her steps. It didn’t matter if Grace Tillman donned velvet and diamonds or a potato sack, elegance kissed her mannerisms. “This came for you from Charlie’s Greenhouse.” She held out the familiar box housing a yellow rose. “I thought Adam was escorting you tonight.”
“He is.” She received the small package and set it on her vanity next to her formal hair combs.
“Shouldn’t the man be the one who brings you a corsage?” Mother’s eyes never held a challenge, but the faint upward tilt of her lips usually preceded a propriety lesson. Like Irene Castle mastered in dance, Grace Tillman mastered in etiquette.
“I purchased this in case he brings the wrong color.” Her hands fell to her sides. “It sounds silly, doesn’t it?” More like pathetic.
The delicate smirk disappeared. “Why would you say that?”
“Alice Paul toured the country and inspired so many. She drew attention with her hunger strikes in jail. Made a difference. What have I done?” She gestured toward the box. “Wore a yellow rose. But does that change anything? No. It’s insignificant.” Just like her.
“Ms. Paul did create quite the stir while incarcerated.” Mother wrapped a comforting arm around her. “But you’ve never been one for a gray uniform.” Mother rarely teased, but when she did, it softened Elissa’s edges. “You’re showing the world the movement’s not over—that we’re pressing forward.”
Elissa stared into eyes as blue as hers, noting the passion in them. “I’ve never heard you speak like this.” Hadn’t her mother thought her ideals indecent? Hadn’t she almost disowned her upon the discovery of Elissa wearing a golden sash and marching down Fifth Avenue with a thousand other suffragettes?
“Keep on voicing your stance. If it’s gotten this old conventional mama listening, I’m certain it’ll affect many more.” Mother’s smile was ready, warm, and somehow filling, like fresh-baked bread brushed with honey. “Just make sure you keep your shoulders back while speaking.” She winked, and Elissa laughed.
But her biggest contribution to the movement could be squelched. “Father told me about the loan.”
“Ah. This is what has you upset.” Her eyes softened with understanding. “Your father’s been staying up late, looking over the books again and again. It’s been hard on him.”
As much as the worry niggled in Elissa’s chest, it had to be a hundred times worse for him. The paper had belonged in the Tillman family for two generations. Unlike her, Father had never tasted failure. Yet a sliver of her soul wept at the thought of her own aspirations dying. The paper was all she had left.
“I’ve always imagined myself running the Review someday.” A dream she’d been clutching from her youth drifted through her fingers like the breath of wind through the bare willow’s limbs outside her window. She skimmed the bristles of her hairbrush with her fingertips, and her mother appeared behind her.
“I know your heart is set on it. But should the Review fail, God can give you new dreams.”
Elissa wouldn’t know where to begin with a different life goal. What could replace the rush of excitement that pulsed her veins when the presses fired up? Or match the sense of accomplishment when she held the warm edition she’d poured her heart into? No, it was the paper or nothing.
“I’m glad you’re speaking with your father again. He didn’t need a strained relationship on top of the pressure from the paper.” She combed her fingers through Elissa’s hair like she had years ago. “He didn’t tell me Cole was coming for dinner until late yesterday.” Her lashes lowered. “I didn’t receive Cole properly. I’m ashamed of how I acted. He deserves my apology.”
He deserved nothing but a swift kick in the trousers. So hard, it’d land the man right back in New York. “Mother, you did nothing wrong. If anyone, it should be him who apologizes.” And why couldn’t she keep the emotion from her voice?
Mother, always discerning, stroked her back the same as she had the multiple times Elissa had come home crying from being teased at school. “It was certainly a shock, wasn’t it? How are you faring, my love?”
Elissa tight-lipped a smile. “It doesn’t seem real to me. He has been removed from here”—and her—“for so long. He’s changed, yet is much the same.” His persistence being one of the qualities he’d retained over the years. “It’s almost as if he expects things to be the way they were before he left for Columbia.”
Mother’s stiff curls dipped with her chin. She reached over Elissa’s shoulder, retrieved the hairbrush, and worked it through Elissa’s hair.
Elissa slid her eyes closed, letting the soothing, rhythmic motion act like a tonic to her nerves.
“Could it be Cole wants to make amends with you?”
Her lids popped open, and now the bristles seemed to score her scalp like tiny daggers. “I wouldn’t allow it.” He’d set fire to that bridge. The only remains were charred memories.
Mother lowered the brush, a tranquil expression blanketing her face despite Elissa’s outburst. “It’s quite possible he’s sorry for the way he treated you.”
She unconsciously snorted, and Mother raised a brow. “For Cole to be sorry, that’d require an apology. Which he’s not offered.” Had he expressed his regrets on the note she’d torn up? She scrunched her nose. Maybe she shouldn’t have acted so rashly, but then … the man’d had plenty of opportunities since then to ask for forgiveness.
Mother responded with a dainty shrug. “Does he need to say he’s sorry for you to forgive him?”
This morning, her father had told her to be merciful. This afternoon, her mother was telling her to forgive. Their words scratched her resolve both times.
“Forgiveness would only open my heart. And it has to remain closed as far as he’s concerned.”
Her muscles screamed with fatigue. Cleaning day usually left her drained, but this sort of exhaustion had nothing to do with beating carpets. The Review’s unknown future, Cole’s enigmatic behavior, and Adam’s continued attentions were three excellent reasons to stay home and lose herself in an Austen novel. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, frowning. “Do I have to attend tonight?”
Her mother kissed the top of her head. “Elissa, I’ve never known you to be a coward.”