Texas Tiger

chapter 4





The announcement was made. There would be no turning back now.

Georgina looked up at the handsome man whose arm she held and tried to will herself to feel happiness. His smile was warm as he turned it on her. She gave him a vapid smile in return. If she didn't have a thought in her head, Peter wouldn't notice.

The pale blue gown her mother had chosen for her had a deep square neckline that cut scandalously low across her bust, and Georgina had felt Peter's glance in that direction more than once during the evening. She wasn't certain why men liked to look at her there, but it did make her tingle slightly when she knew he was doing it. Maybe everyone was right and she just needed to get to know him better.

It was a difficult assignment in a crowd like this. It was her duty to circulate among the guests, to dance with old and young and see that everyone was having a good time. She could do that with ease, but she couldn't figure out how to get to know her fiance while doing it.

Not that Peter was much help. Already he had turned to one of the other male guests to discuss a problem he had down at the store, and she was forgotten. Sighing, Georgina accepted a lemonade and an offer of a dance from a young man she had known since childhood.

Much later, after she had lost sight of Peter, Georgina decided the party was doing just fine without her. Despite the open windows, the heat in the ballroom was stifling, and she could feel a fine sheen of perspiration coating her forehead.

If her fiancé wasn't around to escort her into the garden, she would just have to go herself. If she thought Peter might be in the least bit jealous, she would have another man take her outside, but she doubted if Peter would even notice. And if he wouldn't notice, she wasn't going to waste her moment of freedom on one of these less than sober morons decorating the dance floor.

A slight breeze billowed the heavy draperies as Georgina stepped between them and through the open French doors to the terrace. The draperies prevented much of the light in the ballroom from escaping, but there were gaslights placed strategically along the paths in the garden beyond the terrace, so the night wasn't completely dark.

She saw him immediately. He wasn't making any secret of his presence. He lounged against the low wall, his wide shoulders outlined against the shrubbery, his long legs lazily sprawled in front of him. Her heart gave a strange lurch and pounded a little faster as she scanned his features to be certain she hadn't been mistaken. She recognized the slightly crooked nose, the unruly lock of hair, the almost ascetically long face that transformed into something delightfully wicked when he grinned. Which he was doing now.

He was wearing a suit, but it wasn't of the formal black worn by the men inside. The light linen stood out against the darkness of the shrubberies behind him, and the string tie was defiantly western. He was as out of place as a toad on a footstool, but relief washed over her as he approached.

"You said I was invited to all your parties," he said softly, in a drawl she hadn't quite remembered.

"And I would have sent you a formal invitation if I'd known where to find you, Mr. Martin. You never called."

She was aware when his gaze was distracted from her face to the glittering tiara crowning her stacked tresses. She wasn't certain what was in his eyes when they came back to hers, but she knew somehow that he was studiously avoiding looking at her breasts. That knowledge made her tingle more than Peter's deliberate look had. Rebelliously, she wanted this man to look at her there.

Georgina came closer, holding her shoulders back so he couldn't avoid seeing what she displayed. Never in her life had she behaved like this, but she knew exactly how it was done. She touched his arm and felt the slight jerk of shock beneath her fingers.

"I thought you had forgotten me." She made her voice whisper like the breeze through the trees, and she read its effect on his mobile face.

Daniel didn't answer immediately. Instead he studied her, deliberately resting his gaze on the line of lace caressing her breasts before traveling downward, noting the hard curves of her corset beneath the silk, the full swell of her hips, the juncture of her legs beneath the clinging cloth. When his gaze returned to hers, he was smiling.

"You're flirting again, aren't you? Why don't you save your tricks for your boyfriend? There's no need for anything but honesty between us. That is, if what you want is a friend."

Georgina felt deflated. At the same time she felt relieved. She could say what she wanted to this man, and he wouldn't laugh or walk off or take her in contempt. She touched his arm again, leaving her hand there this time.

"I want a friend. Will you dance?"

Music poured through the open windows, and Daniel glanced up at the heavy draperies preventing any sight of the lavish ballroom beyond. He looked down into the plea in her eyes, and held out his arms.

"I'm not very graceful, but I'd be delighted to try. There's more room out here than in there."

The flagstones beneath their feet weren't a polished dance floor, and their motions were less than graceful as he had said, but it was a wonderful dance anyway. Georgina gave in to the sway of the music, the brush of a breeze against her skin, and the firm hold of this tall stranger's arms around her. He took a strong lead, leaving her with no concern other than the pleasure of their movements. It was like heaven. She didn't have to say a word, didn't have to be concerned about her appearance, didn't have to watch her steps. None of that mattered with this man. The dance was everything.

