Saturday's Child Page 4

  "No, I'm going back to the ranch as soon as I've found a wife. I need a girl who can run a home five miles from the nearest neighbor."

  "Well, you're not going to find a girl like that at any party your mother gives," Tobias told him bluntly.

  Quentin sat down, hearing the truth of his grandfather's words. It had all seemed so simple back in Wyoming. He'd get his mother to introduce him around. He'd find a girl he could imagine spending his life with—not a love match, God knows. He'd had that once and it was simply too painful to risk again. No, he wasn't looking to fall in love. He was looking for more of a partnership, someone to build a life with. They'd get married and he'd take her back to Wyoming, though he wasn't opposed to a short honeymoon if it was important to her.

  It had never occurred to him that none of the daughters of his mother's friends were likely to be the sort of girl who'd know how to make a home in the primitive surroundings he could offer. Nor would they want to try. He stared at his grandfather in silence, seeing all his plans crumbling.

  A soft tapping on the door interrupted his thoughts. Tobias glanced at the clock and his thick white brows hooked together.

  "Nearly four o'clock and I always have my tea at three," he muttered. "I swear this household is falling to pieces. Come in," he barked.

  Quentin paid little attention as the door was pushed open and a maid entered bearing a heavy tray.

  "Your tea, sir."

  "And only an hour late," Tobias said sharply. "Where have you been, girl, dallying in the butler's pantry with one of the stable boys?''

  The tea hit the table with a little more force than was strictly necessary. "I'm sorry if your tea is late."

  "Oh, don't worry. I'm aware that I'm the least important member of this household. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that anyone remembered me at all," he said with heavy sarcasm.

  "I'm sure no one considers you unimportant, sir."

  "What happened to the girl who usually brings me my tea? She sick? Or did that dragon of a housekeeper fire her for sneezing out of turn?"

  "Edith is polishing the silver, I believe."

  Something about the sound of her voice tugged at Quentin's memory. Hadn't he heard that particular voice before? It was a little deeper than average with a soft husky note—a bedroom voice. And he was sure he'd heard it somewhere else.

  Tobias was still mumbling about the lack of attention to an old man's needs. The girl stood before him, waiting politely for him to finish before going on about her duties.

  He could see little beyond a neat back wearing one of the dull gray gowns all the maids wore. Her hair was gathered in a heavy knot at the back of her head, though a few strands of dark auburn had slipped from beneath the plain cap she wore. The color was familiar. He'd seen it before but it hadn't been bundled in a knot. It had been lying about her shoulders and he'd wanted to touch it, to see if it was as warm and soft as it looked.

  "You're new here, aren't you?" Tobias asked.

  "Yes, sir. I'm the new seamstress, brought in to help with the wedding."

  "And a very fine seamstress, I'd say," Quentin said, suddenly placing the voice. He reached up to touch his shoulder.

  Katie jumped as if the sound of his voice was a whip cracked over her head. Hidden by the arms of the wing chair as he was, she hadn't even realized that there was anyone but the old man in the room.

  She turned, feeling the color leave her face when she saw who had spoken her name. Quentin stood up, a smile lighting his eyes. He was just as handsome as she remembered. The ruined evening coat and silk shirt were gone, as were the dust and bloodstains that had given him such a dangerous air.

  Now he wore a dark jacket and snowy white shirt, his trousers were neatly creased and the shine on his shoes was dazzling. His thick, golden-brown hair was neatly combed into place.

  "I didn't think I'd see you again. What a coincidence."

  "Yes, sir." She got the words out with difficulty, as the color rushed back into her face until she was sure she must be as red as the carpet beneath her feet.

  "I was going to come back and thank you properly, you know," Quentin said. "But I couldn't find you once I'd sobered up." His smile was self-deprecating. "That will teach me to drink more than I should. I'd thought of going back to the Rearing Stallion to see if I might see your brother again and thank him for his part in the evening's events, but I got the distinct impression he didn't approve of me."

