“And why are you still touching her?” hissed the third.
He dropped Miss Becket’s elbow like it was a box of snapping turtles.
“I hope Mr. Anderson didn’t hurt you, Miss Becket,” Winnie said pointedly. “Can you still perform?”
“Perform?” he asked dumbly.
Miss Becket rubbed her elbow with a languid grace that didn’t quite match the frailty she’d displayed moments ago. Another incongruency. “I’ll manage just fine.”
Mack clapped him on the back with a smirk, blatantly enjoying his discomfort. “I hired her to play piano in the retiring salon.”
“But she took something from Mrs. West’s seat,” he insisted. “I saw her myself.”
Winnie sighed. “Show him the earrings, Olive.”
Miss Becket—Olive—opened her palm and showed him the jewelry. “She loaned them to me.”
Now that her friends were there to vouch for her, her voice had more zest. It fit her much better than the mousiness from before. In fact, the longer he studied her, the more convinced he became that the woman was deliberately making herself smaller, shoving her true thoughts and feelings deep down inside. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would do such a thing. But to him, it was clear as day—she wasn’t nearly as weak as the others seemed to find her.
And he had better retreat while he still could.
“My apologies for the misunderstanding.”
“Thank you,” she said to his tie. “At least you were trying to protect Winnie’s things.”
The ebony-haired beauty scoffed. “He wanted clout for catching a thief at Mr. Donnelly’s party.”
Now she had no trouble meeting his gaze. Usually, she’d be exactly his type, gorgeous and forthright, but for whatever reason, he felt…nothing. His gaze returned to Miss Becket—Olive.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, her voice again too soft. “I need to…”
And then she just walked away.
He stared after her for a beat too long, then turned back to his audience with a self-deprecating grin that never failed to get him out of a tight spot. “We all make mistakes. In my defense, she?—”
“Olive Becket is a lamb,” the blonde said sternly. “Our lamb.”
He held his hands up. “Trust me, I have no designs on her.”
“As if Olive would be interested in a man like Mr. Anderson,” Winnie said, a laugh bubbling out. Her friends joined in.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a wolf?—”
“And she’s a lamb.” He sighed impatiently, wishing he’d bit his tongue. Why should her opinion of him matter? She wasn’t his type. “Understood.”
Mack swung an arm over his shoulders before the women could berate him further. “Come along, my friend. Let me get you a fresh beverage and introduce you to some people who don’t think you’re out for innocent blood.”
He gave the women a polite nod, then let himself be led away. Once they were out of earshot, he muttered, “Hell and damnation, Mack. And here I thought I was making headway with Winnie ever since the newspaper debacle. Should I have stayed in Tacoma?”
Mack laughed. “Perhaps. Just leave Miss Becket alone, and there won’t be any more issues.”
“If I’d known she walked on water, I would have.”
“She’s a shy, struggling sweetheart. Not your preference at all.” He raised a hand and gestured to someone. “Now, who do you want to meet?”
“Lawyers,” he replied, thrusting the odd woman from his mind. “Preferably ones involved in criminal proceedings.”
