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A Hope Undaunted

By Julie Lessman

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Each man will be like a shelter from the wind
and a refuge from the storm,
like streams of water in the desert
and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land.
Then the eyes of those who see will no longer be closed,
and the ears of those who hear will listen.
Isaiah 32:1-3

A HOPE UNDAUNTED

Chapter One

Boston, Massachusetts, May 1929
Now this is how love should be—nice and neat. Katie O’Connor sucked the last of her Coca-Cola through a straw in Robinson’s Diner and studied her steady beau Jack Worthington with a secret smile. No, siree, no dime-novel notions of love for her. Love requires a focused plan, she thought to herself with certainty. Cool, calm, rational thinking, not a moment in time where one lovesick glance seals your fate. With a loud, hollow noise, she drained her soda and pushed the glass away, assessing Jack through approving eyes. Her lips slanted. Love at first sight, my foot.
She noted the dimple that deepened on his chiseled face as he delivered a punch line with a boyish grin, and a satisfied smile tilted the corners of her mouth. Falling in love was for fools—blind fools, she reflected with all the mature assurance of her eighteen years. Let other girls “fall” in love with their eyes closed, but not her. No, she preferred to be in control and walk—not fall, thank you very much—into true love. And if she had her way—which she fully intended to have—it would be with a man who was everything on her carefully crafted list.
Laughter disrupted her thoughts, and she found herself grinning along with the two couples sharing their booth as they roared at the finish of Jack’s joke. As usual, Jack’s buddies made a ruckus whooping and pounding their fists on the table in glee, and Katie couldn’t help but sigh with contentment. Good sense of humor. She mentally checked a box on her list and quickly scanned the cozy shop with its black-and-white-checked décor, grateful they had it to themselves at this late hour. Jack and his friends tended to get a bit rowdy, but they certainly knew how to have a good time. She settled back against the red-leather, high-backed booth and shot a glance at the marble counter where a lone soda jerk polished chrome mixers to a gleam.
“For crying out loud, Katydid, you inhaled that soda! And I bet I’ll have to buy you another, won’t I? I’m not made of money, you know.” Jack draped a sturdy arm across her shoulder and pulled her close to his handsome face. The glimmer in his dark eyes matched that of his deep brown hair, stylishly slicked back with Brilliantine. “Or maybe I am,” he teased.
Wealthy and attractive. Check, check. She drew in a deep breath and gave him a patient smile. “Nobody likes a braggart, Jack, but if you’re willing to put your money where your mouth is, I believe I’d like a hamburger. I’m starved.”
“No, you can’t be!” Genevieve Townsend said with a moan. “How can you possibly be hungry? We just had dinner before the picture show.”
Katie shrugged her shoulders. “That was over two hours ago, Gen.” She wrinkled her nose and teased with a ghost of a smile. “Besides, Valentino makes me hungry.”
Jack leaned in to plant a kiss at the nape of her neck. “Mmm … not only for food, I hope.” His husky tone set off another round of chortles from his friends.
“Save it for the car, Worthington,” Warren Sheffield said with a smirk. “The woman’s hungry—feed her!”
Katie swatted at Jack and broiled his friends with a mock glare. “I’ll take a hamburger and another Coke, please.” She glanced at the large Nehi clock on the wall and frowned—9:40 p.m. “You better hurry, though—they close at ten.”
Genevieve groaned. “It’s just not fair. How do you stay skinny as a rail?”
“I’ll bet she starves herself at home and saves her appetite for Jack.” Lilly wriggled her pencil-thin brows.
Katie smoothed a tapered hand down the straight lines of her blue, long-waisted dress and carefully crossed her legs, resting her palm on a powdered knee beneath her short hem. “I’ll have you know, Lilly Hansen, that I watch what I eat, just like you and Gen.”
Genevieve’s round face wrinkled into a frown, forcing her cupid-bow lips to pucker into a pout. “Yeah, we watch what you eat too, and sheer logic says you shouldn’t fit in this booth.” Her sigh was heavy. “I’ll take what she’s having,” she announced in defeat.
Jack chuckled and massaged Katie’s shoulder. “Hear that, doll? You’re a bad influence—both on Gen’s figure and my wallet. Anybody want anything? I’m buying.” His gaze flitted to the soda jerk bent over the chrome and leather stools with a rag in his hand. Jack put two fingers to his teeth and let loose with a deafening whistle. “Hey kid, shake a leg—we have an order.”