  "I'm sure that's not true," Katie mumbled, hiding her shaking hands at her sides, focusing her eyes on his neatly draped cravat. In the two weeks since she'd joined the Sterling household, she'd heard enough mention of Mr. Quentin to know that he was here, but as the days passed and their paths hadn't crossed, she'd begun to forget the reason she'd been so anxious to come here. Now, here he was and she was as tongue-tied as a child.

  "I must go," she muttered. Bobbing in a stiff curtsy, she fled, pretending she didn't hear him say her name.

  "What was that about?" Tobias demanded of his grandson. Quentin was staring at the door with a strange expression in his eyes.

  "Excuse me, Grandfather. I'll be right back." His departure was abrupt. Tobias stared after him, frowning.

  Katie was halfway down the hall when she heard him behind her.

  "Wait." The quiet call had the opposite effect from what he intended. She picked up her already brisk pace until she was nearly running. She wasn't ready to see him. She'd been a fool to come here in the first place.

  "Miss McBride. Katie." This time the command was louder, impossible to ignore. She slowed, her eyes turning longingly to the narrow flight of stairs that led to the upper floor and the sanctuary of the sewing room. If only she could have reached that. Surely he'd not have followed her. But she could hardly go on pretending to be deaf, especially when he showed no sign of giving up the pursuit.

  She turned reluctantly. Seeing that she'd stopped, Quentin slowed his quick steps to something more suited to the elegance of his mother's hallway. Katie waited until he'd stopped in front of her and then curtsied.

  "What can I do for you, Mr. Sterling?" She fixed her gaze on the top button of his coat, refusing to lift her eyes any higher.

  "I thought you might be curious to know how your patient progressed," he said lightly.

  "How is your arm?" Despite herself, Katie's tone softened.

  "Almost healed, thank you. It was quite sore for a few days. But I suppose you think that's no more than I deserve."

  "I certainly don't think any man deserves to be attacked by a bunch of common thieves," she said angrily, her eyes darting to his face.

  "That's nice to know. You were so disapproving of me that I rather thought you resented your brother's bringing me to you."

  "I'd not have turned a wounded dog away from the door." It wasn't until she saw Quentin wince at the comparison that she realized how her words had sounded. "Heavens! I didn't mean to say that you were not better than a dog. You certainly are. After all, you're a Sterling and that alone would... Not that you yourself aren't..." She trailed off miserably when Quentin lifted his hand.

  "Please. Don't go on. I believe I understand what you're trying to say. You'd have done the same for anyone, which does credit to your kind heart but does not do a great deal for my self-esteem. But tell me, what are you doing here?"

  "As I told Mr. MacNamara, your mother wished to have a seamstress here full-time. She approached my employer, Mrs. Ferriweather, and Mrs. Ferriweather suggested that I would be suitable for the job."

  "Remind me to thank Mrs. Ferriweather."

  Katie flushed, glancing over her shoulder as she heard the jangle of keys that announced the housekeeper's approach. Mrs. Dixon was not one to tolerate any conversation between servants and the family.

  "I have to go."

  She dropped another curtsy and turned to hurry up the stairs. Quentin didn't try to call her back, aware of Mrs. Dixon's chill gaze taking in the meeting from her position down the hall.

&
nbsp; He turned away from the stairs. Odd that he should run into that girl here in his own home. He'd felt a surprising twinge of regret at the thought of not seeing her again. He'd been telling nothing but the truth when he said that he'd tried to find where she lived. But one sordid building looked much like another and everything looked different in the broad light of day. She'd probably have sent him off with a flea in his ear, anyway.

  Still, it was rather nice to have seen her again. He'd more than half believed that his memories of her were colored by the whiskey he'd consumed. But she was just as pretty as he remembered. The dusting of freckles across her nose would probably have caused his sister to faint dead away with mortification. Ann spent hours applying cucumber cream and never, ever, let the sun touch her face just to prevent any hint of freckles. But somehow, on Katie McBride, they seemed rather charming.

