A Hope Undaunted (3 page)

Genevieve screamed, and Warren and Roger jumped from the car. They circled Luke with fists raised. Suddenly it was Jack’s turn to grin. “So, how’s your confidence now, eh, big shot? Think you can handle three to one?”

Katie darted around to shove Jack hard in the chest. “Stop it now, or so help me – ”

He pushed her aside. “Stay out of this, doll.”

Warren eased in with a quick swipe, and the soda jerk dodged with the grace of an athlete. His wide grin gleamed white in the lamplight as he egged them on with a wave of his fingers. “Come on, boys, I’ve lived on the streets all my life, so have at it.”

Roger lunged, and the soda jerk felled him like a tree with a right hook to his jaw. Out of nowhere, Warren rushed from behind, leg poised in a kick.
Big mistake.
Katie winced as the soda jerk latched onto his shoe and yanked him to the pavement with a sickening thud. She screeched in horror, then charged forward, only to be looped at the waist by Jack who tossed her back in the car, flailing and screaming. He turned with a loud roar and rammed his body straight for the soda jerk, head tucked like a raging bull. In a deft move of his foot, the soda jerk tripped him and sent him skidding into the street.

“Jack!” Katie jolted from the car and ran to his side. “Are you okay?” She helped him as he lumbered to his feet, the right trouser leg of his gray Oxford bags torn and streaked with dirt.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just let me at that slimeball – ”

“No!” She planted two petite hands on his chest and shoved him back with more force than her small size warranted. “You’re done, Jack! Do you hear me? Or we’re through.”

He staggered back, a bloody hand to his head. “Come on, Katydid, don’t talk like that – ”

“I mean it, Jack, I swear.” She whirled around, her eyes singeing all of them within an inch of their lives. “Warren, Roger – get in the car.
Now!
”

“Come on, Jack, are you gonna listen to her? We can take this guy.”

She spun around, fury pumping in her veins. “So, what’s it gonna be, Jack – them or me?”

He glanced from Katie to his friends and then back again, a nerve twittering in his cheek. His tone was tight as he exhaled his frustration. “Get in the car, we’re leaving.”

Muttered curses rumbled as the boys stumbled toward the coupe.

With a lightning thrust of her hand, Katie lifted Jack’s wallet from the pocket of his trousers as neatly as a veteran pickpocket.

“Katydid, what are you doing – ”

She ignored him and marched up to the soda jerk with fire in her eyes. At five foot two, she barely measured to the middle of his chest, but she didn’t give a fig if he was seven foot five. No hayseed soda jerk was going to intimidate her! She glared up, annoyance surging at having to crane her neck. “How much do we owe, you roughhouse bully?”

He met her fierce look with cool confidence, sizing her up with that same probing gaze that had riled her before. “That’ll be $2.48 total,
miss
. That’s 15 cents for three Coca-Colas, $1.80 for six chocolate shakes – ” A shadow of a smile edged the corners of his mouth. “Three cents for
extra
cherries – and 50 cents for the glass your boyfriend stole.”

She peeled off two crisp dollar bills from Jack’s stash and threw them at his feet, then spun around and snatched the glass from the seat of the car. With barely concealed fury, she shoved it hard against his rock-solid chest. “Here, keep the change. Not that you’re worth it.”

A massive palm locked onto her wrist before she could snatch it away. “Nice girls don’t run with riffraff,” he breathed.

The intensity of his gaze forced a lump to her throat. For a split second she barely drew air, their eyes fused while the heat of his hand throbbed against her arm. Then all at once, her pride resurged with a vengeance. “Nor care about the opinions of lowly soda jerks,” she rasped, incensed at the shame that scalded her cheeks.

She jerked her hand free and slid into the car, refusing to give in to the tears that pricked at her eyes. She threw the wallet on the seat while Jack got in and slammed his door. He turned the ignition and shifted into gear. Humiliation and silence hung thick in the air as they jostled down the shadows of the cobblestone street.

“I’m sorry, Katydid,” Jack whispered, and she nodded dumbly, blinking hard as she stared out the window. Her body shivered and she clutched at her sides, ashamed she’d lost her temper and belittled another human being. And it wasn’t until the coupe rounded the corner and a solitary figure faded from view . . . that she allowed even a single tear to fall.

Privilege is wasted on the rich.
Luke shook his head and watched as the taillights of the Franklin careened around the corner of the two-story Sears, Roebuck and Company, leaving a squeal of tires in its wake. He stooped to pick up the two dollar bills that the feisty rich girl had flung at him, and his lips quirked into a wry smile. She was a pretty little thing, even if she was spoiled rotten. A child of privilege and obviously used to getting her own way. He peered down the dim street lit only by the flicker of neon and squinted in the direction the coupe had disappeared. Humor tugged at the edges of his mouth. He’d give her one thing, though – she had more spunk and mettle in that tiny, little wrist he’d grasped than the whole carload of her rich friends put together. Luke’s lips flattened into a hard line. Especially the pretty-boy lackey whom she obviously had on a short leash.

Nope, there weren’t many fireballs like little ol’ “Katydid,” he thought with a grudging smile. At least not that he’d met anyway, which in the end was a good thing. He sure didn’t have time to get involved with a woman right now, especially the in-your-face kind who seemed to have a knack for taking him down. Grazing his thumb against the edge of her glass, he ambled back to the diner, only to stop short at the door. He folded his arms and cocked a brow at the mangy mutt snoozin’ between the potted urn and the red-brick stoop, legs limp in the air. “Okay, you little scamp, don’t you have someplace else to sleep?”