The “kid’s” body tightened as he rose to his full height, revealing both a broad, muscled back and the fact that he was anything but a kid. In slow, deliberate motion he turned, eyeing the clock before facing them dead-on. A nerve flickered in his angular jaw while his blue eyes glittered like sapphire. He forced a smile as tight as the short sleeves of his white button-down shirt—which, Katie hadn’t noticed before—strained with biceps as intimidating as the man’s penetrating gaze. “Sure thing, but we close in ten minutes. Sorry, sodas and ice cream only.” He strolled to their booth with a casual gait as steady and slow as the drawl that coated his voice like hillbilly honey. “What’ll you have?”
Katie felt the tension in Jack’s manner as he cradled an arm around her shoulder and lounged back against the booth, eyes locked on the soda jerk with deadly precision. “I know it’s late, but the lady here says she’s hungry. She wants a hamburger and another Coke.”
The man’s blue eyes flicked to Katie and held, his cool smile braising her cheeks with a rare blush. He nodded a head of white-blond thatch toward a large sign over the jukebox. “I sure do apologize, miss, but as you can plainly see, we don’t serve entrees after nine.”
Katie blinked. Excuse me? And the world would end if he cooked a hamburger after nine? Her stomach rumbled, and she straightened her shoulders with willful resolve. The thought of a thick, juicy hamburger taunted her—just like the annoyingly calm look on the soda jerk’s face. Tilting her chin in a coy manner, she gave him the shuttered smile that always worked wonders on Jack. For good measure, she propped her chin in her hand and resorted to a slow sweep of lashes. Her tone softened to a husky plea. “Aw, come on now, mister, you can make one teeny-tiny exception, can’t you? Just for me? We’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”
His gaze shifted to the clock and back, and then he disarmed her with a smile that made her forget she was hungry for food. “I really wish I could, ma’am, but a rule is a rule. But if I say so myself, my true talent lies in making one of the best chocolate shakes in all of Boston.”
She stared, open-mouthed, his polite refusal slacking her jaw. Despite the faint smile on his lips, his eyes seemed to pierce right through her. A second rush of heat invaded her cheeks. The nerve! A soda jerk and a mule! Katie’s eyes narrowed. If there was one thing on God’s green earth she despised more than not getting her own way, it was pushy, stubborn men who dictated what she could and could not do. Out of pure instinct and more than a bit of irritation, she jutted her chin in the air and matched his gaze with a searing one of her own. “Yes, well, it’s nice to know you have some talent, but no thank you. Not even if they’re the best on the Eastern seaboard. Let’s go, Jack.”
Jack drew her close while his thumb glazed the side of her arm. “Come on, Katydid, settle down. I know you’re hungry, but this guy is obviously new and doesn’t realize who we are.” He cocked his head and flashed a patronizing smile. “We’re some of Mr. Robinson’s best customers, kid. So, tell me, what’s your name?”
Drawing in a deep breath, the “kid” shifted his stance and exhaled. “The name is Luke.” He shot a glance at the clock, then looked back. His gaze softened. “Look, I’m sorry, I really am, but Pop Robinson sets the rules, not me. The grills take forever to cool down, so we do them at nine. Hate to tell ya this, but they’re already clean as a whistle and shut down for the night. Now, I have to be somewhere at ten-thirty, but if you give me your drink or ice cream orders, I’ll get them as fast as I can.”
Katie started to rise, but Jack yanked her back down. “That would be great, Luke, just great. Bring six of your best chocolate shakes and six glasses of water, and we’ll be on our way.”
“But I don’t want his stupid sha—”
“Hush, Katydid, I do, and if Luke here is nice enough to make them for us, everything is jake.” He smiled again, all the while fondling a golden tress of Katie’s smooth Dutch-Boy bob as it curved against her jaw. “Besides, you need something in your stomach. I don’t want you cranky on the way home.” As if to underscore his romantic hopes, his hand absently caressed the long, glass-beaded necklace that draped the front of her dress. His fingers lingered along her collarbone with a familiarity that deepened the already uncomfortable blush on her cheeks.