She was sorry when the music stopped. The cowboy's hand lingered briefly at her waist, and even when he dropped his arm, he continued holding her other hand. Their fingers entwined when he looked down on her.

"I just wanted to see if you were happy," he said in measured tones, as if the speech were practiced.

Georgina plastered on her vapid smile. "Why, of course I'm happy. I have it all, don't I?"

"That's what I thought." His gaze was curious, though, and not relieved by her reassurances. "I've decided to stay around a while. I've bought a printing press over near your father's factory. Do you still want me to call on you once in a while?"

"A printing press?" Her eyes widened in excitement. "Will you start a newspaper? Will you have an office with photographs in the window?" The excitement suddenly departed. "Or are you just printing cards and posters and such?"

Even if he hadn't contemplated his own paper, he would have after that. Daniel grinned. "I'll be doing both. There's not much money to be made in a newspaper until it gets some circulation. I have to eat somehow."

Remembering her role as a mature adult, she replied with muted excitement. "I wish you would call on me sometime and tell me about it. I've always been curious about how a newspaper works."

"I would be happy to tell you what I can, but I don't know if I can get away at proper calling hours. I have a business to run."

"Give me your card, and I'll see you get the next invitation. I've got to return to my guests."

Somehow, Georgina knew Mr. Martin wouldn't enter the ballroom with her. It was as if a curtain had been drawn between them. Even when he handed her the card and their fingers touched, that knowledge was there. There was no good reason why their worlds should ever touch again.

She tucked the piece of cardboard between her breasts and winked. She would almost swear that he colored, but he stepped back into the darkness, and she hurried toward the door as the music started up again. It felt good just knowing he was there. She wouldn't think about all the other things he made her feel.

* * *

Peter sprawled his long frame across the blanket they had spread over the grass. His dark curls fell over his forehead as he finished the chicken leg he had been gnawing on. Georgina found him an exceedingly virile specimen of manhood, but she was still searching for the magic she had hoped to find in her future husband.

At least Peter hadn't been terribly reluctant to indulge her with this intimate little picnic she had talked him into. It was just the two of them for a change. There were no other men to distract him with their talk of business, no other women to distract him with their charms. His attention was all hers.

She had worn one of her gowns from London, one of those requiring no structured undergarments. Mr. Martin had noticed that immediately when she had worn one on the train, but Peter seemed somehow oblivious to the makeup of women's attire. He rested blissfully at ease, staring up at the sky and enjoying his meal. She wanted to pour the pitcher of lemonade over him.

"What is it you do all day at the store?" She tried the soft, seductive voice she had tried on Mr. Martin, hoping Peter wouldn't think the question too unfeminine if she asked it properly. To add to the illusion, she leaned over and tickled him with a piece of grass.

"Work." He grabbed her hand and kissed it, robbing her of the grass at the same time. "What do you do all day?"

Georgina wanted to groan, but she obediently replied, "Play. Will you tell me about your work if I don't tell you about my play?"

Peter grinned, and the shock of it nearly mwade her jump out of her skin. He looked just like Mr. Martin when he did that. Of course, he didn't really look like Pecos. The cowboy's hair was light and straight and his face was much longer and leaner with that unfortunate bump in his nose, but there was just something...

She shook her head and willed him to make a sensible reply.

"I'm a glorified handyman," Peter admitted. "I fix whatever needs fixing."

That didn't sound very likely. Peter was always elegantly dressed in tailored coats and silk cravats. Georgina frowned. "You mean you go around with hammer and nails and pound boards all day?"

Peter laughed and reached for another chicken leg. "Not that kind of fixing. If one of the customers takes a liking to something but tries to go out without paying, I'm the one they call. The other day we had a nosy journalist asking questions of our shop clerks, and one of the managers asked me to remove him. That's the kind of thing I do."

Nosy journalist. Georgina's eyes lit up. What could Pecos be up to now? She spread jam on a roll and handed it to Peter. "What kind of questions would a journalist ask a shop clerk? I shouldn't think they'd have much to say."

"He's just drumming up a story, I imagine. There's always someone willing to complain, and newspapers will jump on their complaint just to put something on the front page. I escorted him out of the building."

"You didn't! How awful. Did you find out who was complaining or what they were complaining about?"

Talking about business was what Peter did best, and he had no objection to an eager audience. Swallowing the last bite of roll, he shrugged. "Hours mostly. And we won't let them sit down when they're on the job. I had to let one of our best workers go, though, because of the incident. She was telling the journalist how one of the new men got promoted to management over her when she had been doing the same work he does for years, without the pay he makes. She should know better. The man has a family to raise. Of course we pay him better. And you can't put a woman in management. No one would listen to her. She was a good worker. It's a shame she got to thinking so much of herself."

