What did the rascal want now? Winnie turned to face the boy and shrieked as a splat of mud flew over Olive’s shoulder and hit her smack in the bosom.
“That’s for grabbing me!” Jeb threw another handful.
Winnie and Olive ducked, and the mud splattered against the windshield instead. She gasped at the muted—but obvious—crack of glass and crouched behind the bumper.
“We stopped you from stealing,” she called out. “There’s a difference!”
Jeb stuck out his tongue and then sprinted out of sight, his friends right behind him.
Winnie emerged from behind the automobile and attempted to wipe her lapels clean, but the mud had already set in. She sighed and gave up. At least the girls would be the only ones to see her in such an ignoble state.
“Winnie, are you all right?” Clem rushed toward her.
Rhoda, close on her heels, observed her mud splattered coat with ill-concealed devastation. “Don’t tell me I missed all the trouble!”
Perhaps it was the disappointed wail in Rhoda’s voice, or the shock of the confrontation, but Winnie burst into hysterical laughter. That set Olive off, who was soon laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her cheeks. When Winnie could speak normally, she filled Clem and Rhoda in on what happened.
“It sounds like you handled the situation with aplomb,” Clem said. “And in the future, we’ll be more prepared to avoid similar trouble.”
“Absolutely,” Winnie said.
“Without a doubt,” Olive agreed.
“We’ll see,” Rhoda said under her breath, and they dissolved into giggles again.
“What in God’s name happened to my automobile?” A man shouted from farther down the sidewalk, and their heads swiveled as one. Even from a distance, Winnie recognized Mack Donnelly’s lanky form pressing through the crowd.
“Satan’s handbasket.” She ducked behind the bumper once more and lowered the brim of her hat. When her friends stared at her in bewilderment, she hissed, “Hide. I don’t want to speak with him.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” Rhoda peered down the sidewalk with interest.
“Dare I ask who he is?” Clem asked.
“My editor.”
“Why are you hiding from him? And not very well, I might add.”
“He never has a pleasant word to say,” she groaned. “And he’s forever staring into space like he’s some great thinker.Minusthe great thoughts, mind you. Honestly, I have no idea how he became an editor.”
The truth was, his rejection still stung, but she wasn’t ready to admit that to the girls. And she certainly couldn’t tell them that she’d been obsessing over the dimple that had finally revealed itself in his right cheek. It was much easier to focus on his faults.
“I can hear you, Bobcat.”
Winnie gaped at her friends in horror, but they were no help, their eyes glued to the man on the sidewalk before them. She eased herself to her feet with as much composure as she could muster, but the effect was lost when his gaze dropped to her soiled front, down to her dirtied hands, and back to his damaged windshield.
“It’s not what you think.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped into his path. Based on her few interactions with Mr. Donnelly, she didn’t have much hope he would be reasonable. If that meant she had to go toe-to-toe with him, so be it. “We were conducting a petition when—”
“This is a suffrage event? So, what—you throw dirt at innocent men’s cars in the name of equality?”
His scowl was strong enough to bleach her mud stain, yet Winnie found herself leaning forward in challenge. He was so close she could see the dilated pupils in his deep blue eyes, and every cell in her body fluttered awake. Whatwasit about this man that simultaneously made her want to strangle himandcrush her mouth to his? She was both horrified and captivated by the direction of her thoughts. Kiss the enemy? Had she gone delusional from lack of water?
Rhoda snorted behind her, diverting Mr. Donnelly’s intense gaze and giving Winnie a moment to compose herself. “As if anyone related to the McEntire family could claim to be innocent.”
Mack’s cheeks flushed with indignation, and Winnie’s curiosity rocketed. How did they know each other?
“Miss Carlisle, isn’t it? My regards to your father.” Rhoda gave a mocking bow, and in the awkward silence that followed, Mack’s attention returned to his automobile. “Wait, it’s not just mud—my windshield iscracked.”
His thunderous expression should have repelled her, but she found herself wanting to place a calming hand to his cheek, as if her touch would magically fix everything. Seriously, what waswrongwith her?
