“I am unfamiliar with Indians or mountain men, and I am not eager to meet any of them on my own. At least, not yet. Thus, I was on my way to ask James to accompany me to the grocer’s.” She was prattling like a silly schoolgirl in the presence of a handsome boy! Mary clenched her teeth together and tightened her grip on the empty basket.
“Very wise of you, Miss Randolph.”
His calm answer restored her aplomb. “And why is that, Captain?”
“There are some rough and unsavory elements on the waterfront. We are working to clean up our city. But there is much left to do.”
“I see.” Mary hid the tingle of apprehension that slipped along her nerves and turned toward the office door. “Thank you for the information, Captain. Now I know I need James to accompany me.”
A frown lowered his straight, dark brown brows. “I just called to speak with your brother, Miss Randolph. He is in a meeting.”
“But Mrs. Rawlins needs—” Mary stopped, glanced at Front Street and took a deep breath. “Would you please direct me to the grocer’s, Captain?”
“I will do better than that, Miss Randolph. I will escort you there.”
“You?” Mary jerked her gaze to him.
He grinned, no doubt at her response. A slow, lopsided sort of grin that did queer things to her stomach. She took a step back, suddenly uneasy at the prospect of being in his company. The man was overwhelming. And why would he offer to escort her? “It is most kind of you to offer aid, Captain. But it would not be right for me to take you from your duties.” She glanced up and down the street to choose her direction.
“The well-being and safety of the citizens of St. Louis is my duty, Miss Randolph. Allow me.” He reached out and took hold of the basket. “If you are ready?”
His answer left her without argument, but did little to allay her unease. Mary glanced at him, then looked down at his hand gripping the handle. Unless she wanted to engage in a tug-of-war for the basket—a contest she was sure to lose since the man was twice her size—she had no choice. She released her grip on the basket.
“We need to cross Market Street.” He held her elbow.
Mary forced herself to relax. She was being ridiculous. He had not offered to help her from some nefarious motive. It was a simple politeness. A duty. Not every man had a hidden agenda like Winston Blackstone. She walked to the curb beside him, tried not to feel delicate and protected as he guided her through the carriage traffic. But it was difficult not to feel that way with his tall, lean body shielding her, and his hand holding her so protectively. She gave a quiet sigh of relief when they reached the other side and he released her arm. She glanced around as they started down the walkway.
“Are you recovered from your journey, Miss Randolph?”
She nodded, gave him a polite smile. “Yes. Quite recovered, thank you.”
“You are fortunate. Steamboats are a vast improvement on other river craft, but still, long trips can be exhausting.” He smiled down at her. “If you don’t mind my asking, where are you and your brother from, Miss Randolph?”
“Philadelphia” sprang to her tongue, but was quashed by another spurt of caution and suspicion. Why did he want to know? Did it have something to do with being a police officer? Well, she had no intention of telling him. That information might lead to her father’s identity. The Randolph shipping line was well-known in Philadelphia. She glanced up, gave a graceful little shrug. “Why ever would I mind your asking, Captain? We are from Pennsylvania.” She shifted her gaze. “Oh, look! A bookstore. How lovely.” She gave him another polite smile. “Do you enjoy reading, Captain?”
“I do. Though I seldom have time.”
Some subtle change in the timbre of his deep voice warned her that he was aware of her evasion. She turned her head toward the two-story brick, stone and wood frame storefronts to hide her face from him. Those blue eyes were too observant.
A half-naked Indian, a pile of animal pelts folded over one arm, exited a leather goods store, then mingled with the people on the walkway and strode straight toward them. Mary froze, staring at the shocking sight of the Indian’s bare torso. She had heard so many stories…His eyes, black as a night sky, bored into hers. She lifted her chin and crowded closer to Captain Benton, suddenly thankful for his presence. The Indian went on by.
“There’s no danger, Miss Randolph. We’ve been at peace with the local Indians for many years. They come into town often to conduct business.” He smiled down at her. “I know it is a shock to you Easterners at first, but their presence is a sight you will soon become accustomed to.”
His smile and the calm in his deep voice eased her nervousness. She nodded, looked away from his disturbing, penetrating gaze. “I am certain I shall, Captain Benton.” She started walking again. He fell into step beside her.
“The plains tribes are a different matter, of course. But you are safe in town.”
A shiver slithered down her spine. She glanced at him, uncertain of how to respond. Up to now, hers had been a pampered life. She was not used to feeling afraid.
“Stop, you little thief!”
Mary jerked her gaze forward. A young boy, panic on his face, was running toward them, a large man wearing a stained white apron in hot pursuit.
Samuel Benton leaped into the boy’s path.
The boy tried to swerve, but the man behind him thrust out his hand, caught the boy’s shoulder and yanked him to a halt. “Got ya! Now, you’ll find out what thievin’ gets ya!” He nodded at Samuel Benton and shoved the boy forward. “Throw ’im in jail with the rest of the thievin’ jackanapes, Captain.”
“Surely not!” Mary rushed forward, lifted her chin as both men looked her way. “He is only a boy.”
“He’s a thief! An’ here’s yer proof.” The man grabbed the boy’s right arm and jerked it upward. There was a crushed roll in his hand. A bony hand, attached to a pitifully thin arm.
Mary gasped. “Why, the boy’s half-starved!” She glanced up at Samuel Benton. “He is hungry, Captain. Surely you will not arrest him?”
The captain’s blue eyes darkened. “That is my job, Miss Randolph. He broke the law. The reason does not matter.” He reached for the boy.
Mary stepped between them. “It matters to me, Captain.” She stared up at him, at his darkened eyes, his set jaw and drew herself to her full height. “But I can see there is no room in your St. Louis law for mercy.” She pivoted to face the vendor. “Unhand the boy, sir. I will pay for his roll.”
Hope leaped into the boy’s eyes. But the man in the apron let out a growl, tightened his grip on the boy’s skinny shoulders and looked over her head. “You do yer job an’ throw ’im in jail, Captain. There’s too many of the rapscallions roamin’ the streets an’ stealin’ from hardworkin’, decent people now. Y’ let this ’un go, an’ the rest of ’em’ll be swarmin’ around our stores like bees o’er clover.”
“There is no theft if Miss Randolph pays for the roll, Simpson.” Samuel Benton’s deep voice rolled over her shoulder. “Release the boy.”
“Wait!”
