Chances (3 page)

Daniel’s jaw tightened, and his gaze bore into her. “No, if women voted, the whole City Council meeting would turn into a tea party.”

Sarah stomped her foot in frustration. Men were all the same. “Oh, of all the hare-brained, ludicrous statements! No wonder men never get anything done.”

“Are we finished here? I have a body to locate.”

“Oh, my goodness, the body.” How could she have forgotten? Now he really
would
think her nothing but a bumbling female.

Daniel tensed. “You know something about Mr. Harding?”

“I tried to tell you earlier.” She paused, then composed herself and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m the new telegrapher. Cheyenne sent a wire, but I thought you were out of town so I sent the message to Silverman. The body came in on the 10:20. Silverman already picked it up to take it to Potter’s Field.”

Anger washed across Daniel’s face, running roughshod past his self-discipline. “And
you
think women possess the brains to vote? If that body is buried already,
you
can inform the family and work out the legal issues involved with exhuming what’s likely to be a badly deteriorated corpse. If he’s six feet under, you’re going to get yourself a new job because I’ll personally see you fired. How’s gravedigger suit you?”

Chapter Two

Daniel watched Sarah’s plainly clad figure disappear up Blake Street with her wheelbarrow. He hated the position she’d put him in, and he hated having lost his composure. He’d yelled, at a woman, in public. The quick crunching of Sarah’s footsteps lingered behind her, further aggravating him.

Frowning, he entered his shop and slammed the door. Wincing in regret at the sound, he crossed to the expensive mahogany casket that lay waiting for Wilson Harding. Snow-white satin lining shimmered beneath the etched glass of the lid’s viewing panels, and polished brass hardware graced its sides.

Harding’s family wanted the best. He’d had the coffin shipped in special from the Stein Manufacturing Company in Rochester, New York, their top-of-the-line model. The funeral itself was scheduled for tomorrow morning. He sure as hell hoped Silverman hadn’t put Harding in the ground yet.

Daniel crossed the spotless workroom and checked on the corpse cooler. This afternoon, he would prepare the body it was keeping chilled. Lifting the lid, he noted that the top chamber was still full of ice. He had time to head to Silverman’s.

Opening the rear door to his family’s private residence, he informed the housekeeper, Mrs. Winifred, that he was headed out, flipped the “open” sign to “closed” and left the shop.

Daniel hurried through the busy business district of Blake Street. Merchants displayed their wares from glass storefronts and carefully arranged boardwalk cases. He ignored their inviting offers, intent on the distasteful task ahead of him. All he wanted to do was collect Harding and get home, without any further complications.

Silverman’s establishment was located just a scant block from the Kansas Pacific Depot. He was one of the less professional of the Denver undertakers and not well known for his quality of work. He probably didn’t even have a cooler. Even if Silverman hadn’t buried Harding already, Daniel hated to think about the possible decomposition the lack of cooling might have prompted in the unusual autumn heat.

Rounding the corner of Blake Street, Daniel crossed 21
^st
Street to Silverman’s squalid little building. Located less than a block off Market Street, Silverman catered to a lower class clientele, often providing burials to the working girls of “the Row.” Daniel wrinkled his nose in distaste and entered the bare wooden structure.

Silverman stood behind a rough wooden plank in heated discussion. On the street side of the makeshift counter was a petite blonde, none other than Sarah Donovan herself. Daniel’s jaw clenched as he approached.

“You don’t understand, Mr. Silverman. The body was supposed to go to someone else.” Sarah punctuated her words with her hand.

Silverman chewed on a wad of tobacco, indifferent to her vehemence. “Didn’t though. Notice was delivered here. Makes it my responsibility, and ain’t no way I can release it to you.”

Daniel sighed and marched to the counter to rescue the situation. “But you
can
release it to me,” he stated with firmness.

“Well, if it ain’t Dan Petterman. You slummin’?”

Sarah looked at both men, then turned back to the proprietor. “Mr. Silverman, it seems—”

“I’ll handle this, Miss Donovan, if you don’t mind.”

“But I—”

“I said, I’ll handle this.” Daniel shook his head. What in God’s name was she doing here? If she’d made a further mess, he’d file a report with her supervisor. In fact, he might just do so anyway. He reminded himself to stay calm, then shifted his weight and moved in front of her. “Silverman, Miss Donovan made an error. The body should have been delivered to me.”

