"Oh, I managed all right—to go half out of my
mind worrying about you.
Sinking into the chair behind her desk, Rory
used the scarred surface as a barried between them. "You needn't
have fretted so much about me. I can take care of myself. I hope
you haven't been waiting here all day."
"All night and all day, until I fell asleep!
I didn't know what you were up to, where to find you, but I was
sure this would be the first place you would come."
His words only added to her discomfort, for
he was right. Ordinarily that would have been her one thought, to
get back to the warehouse, to examine the damage to the Katie
Moira. It was the first time in her life, anything or anyone had
ever managed to distract her from her work with the balloons.
"I had something more important to attend
to," she said.
"You mean this?" He drew a crumpled paper
from his pocket and tossed it on her desk. She recognized the
remains of the note she had left for Tony at Morrison's house.
"I spend all day tracking you from those
stupid fairgrounds, thinking this time that you must have broken
your fool neck for sure. I finally located where the balloon went
down, only to be told you have gone flitting off with some strange
feller."
"I wasn't flitting," Rory snapped, then
checked herself. She hated it when Tony assumed this badgering,
dictatorial tone. But she also hated the deep shadows beneath his
eyes, the look of hurt lurking beneath the anger. She resumed in
gentler accents, "I had a business meeting with Mr. Morrison. He
took me to supper at Delmonico's.”
"It took you all night to eat?"
"No, afterward, we went dancing,” Rory
admitted reluctantly.
"Dancing! That sounds like a funny kind of
business meeting to me."
"I was spending as much time with Mr.
Morrison as I could, trying to persuade him to invest in the
balloon company."
"And did you?"
"No. After all, it seems he was not
interested."
"Damn right. I could have told you what he
was after. I thought you had better sense than to set yourself up
as a mash date for some rich swell."
"It wasn't like that at all."
"No, I suppose he was a perfect gentleman,"
Tony sneered. "He didn't even try to get fresh."
Rory didn't want to blush, but she couldn't
help it. The memory of how it felt to be in Zeke's arms was too
strong. Tony stared deep into her eyes and looked as though she had
just kicked him in the gut.
"Gawd, Rory. You didn't let him kiss
you?”
Rory wished she could glare back at him with
defiance, even deny it. Instead she said,"That's really none of
your business, Tony."
He whirled away from her and slammed his fist
against the wall. "Damn it!" he choked. "I don't care how rich or
powerful the bastard is. I'm going back there and break his
face."
"Don't be so silly. You will do no such
thing. Honestly, Tony, you are worse than my Da ever would have
been. Sometimes I think you have been trying to take his
place."
"No, it's not your father I want to be." He
was regarding her with that hungry look again, the one that made
Rory ache for him and want to shake him as well.
Please, Tony, don't. Don't say anymore, she
begged silently. Seeking any kind of distraction, she yanked open
the desk drawer and produced a well-worn ledger book. But it was
impossible to make sense of any of the rows of neatly inked
figures, not with Tony hovering over her desk, his hands jammed
into his pockets.
"We have more important things to worry about
than Zeke Morrison," she said. "Like how I am going to pay the rent
on this warehouse. I don't suppose you collected our fee from Mr.
Dutton before you came looking for me yesterday?"
"No, I didn't. Since I was expecting to find
you dashed to pieces over New York, the money somehow slipped my
mind. But I guess you can always have another go at that rich
friend of yours." The bitterness in Tony's voice was as scalding as
acid. When she didn't reply, he demanded, "Are you going to see him
again?"
"Who?"
"You know damn well who. That Morrison."
It would have been so easy to set Tony's mind
at rest, assure him that she never expected to keep company with
Zeke again. Hadn't she already decided as much? Instead she
surprised herself by murmuring, "I don't know."
"Don't you ever read the papers, Rory? The
World calls him the mysterious millionaire. Everyone wonders where
he came from, how he got his money."
"Not everyone. I never gave it much thought."
Rory tried to sound indifferent, yet she could already feel herself
begin to tense, ready to rush to Zeke's defense, and Tony had not
even accused the man of anything yet.
