Chances (15 page)

A familiar flicker of challenge bubbled through her and she smiled to herself, feeling somewhat better about the meeting. Daniel had known she’d be unable to resist being in the middle of it all. Perhaps she’d just been too busy to get excited, what with the shift changes and the distraction Daniel created.

His involvement surprised her. He’d protested and balked at every turn of the dog bounty fight. Maybe his success there was just what he’d needed. Still, she hadn’t expected that he’d voluntarily step forward a second time.

She strode through the thinning downtown crowds, the wind chafing her cheeks. Shopkeepers, shutting up their stores, waved and hustled back inside to the warmth. Heavens, here she was, thinking about Daniel again. Maybe she was worrying too much. Just because she’d slipped once, it didn’t mean things would get out of hand again. Besides, if it hadn’t been for Lavinia opening that door, there wouldn’t be a problem. Daniel was right; she was mad at herself. It hadn’t been the kiss at all, but the weak position it had put her in.

She liked Daniel. He’d let his guard down and she’d discovered an intelligent, passionate man. They’d work well together; she knew it.

But, by God, she wasn’t about to let Elizabeth Byers truss her up in any more ball gowns.

She didn’t need any more complications in her life. Daniel piqued her interest and there was nothing at all wrong with them spending time together. They could forget about that kiss, keep things professional, and pour their energies into more important things. After all, they’d gotten it out of their systems.

* * * * *

Two hours later, Sarah sat in a stiff wooden chair, listening to James Archer, president of the Denver City Water Company, drone on about his plans to improve the city’s water system. Archer’s long bushy beard bobbed below his balding head and his lined face accented stern features. From the crowd’s lack of argument, it was evident that Archer would dominate this committee, just as he dominated Denver’s growing utility system.

Sarah glanced at Daniel from the corner of her eye.

He shifted in his chair, then slid into a slump.

“What do you think?” she whispered.

“I think this is a waste of time. Let’s go.”

Sarah nodded.

Daniel rose, gathered their wraps, and waited for Sarah. They squeezed their way down the row and out of the room.

“I’m not sure what I expected,” Sarah announced as soon as they were outside. “Certainly not Archer dictating everything.”

“Truth be told, Sarah, I didn’t expect it either, though I should have. Archer’s water delivery system made life a lot easier in this town. Folks aren’t likely to turn against him now. Besides, if he says he has a plan to carry the wastewater away, he’ll get it done. I guess I’d rather he told us more about it, though.” Daniel’s forehead creased. “You aren’t angry I suggested we come, are you?”

Sarah shook her head. “No, I’m just not used to having everything all arranged. I rather like getting in with both hands, figuring out the best course, taking a direct role.”

Daniel smiled, a quiet hint of laughter surfacing then fading, almost before it could be heard. “You don’t like being in the background, do you?”

She caught the slight sparkle in his eyes and smiled back. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’re not much of a wall flower.”

“Thank you, I think.”

They shuffled through the empty street, evening darkness surrounding them. The air was braced with moisture, hinting of snow, and Sarah tugged her shawl more closely around her.

Daniel buttoned his overcoat and glanced in her direction. “I’m sorry there wasn’t more opportunity for you.”

“It’s all right, Daniel. Archer’s water company seems on target. The plan for using a bigger pump should take care of the complaints about capacity and the supply problem will be solved. There’s not much for the public to do on that end.”

“I guess I expected this meeting to focus more on the disposal problem.” His voice was full of apology and something that almost sounded like disappointment.

“I think Dr. Denison is still going to attempt to organize a sub-committee. I’m going to join his efforts to focus on fighting the sewage while Archer and the city fathers deal with fixing the system. We’ll need to raise money for a flyer campaign and increase the letters to the editor. It wouldn’t hurt to organize a few groups to get out and literally clean things up. That’ll be men, I suspect, though the women could do door-to-door visitation to explain the risk of disease. The people we most need to reach may not even read. We’ve got to get word out to them.”