Silverman’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “She already covered that. You got paperwork?”

Sarah pushed Daniel’s elbow out of the way. “And why wasn’t my paperwork satisfactory, Mr. Silverman?”

“Be quiet, Miss Donovan. This is no longer your affair.”

“It is my affair, Mr. Petterman. You have implied that I made a mistake when I was, in reality, misinformed and unable to take any other action.”

Once again irritated to the verge of outburst, Daniel drew himself away from the counter and faced Sarah. The little spitfire looked riled at the implication that she had erred. He peered down at her, bit back a scathing comment about her professional abilities, and discovered a pair of big violet eyes that could just about melt an iceberg. Somehow, with the girls and the dog, he’d missed seeing them earlier. God Almighty, but the woman was pretty, too pretty for that forward personality.

He sighed and switched tactics. “Miss Donovan, will you cease your chattering? I don’t care how or why it happened. I can’t straighten this out until you’re quiet.”

“You two about done?” Silverman interrupted. “Paperwork looks in order, and you’re welcome to take the body. You best run, though, ‘cause it’s halfway up to Potter’s Field by now.”

Sarah glanced at Daniel. His jaw muscles were twitching again, and she knew he was fighting to control himself. He glared at her, then crossed the room and exited without a word.

By the time she made it to the door, he was halfway down the block, headed southeast, toward Cemetery Hill. Sarah watched him ease into a loose trot and knew he was likely hating every embarrassing minute of it.

The cemetery lay some two to three miles distant, past the meandering city ditch. It’d take Daniel forever to get there. Why the dickens hadn’t he just borrowed a horse?

Sarah turned northwest and entered the Kansas Pacific yard. Frank Bates’s company horse stood at the rail, waiting patiently for his next delivery. Glancing into the depot, she spied Bates again lounging on one of the benches, his mouth stuffed full and a sandwich in his hand. He wouldn’t need the horse for a while. She untied Buck, flipped the reins over his head, and glanced around before hiking up her long skirt. She mounted the horse and settled the brown serge around her legs, then trotted toward Broadway after Daniel. By now, he was starting to look winded. Goodness, men had no sense whatsoever when they had their minds full of themselves.

Sarah came abreast of Daniel and slowed the horse.

“You going to run all the way or would you like a ride?”

Daniel glared at her, then halted for a breath. “Th-thank you, Miss Donovan. I should be delighted to ride.” He waited expectantly.

Sarah inched forward on the horse. If he thought she was dumb enough to dismount and have him take off without her, he had another thought coming.

“Do you need help down, Miss Donovan?”

“Look, Petterman, if you want to get to the cemetery before they put that body in the ground, you’d better get on. Otherwise, I’ll go without you. I have a stake in this, too. Until that body is safely in your hands, I cannot clear up the paperwork with Western Union or the Kansas Pacific.”

Daniel glanced around the area, then let out a huff and swung himself up behind Sarah. When Sarah continued to grasp the reins herself, he slid his reluctant arms around her waist.

“This is hardly proper. Why didn’t you bring a buggy?”

“You ought to be thankful one of us thought to bring a horse. If there had been a buggy available, you can be sure I would have thought of bringing it instead.”

She felt him stiffen behind her, and she knew she’d hit a nerve. It served him right. She hoped he stewed in it. Why in the world was it so difficult for men to accept that they were fallible, and that, sometimes, women could do things better than they could?

Sarah kept Buck at a controlled trot as they left the business district. Daniel’s warm heat coursed through her as his arms bounced up and down, occasionally bumping against her breasts before settling back around her waist. He shifted, his firm chest hard behind her back.

She should have let him take the horse himself, after all.

Just past the capitol building, they spotted Silverman’s burial wagon. Sarah reined in Buck. Daniel slid down and approached the driver. They spoke quietly for a few moments, giving Sarah time to wonder why she had felt so compelled to come along. This was now an issue between the two undertakers and, truth be told, she didn’t actually need to be present for the exchange of the body.

She glanced at Daniel’s trim figure. His broad shoulders merged into a strong, tapering back. His pressed white shirt disappeared into the waistband of tailored black pants, which were molded over a well-formed derriere.