But Tony was working up to it. He braced both
hands on the desk and leaned over her, glowering, "You might be
interested to hear that Angelo knows this fellow who says that
Morrison—"
"Doesn't Angelo always know someone? Your
brother is a worse busybody than Miss Flanagan."
"Angelo knows this fellow name of Julio from
the old neighborhood," Tony said, raising his voice to drown her
out. "And Julio says there's nothing mysterious about Morrison.
He's nothing but a bum that used to work down on the docks, an
orphan kid who ate out of garbage cans and picked pockets until he
was adopted by this widow."
"How many dockworkers do you know that could
earn enough money to live on Fifth Avenue?'
"None that could do it honestly. Julio also
said—"
"Oh, stop it, Tony!" Rory slammed the ledger
book closed, "I don't care what Julio says. And as for you and
Angelo, I think you could find better use for your time than to
gossip like a couple of old hens. I begin to wonder what I am
paying the lot of you for."
Tony straightened, a bright flush stealing
beneath his olive skin. "You don't have to pay me for nothing
anymore 'cause I quit."
"Good!"
Spinning on his heel, he stomped toward the
door. Their arguments always ended this way.. If she didn't end up
by firing Tony, he would resign. But he always came back; they
always patched up their disagreement.
Somehow it felt different this time as the
door slammed shut behind Tony. Their quarrels had always been over
trivial matters, mostly concerning some aspect of the balloon
company. Tony had never left her looking as hurt as he was
angry.
She should go after him. She rose from the
desk and had started across the room when the door was flung
violently open. Tony stood framed on the threshold, his rage
fading, but the beseeching look he wore was far worse.
"I'm sorry, Rory. I don't mean to make you
mad at me. You know I wouldn't be saying all these things if I
didn't care so much about you."
"I know you do. Why don't we just forget this
whole thing and—"
Her heart sank with dismay when he caught up
her hands in a hard grip. "Rory, I-."
"Oh, no, Tony, please." She tried to retreat,
but she saw there was no stopping him this time.
"I love you, Rory. I always have."
"Of course. Like a brother you do."
"No, not like a brother!" He yanked her into
his arms. "I go just about crazy with jealousy thinking of you
being with any other feller, not just this Morrison. And to let him
kiss you! Why couldn't it have been me, Rory? Why not me?"
"Tony, stop!"
But he pressed his lips hard against her
mouth. It was useless to resist. He was far too strong for her. All
she could do was hold herself rigid and unresponsive. It was all
wrong, and Tony was quick to sense that himself. He drew back, his
eyes filled with longing and despair. She struggled to find the
words to let him down as gently as she could.
But she didn't have to speak. After staring
into her face, he released her, his shoulders slumping.
"Tony, I am so sorry," she whispered.
He swallowed hard and nodded, a heavy silence
descending. Rory could feel something precious dying, another piece
of her childhood slipping away. She retreated behind the desk
again.
Tony gave a harsh laugh. "There's no need for
that. I won't try to touch you again. I'm through making a fool of
myself. You have nothing to fear from me."
"I know that, Tony."
Somehow her assurance only made things worse.
He picked up his jacket that he had forgotten before and moved
toward the door."I guess I better be getting home. Ma'll be ready
to skin me for being late for supper again."
Simple words, the sort of easy remark he
might have tossed off as he left any evening, only now it all
sounded so strained.
Her voice came across as too hearty when she
agreed. "Goodness yes, I don't want your mother mad at me again for
keeping you. You run along. I'll lock up here,"
"Don't you stay late either. It's getting
dark."
Rory promised she wouldn't. She thought he
meant to go without another word, not even good-bye. But he looked
back one last time to ask with a wistfulness that nearly broke her
heart, "Is it because of that Morrison fellow? Is that why I don't
have a chance with you? Did you fall in love with him?"
"Heavens, Tony, I only just met the man
yesterday."
"Sometimes that's all it takes. There's
something different about you. I can tell."