They neared the steps of her boarding house, and she debated with herself over whether to ask for his help or wait for him to volunteer. Daniel was new to all this, and she doubted he’d budge too far without a little prompting. They’d stopped, waiting. She hated the absurd uncertainty over asking him for even surfacing and pushed it away, then turned to him. “Would you sound out interest among the businessmen for a clean-up day? It would be so much more effective coming from one of their own.”

He shrugged with obvious discomfort. “No promises, Sarah. Cleaning ditches would be dirty work, and I’m not such a skillful persuader as you are.” He caught her gaze, his features softening under the light of the gas lamp. “I’m sure I can drum up interest for some political pressure, though. Maybe push Archer faster on his design to carry the waste away?”

She rolled her eyes at him, hating the way he dodged involvement when it became uncomfortable. “The health of this city is the concern of everyone in it,” she said, her hands punctuating her air of their own accord.

“Eight days ago, I couldn’t have cared less about the stench of the City Ditch or the number of cesspools in town and I was getting along just fine.” His words were edged with controlled crispness, an obvious attempt to keep her fellow boarders from overhearing and peering out the windows.

She pinned her gaze on his and changed tactics. “How many lower-class people do you prepare for burial?”

“What?”

“How many poor people do you bury?” She knew the answer already, just by the confused look on his face and the increasing indignation in his voice.

He stared at her for a moment, then threw up his hands. “What does that have to do with whether I should be involved in city sewage?”

“Maybe you don’t know anyone who has a cesspool behind their house. Maybe you’ve never noticed the families who overflow their cramped, dismal hovels and the muck outside their back doors. Maybe you’re just too high and mighty.”

“You’re the one sounding like she’s high and mighty.”

“Come Saturday, I’m going to be out along the worst part of Cherry Creek, picking up waste. What are you going to be doing?” A twinge of self-reproach poked at her. She wasn’t high and mighty. She wasn’t. She was simply dedicated, committed to her cause. She planted her hands firmly on her hips and drew herself up to her full height and ignored all the crazy, mixed-up thoughts running roughshod through her resolve. “I’d invite you to join me but you might get your hands dirty, and we all know Daniel Petterman is above that. If you care to prove me wrong, you can ask Denison where to find me.”

She left the challenge hanging, turned and pointedly left him standing at the bottom of the front steps, mouth agape.

How in heaven’s name had she ever thought she would work well with such a pompous, unimaginative, stick-in-the-mud?

* * * * *

Daniel approached the Larimer Street Bridge wishing someone had died so he would have an excuse to avoid Sarah’s project. Of all the dismal ways to spend a Saturday afternoon, this had to take the cake. And to top it all, he didn’t know why the heck he was doing it in the first place.

Cherry Creek stretched through the city, a narrow ribbon of mucky brown water. Looking down the creek, he spied an area of small, run-down cabins, and headed in their direction. Serious businessmen hadn’t built close to the creek since the floods of the sixties, but the open lowlands and usually placid water had attracted the newcomers. Their small homes were as Sarah had described. Daniel felt a stab of self-recrimination and sighed.

Why did that woman have to be right about everything?

“Well, would you look who finally showed up,” Bill Byers observed from the middle of the creek. “You joining me or that pack of slowpokes back there?” He gestured to the group clustered on the creek edge, a few hundred feet away.

Daniel waved to his friend and picked his way closer to the creek. The area was scattered with decaying newspapers and empty glass bottles. A slight odor of decay hung in the air, but not nearly so thick as it likely would in the summer. He approached the edge of the water and noted a stronger stench.

“C’mon in, the water’s fine,” Bill challenged. He stood in the ankle deep stream, clearly enjoying himself. “Thank God it’s low.”

Daniel eyed the muck, skeptical. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll catch something?”

“I’ll just have Libby draw me a nice hot bath. She owes me for letting her host another of those damned suffrage meetings this afternoon. As long as I don’t drink the water, I figure it should be all right.”

Already, Daniel’s shoes were mired in thick mud. Thank goodness he’d donned a pair of old brogans before he’d left home. He marched farther into the creek, felt the cold water seep over the tops of his boots, and pushed up his sleeves. “What exactly are we doing?”

“Trying to pick up floating garbage,” Byers indicated a gunnysack dangling from his waist. “I got fish heads, scraps of oilskin, and a few corn cobs, among other things.”

