Christmas Pie Page 9

“A very good evening to you, Miss MacNamara!”

  Lawrence Bullock’s booming voice startled her and she turned abruptly. Frowning, she saw him push himself away from the wall of the shop. Had he been waiting for her? The thought made her nervous and not a little huffy.

  “Good evening, Mr. Bullock,” she said with more stiffness of manner than was her wont.

  Watching him closely as he approached, she read only friendliness in his expression.

  Well, of course, you silly girl. What else would there be? Annoyed by her unwarranted edginess, Polly gave Lawrence Bullock a bigger smile than she wanted to.

  “What are you doing out on the streets of Chinatown alone in the evening, my dear?”

  I’m not your dear, Polly thought sourly. Maintaining her smile, however, she said, “I’m just on my way home, Mr. Bullock.”

  “I saw you go into that shop and tried to follow you, but the door was locked.”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Bullock. The door wasn’t locked. Why, I just opened it.”

  “I know, my dear. I saw you.”

  Bullock winked at her as he spoke, and Polly’s smile dimmed. She did not approve of gentlemen winking at her. Not one little bit.

  “And I also know the door was locked,” Bullock continued, as though he considered it a good joke.

  “You are mistaken, Mr. Bullock.” Irritated, Polly turned to continue on her way.

  His hand on her arm stopped her. Shocked by the overly familiar gesture, Polly turned and pointedly shook off his fingers. “Is there something you want from me, Mr. Bullock?”

  Faint stirrings of alarm began to scamper up Polly’s spine. She eyed her surroundings and was reassured to see the usual hustling and bustling she’d grown to expect in Chinatown where life seemed to be lived on the streets.

  Vegetable stands and meat markets did business in a much louder and more boisterous manner than such business was carried out in other neighborhoods. Vendors called out the merits of their wares in Chinese and English. Runners darted here and there, carrying messages and parcels. A regular Babel of voices filled the air.

  “Why, yes, Miss MacNamara, there certainly is something I want from you.”

  Bullock’s eyes, Polly noticed, were a light blue and not particularly attractive, although he was generally considered to be a handsome man. She decided it was a weakness about his eyes and chin that did not appeal to her. As if trained to do so, her brain began immediately to compare him unfavorably to James Drayton, and she had to forcefully command it to stop. Why on earth did everything and everybody remind her of James Drayton?

  “Well, then, what is it, Mr. Bullock?” she asked curtly.

  “I want to see you home, my dear. You shouldn’t be out alone in the evenings this way.”

  “I assure you, I walk home every evening, and I am perfectly fine. I don’t need an escort.”

  “Nonsense, my dear. A lovely young girl shouldn’t have to walk alone.”

  He smiled at her in entirely too warm a manner and Polly decided she’d taken all she intended to take from Lawrence Bullock this evening. The thought of being walked home by him made her flesh crawl.

  “Thank you very much,” she said, “but I do not need your assistance. I much prefer to walk alone.”

  “Don’t be silly, Miss MacNamara. I shall most assuredly see you to your home.”

  Polly felt certain she heard a new edge in his voice. Oh, Lord, now what? If she were to tell one of the chief attorneys in the employ of Drayton and Associates to go away and leave her alone, she was liable to lose her position with the firm.

  Some good fortune this is, she thought bitterly, and wished the sidewalk would open up and swallow Lawrence Bullock.

  In a last desperate attempt to shake him off, she said, “Mr. Bullock, I walk this same route every night. I see the same people and go the same way. I live not far off, and my mother is waiting for me. Please just let me go.”

  She turned and began to walk briskly away, hoping against hope that Lawrence Bullock would take the hint. Her heart sank when she heard him say, “Now wait just a minute, Miss MacNamara. You may be a special pet of James Drayton, but I’ll be damned if I’ll—”

  Horrified by his ugly words, Polly whirled around to deny his assertions when all of a sudden his speech was interrupted by a tremendous grunt and he came flying through the air. She had to leap out of the way to avoid being hit by his husky body as it crashed to the sidewalk in front of her.

  Caught in a moment of panic, the idea of helping Lawrence Bullock did battle in her brain with the urge to flee. Before either idea could establish precedence, another voice sailed to her out of the busy night, lifting her heart and her gaze.

  With real joy, she beheld James Drayton crossing the street toward her. So happy was she to see him, so sure was she of rescue at his hand, that at first she didn’t notice the odd-looking animal loping along at his side.

  “Oh, Mr. Drayton! I don’t know what happened. Suddenly Mr. Bullock fell down.”

  “So I see.” James wore a ferocious scowl when he stopped beside his fallen employee.