Sarah’s face grew hot. She was scrutinizing him in the same maddening way that men did her. She was looking at the man’s backside, for heaven’s sake. She spun Buck away, no longer wishing to witness any of Daniel Petterman’s activities.

“Whoa, there,” Marshal McCallin called from his approaching horse.

Sarah pulled Buck’s reins and slowed to a stop, face to face with the Chief of Police.

“You got a fair amount of explainin’ to do, gal. Frank Bates and the Kansas Pacific just reported this horse stolen.”

* * * * *

The following morning, Daniel stood next to his fine black funeral carriage and watched the pallbearers carry William Harding’s coffin to his cemetery lot. It had been precisely two hours since he’d made his appearance at municipal court in Sarah Donovan’s defense, and it was his first quiet moment.

He was glad to be rid of her and happier yet that he’d never have to meet with her again.

Court had cluttered up his already busy morning, and he’d spent the hour during the funeral service checking on the gravesite, something he normally did far in advance of the actual burial. Thank God, the gravediggers had done a proper job.

Fortunately, Harding hadn’t been too badly deteriorated. With a little molding, some powder and rouge, he looked as distinguished as he had in life. The family was pleased. The funeral was crowded with Denver’s elite bidding farewell to a favorite banker. Daniel smiled at the thought of the positive impression he’d made today.

Watching them now, as the minister led a final prayer, Daniel was glad word hadn’t gotten out about the trouble with Sarah. She sure was a high-falutin’ little busybody. He’d never met a woman quite like her. Much as he hated to admit it, a few of the things she’d said even made sense.

Whoever would expect such spirit from a tiny little thing like her? Heck, she couldn’t be more than a little over five feet tall, and that thick blond hair looked like spun cornsilk. And those big violet eyes—a man could drown in them. Her whole appearance was at odds with her attitude.

After this morning’s court session, he’d told her to be sure and send all telegrams by messenger. He didn’t want anything more to do with the woman, violet eyes or not.

Across the cemetery, a distinguished bearded man broke away from the lingering crowd and approached. Daniel recognized him as William Byers, owner of the
Rocky Mountain News
.

“Fine funeral, Petterman,” he said, offering his hand.

“Thank you, Byers. I fear Denver’s lost one of her finest.”

Byers nodded. “He was well-liked.”

“It meant a lot to the family, seeing everyone come out like this. They went through a lot, getting him shipped back from Wyoming Territory.”

“Speaking of which, word has it you had your share of trouble receiving him back.” Byers’s eyebrows rose expectantly.

“Am I speaking on the record or off?” Daniel countered.

The newsman smiled in appreciation. “I’m not working today, Daniel.”

“You heard about the trouble, huh?” How many others had heard? Daniel cringed at the thought of the rumor mill invading his privacy and slandering his well-guarded morals.

“Heard that new female telegrapher got her wires crossed.”

Daniel chuckled at Byers’s joke, then nodded, one eye still on the funeral party. “She said somebody told her I was out of town. The body went to Silverman, and I ended up having to chase it halfway up Cemetery Hill.”

“Riding double on a buckskin horse,” Byers supplied, “stolen by the lady with the quick fingers.”

Daniel groaned. “Is that going to make the front page?”

“No, but I was real tempted.”

“I’ll just bet.”

“So, what’s she like?”

Daniel glanced at the dispersing crowd and relaxed a little. Everything had gone well, and no one but Byers was paying him the least attention. He leaned forward and kept his voice low. “She’s a hellcat, Bill, a hellcat through and through. Spouts off like a geyser on women’s rights and such. Pretty little thing, but she sure doesn’t know her place.”

Byers smiled. “Sounds a lot like my Libby.”

Daniel arched his eyebrows in surprise. “The hellcat or the suffragist?” Everyone had heard about Elizabeth Byers and her causes, but he certainly hadn’t expected Bill to be so cavalier about the issue.

 “Both, I’m afraid.” He grinned and shrugged his shoulders in mock helplessness. “Seriously, though, Daniel, I already heard most of the story. Newspaperman’s sources, you know. What I’m really curious about is the incident with the gang. Is it true Cyrus Gall and his entourage shot your daughters’ dog?”