“Sure thing,” Luke said, his eyes taking in the intimate gesture with cool disregard. His gaze met and held hers for several seconds, unnerving her with his apparent disapproval. He turned away.
Her ire soared. “Extra whipped cream and sprinkles,” she said in a clipped tone.
He turned and nodded, full lips pressed tight. “You bet.” He started toward the counter.
“And don’t skimp on the cherries,” she called after him.
He kept walking, but the stiff muscles cording his neck and back told her he’d more than heard. She forced a smile to deflect her embarrassment and took a deep breath. “Well, he’s a sunny individual, isn’t he? Night help must be hard to come by.”
“At least he’s nice to look at,” Lilly said with a sigh.
“He’s a two-bit soda jerk, Lil, with more attitude than brains.” Roger Hampton glanced at the soda counter with disdain. “We oughta complain to Robinson.”
“Humph … he’s not that special,” Katie said. Her eyes narrowed while she watched him scoop ice cream into the mixer.
“Come on, Katie, you’re just miffed because you didn’t get your hamburger. The man is a real sheik and you know it.” Gen shot a look of longing across the room, then gloated with a grin. “But it is nice to know all men don’t wrap around your finger as easily as Jack.”
Jack honed in for a kiss. “Mmm … that’s not all I’d like to be wrapped around,” he said in a husky tone.
Katie squirmed and pushed him away. “Behave, Jack, or I’ll make your life miserable.”
He chuckled. “You already do, doll, but I love every minute.”
Ignoring Jack’s comment, Katie observed the soda jerk laboring over six chocolate shakes and wrinkled her nose. “Get your specs out, Gen,” she said, her temper still inflamed, “he’s more of a hick than a sheik from where I’m sitting. I mean, who has hair that color anyway? Blond straw, almost bleached white. Old men and hicks, that’s who. And he doesn’t even have the good sense or style to comb it back with Brilliantine, for pity’s sake. I’ll bet under that shirt, he’s even got a farmer’s tan. Let’s face it—the man’s a hayseed.”
Lilly and Gen sighed as they watched Luke work behind the counter. “I’d believe I’d like a glimpse of that farmer’s tan, wouldn’t you, Gen?” Lilly whispered with a giggle.
The frown stayed on Katie’s face until the soda jerk finally returned, toting a tray of milkshakes. “Six Robinson’s specials.” He deposited tall, frosty glasses to each at the table, along with six glasses of water. He set Katie’s down last with a considerable thud. One maraschino from the mountain of cherries obscuring her milkshake rolled off, landing on the table with a plop. “Enjoy,” he said with a stiff smile. “And let me know if you need more. I wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”
She swallowed hard, completely unsettled by his direct gaze. “I will. Thank you.” He laid the ticket in front of Jack, then returned to the back to finish cleaning up. She stared at her shake and sighed, her appetite suddenly gone flat. With another frown puckering her brow, she pretended to sip, all the while watching farm boy wipe down the counter out of the corner of her eye. Okay, all right—she’d give him “good-looking,” but she’d bet he was dumb as a post. Her eyes narrowed as she took a token sip of her shake. And she would lay money on the table that good looks was the only box that character would fill on anyone’s checklist.
Her mood darkened. He was probably just the type of man who was poison to women—strong, handsome, cocky … controlling. How many times had she’d seen it? A man like that, sweeping a woman off her feet only to pin her beneath his thumb for the rest of her life. Katie tore her gaze from the soda jerk to stare out the window, her jaw suddenly tight. A man like her father, whose iron rule dictated her every move.
Katie blinked to dispel her sudden onslaught of guilt. Not that she didn’t love her father. No, Patrick O’Connor was the one man that Katie truly did respect and love, the one man whose approval she longed to win with every fiber of her being. A knot of hurt shifted in her throat. But it seemed her father’s approval was something she’d never been able to achieve, no matter how she’d excelled in school. Total submission seemed to be all Patrick O’Connor wanted, and the one thing Katie couldn’t give, at least willingly. She sighed, his words haunting her as she stared out the window. “You’re a handful, Katie Rose, and God knows if I don’t keep you in line now, some poor man will shoot me later.”