  What he’d seen when he’d turned the corner onto Grant Street had made his blood boil. Damn Lawrence Bullock to blazes. How dare he accost this innocent girl? As much as James himself did not deserve the reputation as ladies’ man he’d tried so hard to cultivate, Lawrence Bullock did.

  James knew full well Bullock would not hesitate to use his position as associate to gain Polly’s compliance in a shady liaison. The knowledge made James want to kick Bullock in his most sensitive bodily area. That area was, James thought grimly, most assuredly not his head.

  As Bullock began to groan, Polly’s hushed voice caressed James’s ear. He liked her voice. It was at once sweet and sultry, although he was sure she’d blush up a storm if anybody ever told her so. The thought brought, hard on its heels, an almost overwhelming urge to do it and watch her color heighten.

  “I don’t understand it, Mr. Drayton. I had just turned to walk home. Mr. Bullock had been—talking to me—” Polly stopped speaking for a moment, flustered. “All at once I heard a terrible grunt, turned again, and it was as if he were flying through the air at me. I believe he landed rather hard.” And on a new cement walkway, a fact that afforded Polly a moment of unladylike glee. She couldn’t quite suppress her grin.

  Another powerful groan brought Polly’s gaze to Lawrence Bullock’s prone form.

  “Ohhhh, Lord,” he groaned. “Oh, God.”

  James also watched Bullock, his expression hard. “Miss MacNamara, may I presume upon your good nature for a moment to hold my dog’s leash while I help Mr. Bullock to rise?”

  “Of course, Mr. Drayton.” Polly took the lead from James’s splendidly gloved hand and, for the first time, paid attention to the animal.

  “Mercy.” She was perfectly astonished that James Drayton, a gentleman whom she’d always believed to be the absolute epitome of manners and fashion, should be walking a dog such as the one appended to the leash.

  Perhaps it was a new breed, she mused, before her attention was once again claimed by the two gentlemen struggling on the walkway. What she heard made her stare.

  “What in God’s name were you doing chasing Miss MacNamara down the street, Bullock?” James growled furiously, grabbing Bullock under his armpits and trying to lift him. “And don’t even try to deny it, either.”

  Far from trying to deny James’s accusations, Lawrence Bullock merely stared at his mentor blankly for several seconds. Then he shook his head, bringing to Polly’s mind a bear rising from his winter stupor.

  Having succeeded at last in lifting Bullock from the ground, James now found himself supporting him. He wasn’t happy about it. The mere thought of Polly MacNamara being caught in the big, burly clutches of a snake like Lawrence Bullock made James want to throttle something. Preferably Lawrence Bullock.

  He said savagely, “I watched you, Bullock. I saw exactly what you did. And let me tell you here and now, I will not have f
emale employees of my law firm harassed by male employees. Most particularly not an associate, who should be setting an example of appropriate behavior, for heaven’s sake. I trust I make myself perfectly clear.”

  “Wh—what happened?” issued from Bullock’s lips, and James knew his trust was for naught.

  “You tried to grab hold of Miss MacNamara and fell down for your efforts, is what happened. It’s certainly no more than you deserved.”

  Blinking rapidly, Bullock seemed to see James for the first time. He lifted a hand to rub his wounded chin and muttered, “James. What’re you doing here?”

  “Picking you up off the street.”

  “But—but . . .” Bullock peered around fuzzily. When his gaze lit on Polly, it wobbled for a moment, then fastened and held fast. “Walking Miss MacNamara home from work, James. S’all I was doing. Walking her home.”

  James, who knew better, uttered a biting, “Balderdash.”

  Lawrence Bullock was not a pretty sight. His chin sported a scrape, and his nose and lip were scratched. There was a red welt on his forehead and a cut above one eye. Polly suspected, having had experience with such things when her brother Stephen was a boy, that the eye would be swollen and black come morning.

  His clothes were crumpled and covered with dust and worse. His hair, generally pomaded and brushed impeccably, now tumbled everywhere. His hat, a once-proud member of the bowler species, had been crushed between his chest and the pavement. It now lay dead on the sidewalk like a fallen soldier.

  Feeling desperate about the situation and the lateness of the hour, Polly said nervously, “I tried to tell him I didn’t need his assistance, Mr. Drayton, but he insisted on accompanying me. I—I didn’t care to have his company.”

  The dog seemed to sense Polly’s distress. He gave her a conciliatory whine and leaned against her leg, nearly toppling her with his sympathy.

  “Sidewalk opened up,” Lawrence Bullock mumbled.

  Polly, who had been knocked a little cockeyed by the hound, righted herself and gaped at Bullock. Before she could utter a shocked exclamation, James spoke.

  “What are you talking about, Lawrence?” He glanced at the sidewalk. “Oh, yes. I see. There’s a big crack running straight across it.” He began to pat Bullock’s clothes to remove the street dust. His efforts were not gentle. “You ought to learn to be careful, man.”