"I'm a day older." She tried to smile, but
couldn't manage it. Only a day. Why did it suddenly feel like
years?
Tony drew himself more erect, some of the
fire returning to his eyes. "Well, I'm not going to stand by and
let you get mixed up with some stranger. I'm going to find out more
about this J. E. Morrison."
"Tony!"
"And if he does turn out to be a bad one, you
are going to stay away from him, you hear?"
"Tony, please. Just go home."
But she could tell from the stubborn look on
his face, her plea would go unheeded. When he let himself out, she
sagged down onto the chair. Folding her arms upon the desk, she
buried her face against her hands, her heart feeling too battered
even for tears.
"Damn you, Tony," she mumbled. "You've ruined
everything." She wanted to curse him and Zeke Morrison too. The
pair of them had robbed her of her tranquility—Tony, with all his
talk of love, spoiling their friendship; Zeke with his kisses,
stirring desires inside of her she had never dreamed of.
Strange that for all her grief for her
father, her worries over the fate of her company, she had still
managed to stay relatively carefree. She had known exactly who she
was, Seamus Kavanaugh's daughter, Tony's friend, the hoyden of
McCreedy Street.
Now she felt so unsure of herself. Everything
was so blasted complicated—most of all her confusing feelings about
Zeke Morrison. Why hadn't she told Tony she never expected to see
the man again? Why had she been so ready to fly to Zeke's defense
when Tony had begun hinting things about him?
If she had given Tony the reassurance he
sought, he would have let the matter drop. Now she knew he would
never do so. He would keep prying until he got himself into trouble
or else found something damning to tell her about Zeke.
And she had a feeling that might not be so
hard to do. Zeke carried an aura about him, of ruthlessness
certainly, but also whispers of a past that she sensed had not been
pleasant.
Yet whatever Tony might uncover, it wasn't
going to matter. Rory's instincts had never failed her, and she had
looked into Zeke's eyes enough to know that he was not a bad
man.
An odd judgment to pass on someone who had,
after all, tried to seduce her, lure her into the very sort of
wickedness that Tony warned her against. Zeke himself would admit
that his intentions had not been honorable.
But there had been a tenderness in his voice
that spoke of more than mere lust. Zeke Morrison had needs Rory
doubted the man was even aware of himself. The trouble was he made
her too much aware she had needs of her own.
Blast Tony anyway! She had been struggling to
put the entire encounter with Zeke from her mind. Tony had stirred
up all her memories of last night, raised questions she had not
even thought to ask.
Did you fall in love with him?
What an absurd idea. Rory pressed her
fingertips to her temple. Her head had begun to ache all over again
with all these tormenting speculations chasing through her
brain.
Rory leaned back in her chair and wished it
could be yesterday again, when all she had had to worry about was
going bankrupt. She thumbed through the ledger, knowing she should
put some energy into going over the accounts or go below and make a
stab at repairing the damage to the Katie Moira. But she could not
summon the energy to do either.
To her disgust she caught herself daydreaming
of night-dark eyes, a strong, square-cut jaw, waves of brown hair
framing a man's face too bold for her peace of mind. Daydreaming?
No, it was going to be more like night dreaming if she continued to
hang about the warehouse, mooning over Zeke in this idiotic
fashion. Rory cast a glance toward the window and realized that she
had done exactly what she had promised Tony she wouldn't.
She had lingered at the warehouse until the
sky beyond had turned a dark shade of purple. Scrambling to her
feet, Rory cursed herself.
"Idiot!"
As if she hadn't done enough imprudent things
in the past twenty-four hours. Even without Tony's warning, she
knew it was sheer folly to be caught in this part of town after
dark. Of course there was no question of riding her bicycle home.
She would take the El, but even that was a good two blocks' walk to
the nearest platform.
Hastening downstairs, Rory took one last look
around to make sure that all the doors were secured for the night.
As she let herself out onto the street, she noted with dismay that
it was even later than she thought. All trace of the sun had gone,
the moon a pale distant sliver in a cloudy night sky.