The terrier’s eyes slitted open and he yawned with a stretch of his hind legs. Luke crouched to his knees. “Sorry to disturb you, Sleeping Beauty, but this is a diner, not a hotel.” He rubbed the dog’s belly and frowned at the pronounced imprint of ribs beneath the smooth white skin. He sighed and rose to his feet. “Okay, I’m a sucker for the underdog – or the underfed dog – so I’ll feed you. But just this once, and then you hightail it home, you got that?”

The terrier popped up and stretched his front paws with another yawn, wagging his perky, white tail. Luke laughed and opened the door, then closed it again with a noisy clang of bells. Two liquid-brown eyes followed him through the glass, the pup’s head cocked in anticipation as black ears flopped over a curious black and white snout.

Luke shot a quick look at the clock and groaned. Tenfifteen – Betty would be waiting. Sweet saints, he hated being late. He stashed the two dollars in the register, then ducked in the back to dig a half-eaten burger out of the trash, grateful he’d finished cleanup before the rich kids had left. He’d even washed the mixer after their shakes.

He sprinted to the front and grinned at the terrier, patiently parked in front of the glass. “Here ya go, you little beggar. Eat and go home, ya hear?” The terrier snatched the food from his hand and bolted away. Luke sighed and locked the door, sparing one last glance across the store.

A low groan rumbled in his throat. The booth the rich kids had occupied still needed to be cleaned. His shoulders drooped. Now he’d be late for sure. With a heavy sigh, he moved toward the table and stopped, shock flaring his eyes. His jaw tightened at the sight of six glasses of water, all upside down. Biting back a curse, he kicked at the booth and rattled the dishes. Man alive, what he wouldn’t give to get his hands on those spoiled little brats again – he’d teach ’em a thing or two. He exhaled his frustration and strode into the kitchen to grab a couple of towels.

His anger suddenly tempered at the thought of one spoiled brat in particular. Hair like spun gold, eyes like blue fire, and an attitude way taller than she. Oh yeah, he’d like to get his hands on that one for sure. A grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. And he’d teach her, all right – a definite thing or two.

Katie bit her lip and eased the front door closed as deathly still as possible. She held her breath when the click of the lock echoed in the dark hall of her house, then released it again in one long, silent sigh of relief. Thank goodness the lights were out and her parents were in bed. Jack’s watch had said almost midnight – long past her ten-thirty curfew – and tonight she wasn’t in the mood for one of her father’s “Katie Rose” lectures.

She leaned back against the heavy oak door and closed her eyes, her mood considerably dampened by the events of the night. Jack had insisted on taking everyone home first so she and he could be alone to talk. Her lips skewed into an off-center smile. Or at least, that’s what
he
called it. Usually he pleaded and she forgave. He nuzzled and she reveled in the attention. Her jaw stiffened with annoyance. Except tonight. No, tonight, even Jack’s kisses, which she usually enjoyed, had failed to stir her. And all because of some hayseed soda jerk.

“Nice girls don’t run with riffraff.”

Guilt assailed her, and her eyes popped open as she blew out a shaky breath. What in the world was the matter with her? Jack wasn’t riffraff, he was the catch of the year and desperately in love with her. Looks, wealth, sense of humor, social standing, and intelligence – everything on her list and then some. A prospective lawyer, just like her, both slated for law school in the fall – Jack after graduating from college and she, gloriously enough, right out of high school!

She drew in a deep breath, hope winging at the thought of attending Boston’s prestigious Portia Law School. Established exclusively for women in 1908, Portia’s generous admission guidelines required only a high school degree, and the prospect of going to law school at the same time as Jack thrilled Katie to the bone. This was her chance – an era when women were flying high into their futures – literally – like Amelia Earhardt with her world record for female pilots. A shiver of anticipation raced through Katie. Well, she intended to set a record of her own – to be the first truly independent woman in her family. To pursue women’s rights – first as a lawyer, then as a congresswoman someday. And Portia Law School was just the start. It was there where her plan would unfold to help women who couldn’t help themselves, and there where she’d sow the seeds for her own financial freedom. And in Jack, she had the perfect complement – a man who not only shared her vision, but who enjoyed the distinct advantage of connections. Her lips slanted into a smile. Connections that included an attorney father who presided over one of the most prestigious law firms in the city, not to mention winning a senate seat last year.

Pride swelled in her chest as she made her way to the stairs. No, Jack was definitely not “riffraff.” And furthermore – contrary to the warning of one truly obnoxious soda jerk – Jack Worthington was the man she intended to marry.

“
So
. . . what’s the excuse this time, Katie Rose? A broken watch, a broken car . . . or just pure obstinance in flaunting your father’s will?”

Katie jolted at the staircase, hand grafted to the newel post at the base of the oak banister. She groaned inwardly and turned, squinting into the dim parlor where the faint glow of a pipe could be seen. She sucked in a deep breath and wondered how she’d missed the sweet smell of tobacco in the air. Black Cavendish, with hints of maple and vanilla – Patrick O’Connor’s trademark scent. She exhaled her nervousness. “Father, I’m sorry – we lost track of time.”

“So, it’s the broken-watch scenario then, is it, darlin’?” The bowl of the pipe smoldered, expelling a curl of smoke into the air.

“Uh, well, no, not exactly. I . . . forgot to wear my watch.”

“I see. And I suppose Jack forgot his as well?”

Katie stood stiff in the door, stomach churning. “No . . . but you see, we stopped for a soda at Robinson’s, after the picture show, you know . . .”