  And her hair was just as deep and rich a color as he'd remembered. He still wondered if it could possibly be as soft as it looked.

  Quentin shook the thought away. He wasn't likely to find out. But it was pleasant to think of her in the house, to think that they might bump into each other again.

  Chapter 3

  The hour was late when Katie finally left the Sterlings' Nob Hill residence to make her way home in the darkened streets. Like the fog that rolled in and blanketed the town, tiredness overtook her suddenly. She was grateful when at last she reached home.

  She was surprised to see that Colin was there. Seated in their only decent chair—the one Quentin Sterling had sat in, she remembered—he had his feet propped on a packing crate, the newspaper spread open in front of him. He looked up as she came in.

  "Hello."

  "Hello, Colin." Katie set down the basket she was carrying and slipped off her coat, hanging it on a hook near the door, where the dampness would have a chance to leave it before morning.

  "You worked late today," Colin commented, snapping the paper closed and standing up.

  "There's so much to do before the wedding." Katie lifted her hat off and hung it next to the coat.

  "You've brought work home?" The words were only half a question as his eyes fell on the basket she'd set on the floor.

  "Just a bit of embroidery. Oh, Colin, some of the silks are so fine, you could surely pass an entire gown through a wedding band. They must have been spun by fairies, I think."

  Colin heard the touch of wistf ulness in her voice and felt a rush of guilt. Katie shouldn't be sewing fine gowns for others. She should have someone to sew them for her.

  "You've worked late every night this week," he said.

  "1 know, but the wedding is hardly more than a week away and there's so much left to be done. If I do well with this, perhaps Mrs. Ferriweather will consider me for the position of manager when Miss Lewis marries this summer."

  Colin dropped the newspaper and shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark trousers, staring at his sister broodingly. "Is that what you want? To manage a dress shop? I'd not thought you one of these females who yearns for a career."

  Katie set the chimney back on the lamp she'd just lit before turning to look at Colin. She knew her brother well enough to hear the tightness in his voice.

  "It would mean more money. Some of the girls say that Miss Lewis is getting as much as fifty dollars a month. The extra money would be nice."

  "Yes, it would be nice, but is that what you want to do with your life? Do you want to be some dried-up old spinster a few years from now? With nothing on your mind but planning other people's weddings and making dresses for other women?"

  Katie cocked her head, trying to judge what had put him in such a temper. "What I want and what I'm likely to get aren't necessarily the same. I'd like a home and family and should I be fortunate enough to meet a man who can give me those things, I'd not turn him away."

  She pushed the image of Quentin Sterling firmly from her mind before continuing. "But there's no such man in sight and I don't see anything wrong with planning for the future. Speaking of work, aren't you usually gone by now?"

  Colin looked as if he wanted to pursue the topic of her job, but after a moment, he shrugged and reached for the crisp linen collar and cuffs that lay on the table. Snapping them into place, he picked up his jacket and drew it on, buttoning it up the front.

  "I wanted to be sure that you were safe at home," he told her. "I don't like you walking these streets at night alone, Katie. 'Tisn't safe. I wish you'd let me come for you."

  "Don't be such a fuss, Colin. I'm a grown woman and well able to take care of myself." She crossed the room, taking the ends of his tie and looping it neatly, just as she'd so often done. "What kind of sense would it make for you to travel all that way just to walk me home? And I never know what time I'll be leaving. How would I let you know? Unless you're thinking we should install a telephone?"

  Her eyes sparkled with humor at the idea of a telephone in their tiny room. Why, the Sterlings themselves had only installed one a few months ago. She'd seen it sitting there in the tiny cubicle under the stairs. A miracle, it seemed, to think that you could sit at that box and talk with someone all the way across town.

  Colin didn't smile in answer to her gentle joke. His eyes were dark as he looked down at her, his responsibilities lying heavy on him. "It isn't right that you should be working all these hours, Katie. You hardly sleep at all, what with waiting up for me to get back at all hours of the night. Don't try to deny it," he told her when she opened her mouth. "I know you don't sleep till I'm home."

