of them will make wonderful wives, given the chance.”
“I’d say you’ve bitten off quite a challenge,” he told her. “Who all is involved in this business?”
“Why, the minister’s wife and a couple of the ladies who are willing to teach classes to our pupils. And we’ve hired a widow lady to live in and be a chaperon.”
A chaperon. If any group of women on earth were less in need of such a dragon guarding the doorway, he didn’t know where you’d find them. And he’d be willing to bet that those self-same pupils could teach her churchgoing friends a thing or two that might put grins on their husbands’ faces.
“What sort of contribution did you have in mind?” he asked her, and was pleased by the quick smile she shot in his direction.
“Money will do very well,” she told him. “Foodstuffs would come in handy, but I doubt you have an assortment of canning jars filled with fruit or vegetables in your pantry. We need clothing for a few of them whose wardrobes are somewhat limited.”
“I’ll just bet they are,” he murmured beneath his breath, and was delighted as she bent closer to better hear his remark. A line of perspiration touched her temple and a single drop of sweat trickled the length of her jaw. Her eyes were not only blue, he noted, but that color was emphasized by a darker circle rimming it.
“How many ladies do you have at your shelter?” he asked smoothly, admiring the clear, soft skin on her cheeks. Though her hair was light, her lashes were golden brown and he noted the sweep of them as her lids closed for a split second.
“Four right now,” she said. “But there are two or three more arriving before too long, I believe, from a place on the outskirts of Dallas.”
“How did they hear about the availability of such a place?”
She sipped again from her glass, and a slowly advancing blush rose from her throat to color her face as she avoided his gaze. “I went to Dallas and approached them. I let it be known that help was available, should any of their number be interested in a new start in life.”
He choked on a mouthful of lemonade, and his cough brought consternation to her blue eyes. “Are you all right, sir?” she asked, reaching to pound ineffectually on his broad shoulder.
“Yes.” He gasped, inhaling air, then coughed again. “I’m fine.”
She settled back in her corner and eyed him over the rim of her glass. “I think you doubt my word that I went to see those women,” she said accusingly.
“No, I just doubt your intelligence that you allowed yourself to enter such a place. Don’t you know what might have happened to you? You’re exactly what some of those madams are looking for, Miss McBride. You might have been imprisoned in a room and never seen the light of day again in your lifetime.”
She shook her head. “I’m not the sort of female men look at that way, sir. And I wouldn’t have the least idea what to do in a place…like…that.” Her words trailed off as his gaze swept her form. “What?” she asked, her voice sharp.
“I’d say you’re exactly the sort of female men look at,” he told her.
“You haven’t looked at me…like that,” she said primly.
“Haven’t I?”
She glanced aside, and then, with a swift movement that left him grasping his glass, she rose from the swing. “I’m sorry I bothered you, sir. I’ll be on my way now. Thank you for the lemonade.” Bending, she deposited her empty glass on the wicker table and marched to the porch stairs.
“Miss McBride.” He called her name firmly and her feet came to an abrupt halt, right on the edge of the first step. “I’d like to make a contribution.”
“What sort of contribution did you have in mind?”
“If you’ll turn around, I’ll tell you. I’ve never been fond of speaking to a woman’s back.” Though there was a lot to be said for the shape of this particular woman’s backside, he decided. What little he could make out through the fabric of her dress was rounded and pleasing to the eye.
She turned on her heel and her blue eyes were steely, in direct contrast to their earlier softness. “Yes?”
“I’ll make it a cash contribution.” He stood, towering over her, and reached into his trouser pocket, where his money clip held several bills together. Without looking at their value, he pulled them from the clip and, reaching for her hand, pressed them into her palm, then curled her fingers around the wad of bills.
“Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your plan,” he said nicely.
Her blue eyes widened and her hand tightened around the considerable amount of cash she held. “I’ll tell the ladies how kind you are,” she said after a moment.
He lifted a hand to brush at his mustache. “If it’s all right with you, I’d rather this be an anonymous contribution.”
“Certainly, whatever you desire,” she blurted out, her gaze focused on his mouth.
He touched the underside of the dark hair he kept trimmed neatly above his upper lip, watching closely as her tongue touched her mouth again. “Whatever I desire?” His words were whisper, but they apparently caught her ear, for she jerked and then retreated from him, almost tumbling backward down his porch steps, one heel trying to catch hold of thin air.
He reached for her, hauling her with a total lack of dignity against the long length of his body. His thoughts had been right on target, he found, as firm breasts made an impression on his chest. She was not lacking in any way so far as he could ascertain, his hands gripping her hips through the starched fabric of her dress.
In fact, he’d say that Miss Augusta McBride was exceedingly well formed.
Exceedingly.
How she could have made such a complete and utter fool of herself was a point she would ponder later, Augusta decided. Her gait was rapid, her high-buttoned shoes sending up small clouds of dust behind her as she made the return journey toward the north side of Collins Creek, where the tall, white house held the first contingent of her—what had he called them?—her soiled doves.
And little did the gentleman know how fittingly that name described the women she had a burning desire to help. She thought of her own mother, whose working name had been Little Dove, when she’d been a resident in a high-class establishment in New York, a fact Augusta had only discovered two years ago.
Claude McBride, an Irishman with a heart as big as all outdoors, had fallen in love with the woman who sold him her favors. Had fallen in love and rescued her from the place that was a dead end for most of its occupants. That Dove McBride became a wife and mother, and made Claude happy until his dying day, were facts that her diary had established in detail.
After the funeral, when Augusta was sorting out her parents’ belongings, she’d come across the leather book filled with her mother’s flowing handwriting, and over the next several weeks had come to know the woman from a whole new perspective. Apart from being a beloved mother and devoted wife, Dove McBride had been a woman who would have been deemed unacceptable in polite society during her early adulthood.
Augusta
