Mack waited for his uncle to come to the foregone conclusion, but like usual, Horace hemmed and hawed. Mack spooned some mousse into his mouth, swallowing noisily when he caught Emil studying him with a quizzical frown.
Finally, Horace sighed. “Mack, you’ll need to go to your aunt.”
“Where does she live again?” Emil’s tone was shrewd. “Oak Harbor, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Mack pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You know, Uncle Horace, that puts me in the same place as the suffrage event. I might as well make an appearance, wouldn’t you say? Perhaps Emil and I can come up with a new series together.”
Horace was already shaking his head by the time he finished. “I won’t waste valuable resources by sending you both to the same event. Mack, since you’ll already be on Whidbey, you can attend the event when you aren’t caring for your aunt. Emil, you’ll have to finish up Friday’s edition.”
“Are you certain?” Mack wrinkled his brows as if he wasn’t the mastermind behind the whole plot.
“It will be easier for you to get the inside scoop. If Jenny isn’t involved, I’ll eat my hat.”
The truth of it made Mack smile. Jenny and Mack’s father had engaged in many loud debates over the years, and her furniture was almost always covered in social-minded publications. He inhaled the last of the mousse, patted his lips with his napkin, and turned to Alma.
“Mother, thank you for the delicious meal. I’m sure you can understand that I need to leave at once. I have much to do before I depart.”
“Of course. Besides,” she added, patting Emil on the hand. “This handsome boy is all the company I need.”
Emil gave her a pained smile, and Mack pressed his lips together to keep from smirking.
Sweet, sweet victory.
Taking his leave, Mack headed home. There was a lot to accomplish in the next twenty-four hours, most of which would need to be done discreetly. Winnie couldn’t discover his plans, or everything would be ruined. And somewhere in there, he had to reconcile the truth with himself. His plans had not changed except for one very significant detail.
Winnie West was going to be his.
CHAPTER9
Winnie leaned against the railing of Galbraith Dock in front of the steamer that would take her to Whidbey Island. It didn’t matter that the steamer was far smaller and uglier than its neighbors, nor that the mid-morning sky was bleak and gray. Her body vibrated from the thrill of adventure, the anticipation of sailing toward a new goal in life.
The last time she’d felt this giddy had been three months ago when she boarded a train west. One foot still on the Boston platform, she had known that, for better or for worse, she was embarking on a journey that would forever change the course of her life. And here she was, about to undertake the next step toward achieving something worthwhile.
Drawing a satisfied breath, she patted the handbag containing notes of encouragement from her dear friends at the Seattle Suffrage Society. She’d already read them three times each, and the words emboldened her spirit. How could she be scared when they believed in her so unfailingly?
A second, equally strong feeling of sly satisfaction enhanced her giddiness. She, a lowly stenographer, had convinced the editors atThe Puget Sound Postto support her ideas. All she’d had to do was avoid Mack Donnelly four full days, which had not been an easy feat. For some reason, he’d prowled the walls like a caged wildcat, his restless steps chasing her from shadow to shadow.
She’d even volunteered to work from “Satan’s Armpit,” what the stenographers had not so affectionally nicknamed the dark, dank corner of the stenographer’s office. One full day working there was bound to give an unfortunate stenographer a headache, so the girls normally took turns. But it was the only corner hidden from sight of the door, the only place she could do her work and avoid an encounter with Mack—should he deign to enter the stenog’s office. In the end, the headache had been worth it. Not only did she evade Mack, but she also secured a chat with Mr. Anderson when he popped in during break time to greet her coworkers.
Her nose wrinkled. That was perhaps too generous a statement. In reality, Mr. Anderson often stopped by to greet Miss Helms and Miss Blanchet, who, not so coincidentally, were the prettiest girls in the office. But why was he always grilling them on Mr. McEntire’s meeting notes? He was an editor, not a secretary. It didn’t quite add up, but she had more things to worry about, such as a probing set of ocean blue eyes with the power to make her knees tremble.
A strange twinge of disappointment curled around her heart, and she blinked. Was she actually sad she wouldn’t see the man who had been stonewalling her for a few more days? She tossed her head at the ridiculous thought. Better to put him out of her thoughts and concentrate on all the good things that lay ahead.
A clatter on the dock and a seaman’s shout drew her attention. Sailors wrestled crates aboard the steamer. She marveled both at their agile strength and creative use of vocabulary. Her lips twitched at their epithets, some of which she scribbled in her notebook for later use. Then her gaze shifted beyond the sailors, and her breath hitched with disturbing eagerness.
The object of her deeply troublesome thoughts marched toward her, a ticket fare clutched in his hand and a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“You,” she said, trying very hard to ignore his infernal dimple.
“Bobcat,” he returned.
Why did that ridiculous nickname make her heart flutter? “What are you doing here?”
“I’m going to Whidbey Island. And yourself?”
She frowned. “I’mgoing to Whidbey Island. Surely this isn’t a coincidence.”
“I heard a rumor there was going to be a delightful conference on suffrage. As a newspaperman, it is it my responsibility to cover the story.”