Peter's smug logic peeled away the last vestige of her patience. This time the temptation was too strong. The lemonade pitcher was down to the dregs, but it made a satisfyingly sticky trickle over Peter's dark curls when Georgina tilted it over his head.

Startled, he shouted and leapt to his feet, scrubbing at his hair, staring at her as if she were crazed. Georgina merely grabbed her skirts and stalked off, leaving him to think what he would.

She wanted to scream at him, "What makes you think men are so much better? Don't women have families, too? Shouldn't they be paid for the work they do?" But it was worse than useless, she knew. She couldn't change the opinion of half the populace by screaming at Peter.

But a newspaper could.

As Georgina marched out of Peter's reach, a whole new horizon spread out before her. Her dream of love and romance fell by the wayside as she imagined the frontpage story she could write. At last, she had a real goal to work toward. She could change the world some day, with the right help. And she knew just where to find that.

Blucher didn't object when Georgina ordered him to take her downtown the next day. He did look slightly puzzled at the street she requested, but no one had given him orders to keep her out of photography studios. And when she sent him home with the news that she would be returning later with Peter, he obediently left her to her own devices.

Several hours later, Georgina was regretting her deviousness in dismissing Blucher, but she'd had to do it. There wasn't any way in the world she could hide the heavy satchels of photography paraphernalia, and she wasn't prepared to answer her family's questions about it. But the damned stuff weighed at least a ton.

Women stared at her with curiosity as she trudged down the street in the direction of Hanover Industries. A strange man offered to help her carry the load, but his eyes were everywhere except on the equipment, and Georgina used her tripod to trip him. People stared more as the man fell on his face, but she marched on without any indication that she noticed. One of the advantages of this street was that it was almost in the respectable area of town, but close enough to the industrial side that she could walk there—providing her arms didn't fall off first.

Sweat poured in rivulets through the dust on Georgina's face by the time she reached the factory. She kept well out of sight of her father's windows, watching carefully for the name of the building listed on Mr. Martin's business card. She knew her hair was coming unpinned and was straggling down the back of her neck, and her arms were nearly numb from the weight of the cumbersome equipment, but she wouldn't turn back now. She knew precisely what she wanted to do.

The faded paint on the wooden sign over the door was barely legible, but the building was made of substantial brick and only the bottom windows were boarded. Surely that was a promising sign. Georgina hefted one satchel to a more comfortable position and opened the door.

It squeaked. She gave it a doubtful look and glanced hesitantly into the darkened hallway. No lights flickered behind the boarded windows. She pushed the door open farther so that sunlight poured into the hall. In the center of the cavernous first floor she found a stairway, and the dull roar of machinery filtered down from the upper floors. The building wasn't entirely empty, then.

Squaring her shoulders, Georgina marched in. Her steps sounded ominously loud in the empty hall, but if there was anyone there, they didn't respond to her presence. She would have to climb the stairs and take her chances.

Groaning at the thought of carrying her equipment up no telling how many flights of stairs, she gripped her satchels a little tighter and set out. She wasn't about to appear in front of Mr. Martin dirty and bedraggled and without her equipment. She would show him that she was more than just a social butterfly. She was going to be a working woman, too.

Georgina didn't know why it was important that he know that, and she didn't spend any time worrying about it. She meant to take pictures to go with the stories he was writing, show the unfairness of this male-dominated world that allowed women to work long hours for less than a man and no doubt any number of other subjects of injustice when they occurred to her. She would have a purpose in life.

She didn't waste time wondering what Peter would think of that, either. If he thought anything at all, he could just take his engagement ring and find some simpering ninny to put it on. She meant to make the whole world see once and for all that she had a mind and intended to use it for something besides planning seating arrangements.

The noise from the printing press grew louder as she ascended to the second story. Her heels clattering against the wooden floor couldn't be heard above the racket. She followed the sound down still another hallway, this one much lighter and more cheerful from the light of the huge windows on either end. The heat, however, was stifling.

Finding an open door, Georgina allowed herself the luxury of dropping her satchels for just a minute, just so she could push her hair back and wipe her face off a little.

The printing press came to a crashing silence at the same time as her satchels hit the floor. The sound echoed through the nearly empty building.

Mr. Martin appeared instantly, his spectacles sliding down his sweat-coated nose, his hands rubbing a rag to remove the black ink. At the sight of Georgina, his arched eyebrows rose a fraction. At the sight of her equipment, he gaped openly, his gaze swinging back and forth between the hideously expensive camera and paraphernalia and back to her. And then he grinned and stashed his spectacles in his shirt pocket.

"A fellow journalist is always welcome, Miss Hanover. Please come in."