Young ladies like herself didn’t enter pubs. But as she reined in outside the two-story building in the heart of St. Louis’s Irish district, she pushed aside all the rationale that told her to wait and to send in a message for Bellamy to come outside and speak with her. She didn’t want to chance Bellamy sneaking out the back door and avoiding her. No. She needed the romantic interaction with him today, soon, if she hoped to turn in her next story segment on time.
Without giving herself the chance to overthink her plans, she tied up her horse, then headed directly to the front door of the pub. As she opened the door a crack, she threw off her straw bonnet, patted her loose curls, and then pinched her cheeks to bring color to them.
With what she hoped was an alluring smile, she pushed the door wide and stepped inside.
The dimness of the room greeted her first, along with the strong scent of cigar smoke and beer. As she closed the door behind her, the low hum of conversations around the room tapered to silence.
From what she could tell, only a dozen or so people were present, mostly older men who were smoking and playing cards. A lone fellow at the bar counter had paused mid drink to stare at her. In a pale face with a purplish nose, his eyes seemed dark but not dangerous. His reddish hair was standing on end, and his garments were rumpled.
Bellamy wasn’t in sight, but his paintings were. They graced the walls, each containing landscapes as beautiful as his other paintings. The difference was that these didn’t portray local scenery. Instead, they resembled what she imagined Ireland would be like. Perhaps they were of Ireland, and perhaps Bellamy had painted them when he was younger and still lived there. After all, Bellamy had immigrated with his family when he was twelve, which was only ten years ago.
Bellamy’s sister, carrying a platter filled with steaming bowls, entered the pub from the kitchen area. At the sight of Zaira standing near the door, she halted, her eyes widening. The tray wobbled, and the bowls on it clattered together.
Although Zaira didn’t know Jenny well, she’d seen her occasionally over the years at parades, mass, and other gatherings. She was quite a bit older than Bellamy and didn’t have any children of her own, which was a shame because she’d always seemed to mother Bellamy so sweetly.
Jenny set the platter onto the bar counter and continued to stare at Zaira, clearly not expecting a woman to be there.
Zaira fumbled backward a step. Maybe she ought to leave. Before her fingers connected with the door handle, Bellamy breezed into the pub from the kitchen too. He was carrying another platter, probably the noon meal for everyone there. After all, it was about that time of the day. And now half her day was wasted.
If her manuscript segment hadn’t been due tomorrow, she wouldn’t care what time it was. But with every minute that passed, her nerves were stretching tighter. So much was at stake with this next part of the story, and she had to get it just right.
Bellamy rounded the bar and strode toward one of the tables without acknowledging her presence.
He might try to avoid the coming confrontation, but she wasn’t the type of woman to step aside quietly and let any man ignore her. “Bellamy McKenna, you’re a scoundrel.”
He kept his eyes on the thick mutton stew as he began to set the bowls around the table in front of the men. Its rich flavor with a hint of Guinness permeated the air.
He was wearing an apron over his shirt and trousers, but nothing could hide his lean, muscular frame. His dark hair was slicked back, and his jaw had a slight layer of dark scruff as if he hadn’t taken the time to shave today.
It was a shame Bellamy was always so good-lookingandgenuinely caring about people. It was easier to dislike handsome men when they were mean and arrogant.
“Bellamy,” said the older man at the bar counter, “the young lady is talking to you and said you’re a scoundrel.”
“I have ears, Georgie.” Bellamy set another bowl down.
“They must not be working.”
“Oh aye, they’re working just fine.”
“It’s your mouth that’s not working.”
“It’s working fine too, so it is.”
Georgie made a humming noise at the back of his throat as he stared at Zaira again. “Then I guess it’s your eyes that aren’t working. Because you cannot see that a beautiful lass is here for you.”
Bellamy gave what could only be described as an exasperated sigh and shake of his head. He finished setting the last bowl down before he turned to face Zaira. “What I see is a bothersome lass.”
Georgie’s grin spread wide, revealing a mostly toothless mouth. “She’sbotheringyou all right.”
The other men in the room guffawed.
Although Zaira wasn’t quite sure what Georgie was referring to, Bellamy tripped over a chair leg.
Maybe her presence there was affecting him more than he was letting on.
The realization sent a shot of energy through her. If she was going to get him to follow through on the bargain, maybe she needed the men in the pub to join her in nudging Bellamy into action. She didn’t necessarily want him to hug her in the middle of a pub since it wasn’t exactly romantic, but where else would he do it? Out on the boardwalk or on the street? No, a small audience inside was better than outside, where anyone might walk by.
“Bellamy McKenna, we made an agreement, and you failed to uphold your part of it.”
