She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. “I was wondering, since we seem to have found a common ground, if you would consider approving a new idea I have.”
“A new idea…”
“I’d like to write about these factory girls, anonymously of course, and how they have no voice. The vote could change all that, and I think it’s the perfect…”
He stopped listening. How foolish it was to think she was attracted to him, or that she would be interested in courting. Her primary goal had always been to write an article, and he was the sap blocking her path. The truth reminded him of his own goals, which had been pushed to the background ever since the redheaded temptress exploded into his life.
The oversight was over.
“Mrs. West, are you trying to usurp my article?”
Her eyes widened. “Not at all. It’s an entirely different angle.”
“We can only publish one article about the factory fire, and mine takes precedence. I’m afraid you’ll have to come up with another idea next week.”
Her lips pursed together, but words burst from her. “I don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“How can you be so nice to other people, but not me? How can you be so eloquent with other people, butnot me?”
“Aren’t I?” He kept his voice cool, even to his own ears. If he weren’t cold, he would be engulfed by the flames spewing from her eyes, and he’d never survive the humiliation of being rejected so thoroughly.
“No, you’re not. What is it about me you dislike so much? How am I a threat to you, and why are you treating me like one?”
The hurt in her eyes nearly broke through his resolve. “I am doing my job the best way I can. If that causes you distress, perhaps you would be more comfortable in the stenography room.” A dangerous gleam appeared in her eyes, but he forged ahead. “Good work today, Mrs. West. Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon? You can deliver the notes tomorrow morning.”
With a pained expression, she said softly, “Of course, Mr. Donnelly.”
“Good day, Mrs. West.”
And once more, he fled her presence.
CHAPTER7
“Insufferable jackanapes.” Winnie longed to punch something, but she settled for a boisterous stomp down Third Avenue. A light drizzle cast a pall over the busy avenue, matching her mood perfectly.
She’d been a fool to think Mack Donnelly was anything other than awful, but he’d lured her in with his competence and graciousness toward those poor women at the button factory. But it was now apparent his courtesy did not extend to all women.As much as the truth rankled, it also hurt.
There had been a brief moment, when he had protected her from the roiling crowd, that she could have sworn he smelled her hair. Men didn’t do that to women they despised, did they?
To her shame, she had enjoyed his embrace, had even moved in closer to give him better access. But the wariness with which he’d stared at her once they escaped the crowd made her realize his actions had been borne of duty, nothing else, and she had scrambled to change the topic. She blushed to think who might have seen them. She needed to be more careful with her reputation. Once questioned, it would be impossible to find her place in Seattle, and she couldn’t bear to cast doubts on Clem’s new society.
Not to mention she wasn’t ready for another relationship so close after her short but stifling marriage. She wasn’t opposed to companionship, but she wasn’t willing to lose her newfound freedom. What man would approve of her desire to rise in the journalism profession or support her activism? The obvious answer was none—her late husband certainly hadn’t. In her experience, men were all alike with their need for control overriding anyone else’s aspirations.
Her spirits at an all-time low, she stopped at the next intersection. She’d been lost in her volatile thoughts for so long she’d completely lost track of her surroundings. Reading the street signs informed her she had another ten blocks to her boarding room. She mentally counted the coins she carried, debating if she could afford a streetcar ride. She frowned and checked the signs again. Longfellow House was only two blocks away. It wasn’t Aunt Della’s day to receive callers, but she desperately needed to hear a kind voice.
Besides, Clem would probably be busily working on some treatise to Congress or working on a pile of correspondence between the local suffrage groups, which also suited Winnie. She wanted to be useful, and more importantly, she craved a distraction from her obsessive thoughts ofthat man.
Grumbling under her breath, she crossed the street. The French pastry shop window on the corner, laden with sumptuous desserts, stopped her in her tracks. A perfect macaron was known to solve life’s problems, and since she wasn’t taking a streetcar, she had a little extra to spend. And of course, if she were to arrive unannounced at Longfellow House, it would be better not to arrive empty-handed. Pleased with the results of her inner debate, she entered the pastry shop.
Fresh, delicate scents of pastry flour, sugar, and chocolate assailed her nose. Every muscle in her body relaxed. Unlike men, sweets could never disappoint her. With the shopgirl’s help, she selected a set of macarons. Unable to resist, she took the box to the window seat and untied the ribbon. She popped a light pink confection in her mouth. The sugar melted on her tongue so perfectly that she moaned with delight. The shopgirl stared at her, aghast, and Winnie swallowed noisily.
“Er…my compliments.” She quickly retied the ribbon and fled the shop.
Balancing the dessert box in one hand and lifting her skirts out of puddles with the other, she hustled down the street toward Longfellow House. A few minutes later, she was welcomed into the English Tudor mansion. A smiling Clem met her in the tearoom, but Winnie noted the pinched lips and dark circles under her eyes at once. She jumped forward and directed the petite woman to the brocade settee.
“Whatever is wrong, dear?”
