The boy’s grin was jubilant, but he looked at James as curiously as the nanny had. “Who’s he?”
“Manners, Ellis,” she scolded. “This is Mr. MacKintosh. Mr. MacKintosh,”—of course the sweet ‘James’ of moments before was gone—“this is my son, Ellis, and my daughter Luella.”
James held out his hand to the lad, who blinked at it in surprise before shaking it.
“Will you sled with us, sir?”
He shot a look at Prim. “I thought I just might.”
* * *
A half hour and several trips down the hill later, James had gained the adamant approval of the Eames children, and a persistent shadow in young Ellis. When they finally left Pilgrim Hill and began a slow walk back toward 5thAvenue, he had a child on each hand while Prim trudged ahead with a sleepy Hazel in her arms.
Ellis’s enthusiasm hadn’t dimmed at all. He kept up a steady stream of chatter all the while as he skipped along by James’s side.
“Do you like baseball, Mr. MacKintosh? I love baseball. I play sometimes with my friends at school. Do you play? I play third base or sometimes first base. George Davis plays third base. He plays for the New York Giants. Number forty-four. Do you like them? I love them. My uncle Jeremy took me to the World Championship game a couple months ago at the Polo Grounds. It was great! The Giants versus the Orioles. Mr. Davis has the biggest mustache I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure how he can even breathe. Why don’t you have a mustache, Mr. MacKintosh…?”
On and on it went, without even a breath’s space for him to answer. But the incessant babble didn’t bother him as it surely perturbed Nanny, who muttered a dozen pleas for him to ‘cease his nonsense’ from behind them as they walked along.
In fact, he found the whole thing somewhat soothing.
Comfortable.
The thought should have troubled him more than it did.
* * *
“Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, Mr. MacKintosh,” Prim stopped at the gates of the park facing 5thAvenue and turned to him, offering her hand.
Gone was the tidily groomed gentleman who’d met her an hour before. In his place was a man, his hair shaggy and curling around his face, his tie gone, and his collar missing. He looked wonderfully masculine. And as happy as she.
It had been such a lovely time. She hated to have it end. James had taken the hill more than once. After his first solo trip, he’d brought the children with him one at a time, openly enjoying himself.
His glad surrender of his dignity had prompted a few of the other men to join in the fun, much to their children’s delight. As none of the ladies had partaken, Prim hadn’t given in to the impulse to join in either.
She almost wished she had.
In her wildest dreams, she couldn’t imagine Fletcher ever lowering himself to play like a child or with one—in public or private. James wasn’t the type to lecture about knowing one’s own mind. He did what he wanted and damn the opinion of others.
She did admire that about him.
“I’ll accompany you to your door.”
Her front door was clearly visible across the street, no more than a few yards away. With her hands full as they were and Nanny’s energy visibly sapped, it was kind and expected of him to offer, but she was uncertain of who was still within. She wasn’t prepared to face another lecture regarding the absolute inappropriateness of keeping company with James MacKintosh.
Not quite yet, and certainly not in front of her children.
The time to openly reveal their “courtship” would come soon enough.
“We can manage,” she said firmly, motioning for Nanny to retrieve Ellis and Luella, who both protested being torn from his side.
They liked him but she wasn’t surprised. She was fast discovering there was much to like in James.
Still, she could see he meant to argue. He was a gentleman after all.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Do what?”
