6. A Ride Home
CHAPTER 6
A RIDE HOME
L ater that day
At six o’clock, Ella Mae folded up her sewing into a basket and took one last look around the store before she stepped outside. As she turned to lock the door, an image of John once again flashed before her mind’s eye, and the oddest sensation rushed down her spine. Flutterbies danced about in her stomach, and frissons of pleasure skittered beneath her skin.
Inhaling softly, Ella Mae paused a moment before she turned to head east.
She nearly collided with John O’Connor.
Giving a start, she stared up at him. Had she conjured him into existence with her thoughts?
“Oh, pardon me, Mr. O’Connor.” She stepped back and curtsied. “I did not see you there.”
The expression on the man’s face was by no means pleasant. In fact, the stablehand looked as if he had worked himself into some sort of rage, his face red and his fists on his hips.
“Why, whatever is wrong, Mr. O’’Connor?” she asked, her eyes widening in fright. “Was something wrong with the bridles?” The patch he wore over one eye made him appear far too menacing.
“Where do you think you’re going, my lady?”
Ella Mae blinked and glanced about. “Well, home, sir. It’s after six o’clock.”
His expression grew more fearsome—if that was even possible. “Alone?”
She shook her head. “Oh, goodness, no. My father arranged a ride for me. He said I’m to go to the lobby of the DeSoto House Hotel, and someone I know would be there to drive me home.”
John’s fierce expression softened. “Oh. Uh...” He swallowed and briefly closed his eye. “Forgive me. I feared you were intending to walk home by yourself,” he muttered.
Ella Mae scoffed with indignation. “Not with the lead miners coming into town for their ales,” she replied. There weren’t nearly as many of them now as there had been before the California Gold Rush—those who had left did so for the prospect of a better life, and with the war, even fewer were left to work in the mines. Still, it was never safe to be out after dark unescorted.
Even in the golden hour, when the sun was setting and the downtown was cast in a wash of yellow light to match the leaves on most of the trees, Ella Mae could see the stablehand was embarrassed. “Would you care to walk with me to the hotel so I won’t be alone?”
He glanced toward the stable. “Uh, of course.” He didn’t offer an arm but merely walked beside her as they made their way. “About the masquerade ball,” he said suddenly.
“Yes?” she responded, hiding the surprise she felt at hearing him bring up the topic. “Have you decided to attend?”
“I’ll be there,” he stated. “Seeing as how I already have a mask of sorts.” He lifted a hand to indicate his eye patch.
She resisted the urge to grin. “Ah, but what costume will you wear to go with it? Will you be a pirate, perhaps? Or a?—”
“I was thinking I could be a highwayman,” he stated, arching his brow as if he was waiting for her reaction.
A frisson passed through Ella Mae, and she knew he heard her inhalation of breath. “You would wear a black cloak over all black clothes and carry... what? A gun and a riding crop?” She wasn’t sure why she felt excitement at imagining him in such an outfit.
“Probably not the gun,” he replied, humor sounding in his voice. They had nearly reached the DeSoto, and he indicated an old phaeton parked in front. “Your carriage awaits, my lady,” he said, bowing slightly as he held out his arm to indicate the black equipage hitched to a Bay.
Ella Mae stared at him a moment before her attention went to the front doors of the DeSoto House Hotel and back to him. Is that why he had asked if she would agree to go on a ride with him? Except... “My father arranged for you to give me a ride home?” she asked in surprise.
“He even paid me,” he replied dryly. “Although I can’t think why he isn’t driving you himself.”
“Oh, that’s because he and my mother have gone to Dubuque for their wedding anniversary,” she explained, her attention on the phaeton. She didn’t notice him screw up his face in confusion.
“Huh,” he murmured.
Doing her best not to keep her mouth from dropping open, she continued to regard the phaeton and then the horse with a look of uncertainty. “I’ve never ridden on one of these,” she said, attempting to quell her nervousness. A phaeton required the riders to sit on a bench. A rather small bench. At least this one had a pole she could cling to whilst they negotiated corners, for otherwise she was quite sure she would slide off the bench and end up on her bum in the street.
“Would you like some help?” he asked, taking the sewing basket from her. He stowed it on the back of the phaeton, in a rack large enough for a small trunk.
She glanced up first at him and then at the two steps required to reach the bench. Given the crinoline beneath her skirt, she wasn’t sure how she would manage climbing the steep steps.
Moving to stand in front of her, he asked, “Do you trust me?”
