A breeze whipped down the narrow lane, loosening tendrils of her hair. He loved the way she tucked them behind her ear. The simple gesture seemed so timeless and feminine.
“There’s a baseball game coming up,” he finally said. “Boston will be in town, and last month they trounced our guys pretty bad, so New York will want revenge.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Baseball,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong with baseball?”
“President Matthews wants Blackstone College to form a team, and it sends chills down my spine.”
“And why is that, Mrs. K?” He loved the way she became so animated speaking about the college.
It was a breezy evening, and a gust of wind sent a handkerchief from Mrs. O’Shea’s laundry line flying toward them. Gwen snatched it out of the air before it could sail down the street.
“Lookie there,” he teased. “You’ve got the makings of a fine outfielder.”
He impulsively clasped her around the waist and lifted her into the air. She was so tiny compared to him that it was easy to hoist her up. She laughingly clung to his shoulders, and he demanded a kiss before setting her down.
A metallic pop sounded from the fire escape next to them, and Mrs. O’Shea’s laundry line tore loose, dropping away from the building and dangling in the air as sheets, trousers, and blouses slipped off and flapped in the wind. A few kids cheered as they scrambled after the clothes tumbling through the lane.
“Those scamps are going to steal Mrs. O’Shea’s laundry,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Gwen asked. “Maybe they’re collecting it for her.”
There wasn’t time to respond to her naivete. Mrs. O’Shea couldn’t afford to lose those clothes, and more than half her laundry was now blowing down the street.
“Come on, let’s go round that stuff up.” He vaulted down the fire escape steps, loud metallic clangs sounding with each footstep. She was right behind him. They reached the street only moments later.
“Give me back those bloomers, kid,” he roared at a youngster who couldn’t be older than eight or ten.
The brat stuck his tongue out at him. “Make me!”
Patrick scooped him up and tossed him over his shoulder in one swift move. The kid howled in outrage, but other street urchins chased after the rest of Mrs. O’Shea’s laundry, and an example needed to be set.
“Grab the bloomers from him, Gwen.”
She must have done so, because the kid thrashed and cursed like a sailor, demanding them back.
He dumped the kid back on his feet. “Be glad I don’t send you to the reformatory,” he shouted, then went running after a girl who dragged a bedsheet behind her. He snatched the sheet before she could disappear down an alley. Patrick balled it up and threw it at Gwen. “Hold these, I’m going after more.”
Now the kids were scrambling in earnest. Pillowcases, blouses, and undergarments were scattered on the cobblestones. Gwen gathered up what she could while he chased after the street urchins.
Most of the kids didn’t fight too hard. They weren’t too keen on someone else’s underthings, but the laundry was easy pickings, and anything was a prize to kids who lived close to the bone.
A rickety old vegetable crate lay abandoned in the lane. Patrick flipped it upright and dumped the laundry inside. By the time he’d scooped up the last pillowcase, they were both winded and exhilarated.
“That was kind of fun,” Gwen confessed.
“Kind of like running after baseballs.”
She burst into laughter. “If you say that word one more time, I’m going to have to leave.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “You pick a place for us to go. Somewhere public.”
She pulled back to look at him in confusion. “Why so earnest?”
This was it. He turned her shoulders to face him squarely. “I want to keep seeing you, but out in the open. We’ve rubbed along pretty well over the past few weeks. I like you.”
He knew she liked him back, but he didn’t know if she was embarrassed to be seen with him. He’d never know as long as they kept huddling on the fire escape. Heat prickled across his skin, and his heart kicked up to an uncomfortable pace.
“I like the idea of you and me,” he continued. “I know we seem so different on the outside, but I’d be a happy man if you wanted to step out in public with me. Officially, that is.” His face flushed. “If you’re game.”
“I’m game,” she said. “Wherever you want, I’ll go with you.”
“Come here.” He grinned, tugging her into his embrace. A couple of the street kids saw them and let out rude catcalls, but he didn’t care. The fact that Gwendolyn Blackstone Kellerman looked up at him with admiration shining in her pretty green eyes sent him over the moon.
It looked like they might have a future after all.
17
Patrick’s mother was sullen as she sat in the corner of her bedroom, watching him change the linen on her bed. She was still too weak to help, and he assumed her moodiness was born of frustration at the length of her recovery. He was wrong.
“When are you planning to tell me about that woman?” she asked, disapproval heavy in her voice. “I know she shows up every evening after I’ve gone to bed and the pair of you sneak out onto the fire escape.”
Patrick blinked in surprise. “Mrs. Kellerman?”
“Aye. Never in a million years would I have suspected you of running around with another man’s wife.”
“She’s a widow, Ma,” he said, mildly amused that his mother had been stewing herself into a snit over nothing.
Birdie’s eyes widened into two huge circles of embarrassed surprise. “Well, that puts a whole new spin on things, doesn’t it?”
He grinned and finished making the bed, wanting the room to be tidy before Dr. Haas arrived. Her medical appointments were coming to an end, which meant Patrick needed to settle up on the bill. He’d pulled two hundred dollars together, but it would probably cost more than that. It shouldn’t take him too long to pay, since his victory in the Blackstone case had already brought him new clients. The owner of a canning factory wanted his help with a zoning issue, and three people wanted wills. All would pay in cash.
Birdie pestered him for details about Gwen, but he was reluctant to discuss her yet. The feelings he had for Gwen were too raw and primitive. He wanted to chop down a tree for firewood to warm her house. Build her a castle. He wanted to haul home a side of beef to feed their family, the dozen children they would have together. He wanted to plant her on top of a pedestal and be a hero for her.
“I like her,” he said simply, hoping Birdie would settle for that answer.
She’d have to, since Dr. Haas had arrived. Patrick stood off to the side and watched the examination in approval as his mother was able to stand, bend, and raise her arms on command.
A sense of well-being flooded him, and he impulsively bowed his head, praying silently. Dear Lord, you saw fit to take my father before Birdie had the big family she always wanted. Please, please let her live long enough to welcome grandchildren who will love her as I have done.