Page 13 of More than Words Can Say

Some crimes were just too great for a man to stand by and take no action.

CHAPTER

8

Providence must have taken pity on Abigail, for she ran across Elmer Beekman in the lane outside his boardinghouse, giving her the chance to conduct her awkward interview in the relative privacy of the outdoors instead of the overheated parlor where any of the other residents might overhear.

“Mr. Beekman,” she called, lengthening her stride as she came up behind him. When he turned, she plastered a smile to her face and waved. “Just the man I wanted to see. Might I have a word?”

He dipped his chin as she closed the remaining distance. “Of course, Miss Kemp. How can I be of service?”

The potency of his breath apparently didn’t wane during the course of the day. Unfortunate. She’d hoped . . . never mind what she’d hoped. She’d just invest in mint tooth powder or something. She would not be deterred from her course. Though it might be prudent to put a bit more distance between herself and her intended.

Abigail leaned back slightly, careful to keep her smile in place. “I find myself in a rather difficult predicament,” she confided, “but you have the power to set it all to rights, Mr. Beekman.”

His eyes widened. “Me?” He looked bewildered and not a little alarmed.

Botheration. She’d been hoping to inspire heroism, not terror.

Abigail took hold of his arm. “Don’t worry. There are no actual dragons to slay, but I do find myself in need of your assistance.” She tried to look as helpless as possible and even batted her lashes once. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all. “Is there someplace we can speak? Privately?”

He blinked as if he couldn’t quite make sense of the woman before him, but his kind heart took over. He patted her hand, then offered his arm for her to take in a more conventional manner. “Of course. There’s a bench here, around the oak. Why don’t we sit?”

“Perfect!” Abigail allowed him to lead her toward the slender oak that shaded the side of the boardinghouse. Someone had built a circular bench around the base of the trunk, creating a quiet place for reading or conversing.

She swept her skirts beneath her and took a seat, trying not to notice the way the buttons on her companion’s vest strained as he sat. She could make him new ones that fit better, emphasizing his stature instead of his girth. Well, maybe not his stature. He was actually an inch or two shorter than her. Maybe she could simply let out the side seams. She knew firsthand how uncomfortable clothes that were made with average measurements in mind could be. They pinched in all the worst places and pooched in others. Thankfully, she had a sister who was a whiz with a needle and who had taught her the art of fitting clothes to the body she had instead of trying to stuff her body into patterns made for someone else’s shape. Abigail could do the same for Mr. Beekman.

Feeling a renewed comradery with the man at her side, Abigail smiled with genuine warmth.

“How can I be of help to you, Miss Kemp?” His brown eyes had a lovely softness to them. Perhaps if she focused on his eyes, hers would be less likely to water when he spoke.

She pulled her satchel across her lap to retrieve her papers. Hoping he wouldn’t notice their slightly crinkled state and realize he wasn’t the first would-be rescuer she’d approached, she slid them out of the bag.

“You might not be aware,” she began, “but the city council has chosen to enforce an outdated law prohibiting women from—”

“There you are, Miss Kemp.” A shadow fell over her. A large shadow with considerable stature and a broadness to its outline that made her words stick to the roof of her mouth. “Not trying to give my contract to another fellow before I have the chance to read all the details, are you? That’s not very sporting.”

“Mr. H-Hamilton!” Elmer Beekman lurched to his feet and backpedaled as if the papers the lumberman reached for were a pair of loaded six-guns.

Abigail bristled, snatching the contract out of Zacharias Hamilton’s grasp. “You already made your position on this matter quite clear, Mr. Hamilton.” Did he have to look so handsome and heroic standing there? He made poor Mr. Beekman look like a mouse in comparison.

A mouse with kind brown eyes, Abigail reminded herself firmly as she gained her feet and pushed her way past the boulder in her path. Not that the boulder moved so much as an inch. She had to contort herself around the bench to squeeze by and chase down her prospective groom. Because a mouse with kind brown eyes was infinitely better than a kitten with a bobcat for a mother. She’d rather not spend her days dodging Mrs. Ormandy’s swiping claws and sharpened teeth. Holding one’s breath to avoid halitosis was definitely the lesser of two evils. And her lesser evil was getting away.

“Please, Mr. Beekman, ignore him. I just need a few minutes of your time to explain my predicament.”

But he was already shaking his head and backing toward the boardinghouse. “I’m sorry, Miss Kemp, but I really don’t think I’m the one to assist you. Mr. Hamilton seems better suited to your needs.” He tripped over an empty milk bucket that had been standing by the back door. The clanking of tin echoed loudly in the charged atmosphere. Elmer reddened but didn’t slow his retreat. He latched on to the door handle and, without much more than a hasty dip of his chin, disappeared into the boardinghouse.

Abigail’s shoulders drooped as the door closed on her best hope for a peaceful marriage.

“So, can I look at those papers now?”

The deep, masculine voice stiffened her spine faster than ice hardened butter.

She spun to face him, snapping the contract behind her back. “What are you doing here? Was rejecting my offer not enough humiliation for one day? Did you decide to heap on a second helping by chasing off my best chance at an actual acceptance? I know I’m not the kind of woman men like you want, but I might have convinced Mr. Beekman that a wife with extra padding and a business to keep her out of his hair wasn’t such a bad deal. Just because I couldn’t tempt you with the offer doesn’t mean no man would be interested.”

He stood there like the boulder he was, stony-faced, hard, and implacable. Then he raised a single brow. “You finished?”

Abigail scowled, wishing she had more charges to harangue him with, but she couldn’t come up with anything at the moment. She lifted her chin. “For now.”