Ella Mae stared up at him, “Um.” Before she could finish forming a coherent response, he had his hands at her waist and was lifting her onto the bench. Neither of them noticed the cat that darted out from beneath her skirts and jumped onto the back of the phaeton.
“Oh!” she cried out in surprise. Before she could put voice to a protest, she was seated on the bench, clinging to the pole with one hand as she pulled her skirts into some semblance of order. She was about to scold John, but he was already making his way around the front of the horse to the driver’s side of the phaeton.
When he hopped up onto the bench, he gave a her a nod and took the reins in hand. A moment later, they were off and turning right onto Green Street.
Neither of them noticed the silhouette of the man who watched from a third-story window above, his body mostly hidden by the drapes.
“I’m not really a lady,” she said suddenly, once they were headed up the slight hill.
“I beg your pardon?” he responded, barely turning to regard her.
“You keep saying, ‘my lady’, as if I’m a daughter of an aristocrat or someone important. But I am not.”
He chuckled softly. “I suppose I say it because you sound like one. Or at least, what I think one might sound like. All proper and such, like your mother.”
Ella Mae tried to discern if he thought her mother’s British accent made her sound better than the other ladies in the town. “I don’t mean to put on airs,” she argued, thinking that might be his point.
“I didn’t say you did.” He finally glanced over at her. “You’re just very ladylike.”
Giving him a prim grin, she relaxed despite the death grip she employed as she hung onto the pole. “You sound like my father.”
His head whipped around so he could regard her with his good eye. “Is that...?”
“A compliment, yes. Your accent. It’s very... light. Barely there. You’re easy to understand, unlike some of the other Irishmen here in town.”
He visibly relaxed. “Oh, aye. Thank you,” he replied.
They rode his silence until he negotiated the next turn. “This is very invigorating,” Ella Mae said, glad she had tied the ribbons of her bonnet beneath her chin before she had left the store. Their speed seemed to create a wind that would have sent it flying off of her head otherwise.
He chuckled. “It is to drive as well.” When they took the left corner onto Hill Street to head up to Prospect Street, he added, “Hold on.”
Ella Mae didn’t need to be told, and although it was frightening to think she could be tossed from the equipage at any moment, it was thrilling.
Would she be tossed off, though? For a moment, she imagined how John would casually snake an arm around her lower back to keep her seated. Her entire body seemed to shiver with excitement, which is probably why she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her lips when they turned onto Prospect Street. The horse was able to speed up once they were off the steep hill and onto more even terrain. “It’s the second house up there on the left,” she said, releasing her hold on her skirts to indicate the house.
“I know,” he said. The horse trotted into the semicircular drive and came to a halt directly in front of the steps to the front door. “Stay put. I’ll help you down,” he said, before he stepped off the equipage and ambled around to her side.
“What do I do?” she asked, using one booted foot to feel for the top step as she clutched the pole. Once again, his hands were at her waist, and for a moment, she felt weightless as he lifted and lowered her until her feet touched the ground. She gripped his shoulders as a means to steady herself. “Thank you,” she murmured, nearly breathless from the ride.
“Don’t mention it. You’re as light as a feather,” he said, his hands still at her waist.
Ella Mae inhaled softly, finally lowering her hands from his shoulders. She was about to counter his claim but thought better of it. “So... you’ll be at the ball?”
He nodded. “Will you save some dances for me?”
“I think you’re allowed two,” she murmured, her attention on his lips.
For a moment, she thought he might kiss her. Now that the sun had set and twilight colored the sky, it was nearly dark. Who would see them?
Mrs. Jackson, probably.
Ella Mae’s gaze darted to the the front of the house, where lights showed through the curtains of several windows. Mrs. Jackson would have dinner on the table soon.
“I intend to take what I’m allowed,” he warned, moving to the back of the phaeton to retrieve her sewing basket from the rack.
She lifted a shoulder. “Then I shall look forward to it,” she promised, taking the basket from him. A slight breeze brought with it the odor of autumn leaves and a reminder they were probably being watched.
He finally nodded. “Goodnight, Miss Montgomery.” He gave a slight bow and bounded up onto the bench, oblivious to the cat who lounged in the back.
Ella Mae saw Sergeant, though, suppressing her scoff lest John misunderstand her annoyance with the mischievous cat. “Good night, Mr. O’Connor,” she replied, dipping a curtsy. “And thank you for the ride. It was quite thrilling.”
He lifted a hand to tip his cap as he gripped both reins in his other, and a moment later, the equipage was out of the drive and headed down the street.
The last she saw, Sergeant was still perched on the back of it.
Whatever does he think he’s doing? she wondered.