I would have happily escorted you, if you’d given me the opportunity.
She gave him a long look. I wasn’t in the mood at that moment. I’m doing better now.
Yet you dined with Alastair.
Another guarded look. That is not your business, she said sharply.
He stopped abruptly. If you find me an annoyance, have the decency to say so.
Confusion covered her face. You’re being ridiculous. She yanked her arm out of his, gnawing the inside of her lip.
Ponderous silence. Being a copper warred with acting the gentleman. Instead of sharing Jacynda’s grief, he was flogging her with it because she had dinner with his friend.
I am…sorry, he began. I am in particularly bad temper this evening. When I saw you on the streets, alone, I was very concerned. I’ve articulated that rather badly.
A cold look. I’m not in good humor, either. It’s been a very long day.
You have my sincere condolences.
Thank you.
The next block passed in silence. Finally, he hedged an offer.
When you are feeling up to it, I would like to escort you to the aquarium. It is most remarkable, and I feel it will lift your spirits considerably.
A slight smile, as if she appreciated the rapprochement. I will consider that.
That seemed the best he could expect. He heard the call of a newspaper boy just up the street. He halted at an intersection.
I wish to buy a paper. Without waiting for a reply, he left her behind, keen to have a moment’s breathing room.
As he waited for the lad to finish serving another customer, Keats observed his companion. She stood at the kerb, unaware of his scrutiny, a forlorn figure gazing into nothingness. Alone in the midst of a crowd. Sadness clung to her like a shroud.
Blast. He’d been overly harsh with her. Why was he so unusually volatile?
After buying the paper, Keats noted a flower vendor a few paces away. Determined to make amends, he dug in his pocket for the required coins.
Cynda waited at the kerb, uneasy after the events of the evening. She’d escaped the assault on Dorset Street by sheer luck and the intervention of a civic-minded bystander. Jonathon’s sudden appearance had been odd, but somehow reassuring. Her gut told her he knew something wasn’t kosher. She’d already pushed the envelope with the doctors; telling anyone else about her origins wasn’t an option. Her groan was lost in a chorus of shouts and applause. She turned toward the commotion, welcoming the distraction. Youngsters cheered and pointed at a gaily painted beer wagon rumbling down the street. Two men perched on top in crisp uniforms. A pair of massive roans pulled the heavily laden wagon, their hooves fringed in silky hair and the size of dinner plates. Gleaming metal and colored tassels adorned their harness: a rolling advertisement for a local brewery.
Cynda stared at the team in frank awe. Wow, she whispered.
Grav-Rail didn’t hold a candle to these guys. They moved with an easy grace, despite the load. The crowd around her agreed.
Mummy, look at the big horses! a little boy shouted. He tugged on his mother’s arm in earnest and pointed.
They’re called Shires, the woman replied and gave Cynda a wink. Big ones, aren’t they?
That’s prime horseflesh, all right, another person added.
Shires. Wow, they’re pretty. In high school, Cynda had visited a farm, one of those that’s the way it was tours kids were forced to endure. She remembered the trip because of the horses. Were these big boys’ noses as soft as the ones she’d caressed as a teenager?
Realizing that Jonathon was missing all the excitement, she hunted over her shoulder in an effort to find him. The newsboy was counting out change to a well-dressed man, but it wasn’t her escort. Certainly, he wouldn’t abandon her…
A sharp jolt from behind propelled her into the air. She landed on her hands and knees, pain sheering into both arms as she skidded on the rough pavement. Before she could stand and give someone hell for their prank, a shout rent the air. Then a woman’s scream. When Cynda raised her head, her vision was dominated by muscled legs and huge, pounding hooves.