  "Tis a sister's place to worry," she told him lightly, giving a final pat to his tie before stepping back.

  "And it's my place to take care of you."

  "You do take care of me. You've given me a home."

  "Such as it is," he muttered disparagingly.

  With a sigh, Katie reached for his hat. There was no talking him out of such moods when they came on him. Their mother used to say it was the Irish in him that brought on these black depressions.

  "You'll never guess who I saw today." When he said nothing, she went on, seeking to distract him. "Quentin Sterling himself. You remember I told you that he was staying with his parents. Today is the first day I've seen him."

  "Did he see you?"

  "Certainly. I haven't become invisible, you know."

  "I want you to stay away from him, Katie."

  "Don't be foolish, Colin. I'm not likely to see much of him. Not unless he decides to take up mending."

  "I mean it, Katie." Colin ignored her attempt to lighten the conversation, his eyes worried. "I've asked about him."

  "You've done what?" She turned to look at him, surprised and a trifle angry. "Why on earth would you make inquiries about him?"

  "Because I can see that you're interested in him." He held up one hand to still her protest. "Don't tell me you're not, and I'm not saying that I blame you. But I don't want to see you hurt. He used to be a regular at the Rearing Stallion, though he's not been there for several years. Word has it that he was quite a drinker and a heavy gambler. It wouldn't do to fall for a man like that, Katie, no matter who his family is."

  "Colin McBride, do you think I don't have the sense I was born with? I'm not a fool, though you seem to think I am. I know there could be nothing between a man like Quentin Sterling and a woman like me."

  She turned away to hide the pain her words brought. It wasn't that she didn't know it was true but it hurt to say it out loud.

  "I didn't mean to upset you." Colin put his hands on her shoulders. "I just don't want to see you hurt. You're a fine girl and you're going to meet a fine man one of these days, a man who'll cherish you and care for you the way you deserve."

  "I'm not going to be hurt." She leaned against him for a moment. "I know that nothing can come of it. But is it so bad to dream? Just a little?"

  Colin's hands tightened on her shoulders, her wistful tone going through him like a knife. "There's nothing wrong with dreaming, Katie. Just don't forget that you have to wake up."


  "I swear those stairs get steeper every day." Katie looked up as the words preceded their speaker.

  Edith pushed open the door with her elbow, her eyes on the tray she carried.

  "I've told you that I'll come down to get my meals. Mrs. Dixon isn't likely to approve of you bringing them to me up here." Katie set aside the chemise she'd been embroidering and quickly cleared a place for Edith to put the tray. The scent of hot soup and warm rolls drifted upward, causing her stomach to rumble. She'd been so absorbed in her work that she hadn't realized how hungry she was until the food was before her.

  "What Mrs. Dixon doesn't know won't hurt her," Edith said pragmatically. "Besides, Mrs. Sterling wouldn't want you to waste time coming down the stairs when you could be sewing."

  "Well, I thank you for it. I'd not realized how late it was getting."

  "Did you talk to Mrs. Sterling about getting an hour off tomorrow?"

  "I did, but I'm not sure I should have. There's so much to be done."

  "It's my birthday, Katie. It would be a crime not to celebrate it. And you promised me you'd come to Henri's with me."

  "I don't think it's a good idea."

  "You're just scared," Edith told her. "It will be fun, you'll see. Henri's is supposed to be the most elegant restaurant, and I had my cousin make the reservations for us. We'll dress in our very finest and go and pretend we're rich."

  Katie shook her head but she didn't argue any further. In the short time she'd known Edith Mitchell, she'd learned that arguing did one very little good at all. Edith was the only girl in a family of five boys. This had had two effects. One was that she had learned to fight for what she wanted. The other was that she'd never quite grasped a woman's place in the world.

  "Why don't you get Johnny to take you?" Katie asked in a last ditch attempt to get out of going.

  "Johnny Kincaid is perfectly content to eat in the kitchen. He'd have no interest in a place like Henri's."