  Polly looked at the ground, too, and sure enough, she saw the crack. It was big, all right, and ran the width of the pavement from building to street. She hadn’t noticed it before. A fantastic thought shot through her brain, but it was so ridiculous she immediately rejected it.

  “No.” Bullock listed to port in James’s arms and James straightened him roughly. “Opened up in front of me. Swear it.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Bullock.”

  Steadier now, Bullock shot a queer look at Polly. “I swear to God, James, I’d just begun to hurry after Miss MacNamara when a big crack opened up. Right there in front of me.” He pointed with a trembling finger.

  Polly’s gasp brought both men’s gazes to her face and she was embarrassed. She quickly shut her mouth, but her free hand reached up to feel her two medals. Through the fabric of her worn overcoat, she felt her heart thunder beneath St. Christopher and her ancient, shopworn coin.

  I must be losing my mind.

  “An earthquake especially for you, was it?” James asked sarcastically. “Well, I suppose Miss MacNamara can feel grateful that the gods of geology favored you with a personal display this evening. If you hadn’t tripped and I hadn’t been around to see your dastardly attempt to chase her, who knows what might have happened?”

  Bullock apparently felt too shaken to take exception to James’s belief in him as a cad. Giving himself another overall shake, he put a hand to his aching brow. “I shall go home now.” His voice sounded much feebler than it normally did.

  “Good idea.” With a swoop of his hand, James plucked Bullock’s crushed bowler from the pavement and slapped it against his chest. “Here, Bullock. Take your hat. If you bother Miss MacNamara again, your face will look like this. I can guarantee it.”

  Since James was much too sophisticated a man-of-the-world to issue idle threats, Bullock cast him a leery glance. Then he made a hat-tipping gesture at Polly with his flattened headpiece, tried to settle it on his hair, failed, and fled down the street, reeling like a drunken man.

  James and Polly stared after him until he turned onto Montgomery Street. Then James heaved a self-satisfied sigh and turned toward Polly.

  “There. I don’t expect you’ll be bothered by Lawrence Bullock again, Miss MacNamara.”

  Polly felt nervous all of a sudden now that she was alone on the busy street with her elegant boss. She offered James a small smile. “Thank you very much, Mr. Drayton. I—I guess he meant well. At least—well, I think he did.”

  James’s handsome smile curved downward. “I wouldn’t wager a great deal of money on that chance, Miss MacNamara.”

  He noticed his hound, still leaning heavily against Polly’s skirts. “Here, Miss MacNamara, let me take that beast from you. Thank you for holding him for me.”

  Handing the leash back to James, Polly wished she could think of something clever to say. Unfortunately, she possessed no practice in social repartee and did not feel at all clever. So as not to appear a complete booby, she strove for nonchalance when she remarked, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a dog exactly like this one before, Mr. Drayton.”

  When James laughed delightedly, she was sure she’d made a total ass of herself.

  “Oh, my goodness, no, Miss MacNamara, and I don’t expect you’ll ever see another one, either.”

  His obvious good humor cheered her somewhat.

  James ordered the hound to “heel” in a firm voice. The dog ignored him and seemed inclined to stick to Polly’s side. James put his fists on his lean hips and gave the animal a mock glare.

  Her employer looked terribly youthful, amused and appealing to Polly. She’d never expected him to exhibit such attributes, and her embarrassment faded. Catching his mood, she eyed the dog, too, and murmured, “One of a kind, is he?”

  Another gratifying laugh greeted her small sally. Her heart sped up and began to perform acrobatic maneuvers in her breast.

  “Indeed he is one of a kind, Miss MacNamara. At least I certainly hope he is.”

  Looking at the dog for all she was worth, since she was too nervous to look at James, Polly asked, “What is his name, Mr. Drayton?”

  She was probably the most enchanting female James had ever encountered. For the life of him, he didn’t understand it. Oh, she was a good-looking girl, and pleasant. But there was something else about her that just about held him spellbound. He gave her a smile he hoped was charming.

  “Well, now, Miss MacNamara, I haven’t actually named him yet. Perhaps, since the hour is late and you’ve just had an uncomfortable experience, you would do me the honor of allowing me to see you home and we can discuss possible cognomens.”

  He could tell she was leery of his offer when she stammered, “Oh—oh, Mr. Drayton, please. You needn’t bother with me. I’ll be fine now that you’ve sent Mr. Bullock packing.”

  Then, to James’s utter delight, Polly pressed a palm to her lovely, reckless lips, and turned bright red. “Oh! I mean—”

  “My dear Miss MacNamara, please say no more. I’m afraid Mr. Bullock is not the most discreet of gentlemen. I am terribly sorry he bothered you, and I shall take care that it does not happen again.”