By now, the others were moving closer. They, too, carried burlap sacks but focused on picking up the scattered debris along the banks of the creek. They stretched across the flat area that filled with water in the spring of the year. Dry now, it was host to rotting refuse, clear remnants of emptied slop pails.

Among the group, he spied Sarah’s small frame. She bent to snatch up a handful of old watermelon rinds, then rose and caught his gaze. Her expression registered surprise and she stared for a moment before marching over. Not bothering to peel off her stained work glove, she stuck her hands on her hips.

“You’re late.” Her voice held a trace of pleased warmth but the words nettled at him.

He glared at her, wanting to tell her she ought to be happy he was here at all. Bill Byers was the only other businessman present. The realization was somewhat hollow, though, and of little satisfaction. Any minute, she’d point out that they’d failed to invite any of the others and he’d have to admit she was right again. He shifted slightly, sloshing in the water.

“You never did tell me what time.”

“The time was announced in the
News
, and don’t tell me you didn’t see it because you obviously read enough of the notice to know where to find us.” Her voice held chastisement, but not as much as he’d expected. In fact, he thought he detected a carefully hidden note of admiration. He glanced at her and found a spark of humor in her eyes.

“Glad to see me?” he teased.

“Extra hands are always welcome.” She straightened, the light-heartedness disappearing in the shadow of brisk efficiency. “Here, take my extra bag. You’re on your own for the gloves. Either help Bill here or join the rest of us on the shoreline.”

“I think I’d prefer Bill’s company, thank you.” Plowing further into the chilly water, he mucked his way to the middle of the creek.

“Lover’s quarrel?” Bill queried, reaching for an empty patent medicine bottle.

“Hardly.” Daniel glanced at his friend. “She just hates it that I’m not as enthusiastic about the dirty work of this project as she is. The only time I seem to do anything right is when I flaunt what’s expected. If I tease at her, I can’t tell if she likes it or hates it. If I behave like a gentlemen or think like a businessman, she’s insulted.”

Bill laughed heartily. “Women make an art of it, old boy. Libby can twist me around her little finger when she puts on that hurt attitude. ‘Course after this many years, she usually gets what she wants without all the bother.”

It didn’t quite seem like something Sarah would do. “I don’t know that it’s a game with her and I’m not sure she’s trying to get anything. She just flat doesn’t like the fact that I’m not extreme.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

Bill did have a point. Daniel scooped up a section of newspaper and stuffed it into the bag. Was he really here because Sarah had acted hurt and betrayed?

He shook his head. She’d made him realize a thing or two maybe, but it sure wasn’t female manipulation. “It’s for the good of the community, not some radical cause.”

Bill nodded sagely, accepting the answer, then switched gears. “So, who defines radical?”

“C’mon, Bill, you know what I mean. Quit being philosophical.”

“Just let me play the devil’s advocate for a minute. This is for the common good so it’s not radical? What
is
radical?”

Daniel shrugged. He’d play along, for the sake of discussion. “Well, if you’re looking at it along those lines, I guess I’d venture radical would be something that is promoted either by or for the benefit of a small group.”

“So if the issue concerns a large group, it’s not radical?”

“I guess.” What the hell was Bill getting at?

“Then I guess I’m going to have to tell Sarah you’re in support of women’s suffrage after all.” Bill stood up and grinned from ear to ear.

“Now just wait one danged minute—”

“Relax. I’m just trying to roil up your thoughts a bit.”

Daniel let it rest. It’d take more than a little bit of questioning by Bill Byers for anyone to figure out his thoughts, himself included. Still, Bill did have a point. Could be his lifelong definition of extreme was a smidgeon off-center. “How long have you been out here?” he asked, ready to switch topics to something a little more comfortable.

“Couple of hours. I never knew the creek had gotten this bad. Back when the
News
was located in this neighborhood, things weren’t so filthy. ‘Course there were a whole lot fewer people then, too.” He glanced up. “Look out, here comes your radical. Ask her who gets to define the word.” He slogged his way through the creek water, leaving Daniel alone.