A handful. That’s all she had ever been while her older sisters had always been “his girls.” A distinction that had neatly separated her, not only from her father’s approval, but from sisters almost seven to fourteen years older than she, sisters she’d never related to. Women who had sought—and found—a relationship like her parents—deep, loving, passionate. And controlling. Resolve furrowed her brow. Well, she loved her family, she did, but she wanted more than blind submission to a man. She wanted a career and independence. A chance to pry the thumb of male dominance off the heads of a generation of women who were finally coming into their own. Women who had won the right to vote, to have a career and enjoy equal standing in world where up until now, they’d only been second-class citizens.
“Hey, Katydid, wake up! You haven’t even touched your shake.”
She jolted back. The others were staring and half done. She gave him a feeble smile. “Sorry, Jack. Guess I’m not as hungry as I thought.”
“That bozo didn’t upset you, did he? Because if he did, I can tell Pop he needs new help.”
“No, no, please. I’m fine, really.” She watched as Luke disappeared into the kitchen and ignored the warm shiver that traveled her spine. “Just a little tired, I guess.”
Jack shot a glance at the empty counter and grinned. “Well, we got something that just might wake you up, don’t we, boys? He reached and tugged the menu card out of its glass holder on the wall and set it on top of his untouched glass of water, then gave her a wink. With a quick flick of his wrist, he reversed it on the table and slowly eased the card out from beneath the upside-down glass. The water sealed perfectly, a flood waiting to gush as soon as the “kid” picked it up.
Lilly and Gen gasped in unison. “Wow, how did you do that?” Gen sputtered. “Ol’ Luke’ll be madder than a wet hen when he cleans this table.”
“Jack!” Katie’s whisper was harsh. “Stop it … that’s a juvenile thing to do—”
“Are you kidding? It’s brilliant.” Warren grinned and stretched over the seat to steal the menu card from the next booth. With a devious smile, he upended his own water glass while Jack kept watch.
“Stop it, Jack, now—I mean it.” Katie’s gaze shot to the counter, then back to Jack, Warren and Roger. “I swear that sometimes you three act like children. I don’t care how obnoxious that soda jerk was, nobody deserves a prank like this.” She butted Jack out of the way in a huff and swung out of the booth. “Now, I’m going to the restroom for a towel to clean this mess up before he sees it, and so help me, God, if I find another upturned glass, Jack Worthington, you and I won’t be on speaking terms.”
She spun on her heel and marched toward the restroom, an odd mix of compassion and fury rising in her chest as her eyes flicked to the empty counter. Nobody deserved this humiliation and disrespect, no matter how bullheaded they were. Her lips flattened in a twinge of conscience. Even Farm Boy.
The thought took her back to Sr. Cecilia’s first-grade class, and the memory dampened her mood as thoroughly as Jack had dampened the surface of their table. How she wished she could forget Sister Agatha Marie, the crotchety nun whose tight-lipped disapproval represented the first real pain Katie had ever encountered in her life. A time when she’d been torn from the warm acceptance of a home where she was her mother’s cherished baby … to a cold, hateful classroom where she quickly became the outcast. The trauma of it all resulted in a pitiful little girl suddenly inflicted with red, scaly patches on her arms and legs. “Are you sure it’s not leprosy?” the old nun had asked in front of the class, and the memory heated Katie’s cheeks all over again.
It may as well have been. Overnight she’d become a leper, the “odd” little girl compelled to wear sweaters and knee socks during the warm weather while other girls wore ankle socks and short-sleeved shirts with their jumpers.
Katie absently rubbed her elbow where the psoriasis had once been, and her throat thickened at the cruelty of children—especially the boys. Leper. Monster. Freak. Her anger swelled at the names they’d called her, bullies who picked and pushed and prodded with their superior air. Moisture threatened beneath her closed lids, and she blinked to ward it off. Always the last to be picked on teams, always the butt of practical jokes, and always the target for comments so cruel, they’d left a lasting mark.
“Just so you know, freak, I only invited you for the present,” Robert Shaw had announced when she’d arrived at his 2nd-grade birthday party.
The pain had cut deep—separating her not only from the children who mocked her … but from a family whose affectionate teasing caused her to push them away.
Katie blinked in the restroom mirror, and her spine stiffened with the action. An unlikely deliverance had come in the form of a new school in the fifth grade, birthing a resolve so deep, it still ached in her chest. To prove to everyone—Sr. Cecilia, the bullies, her father—that she was special. Somebody to be respected and loved. Somebody who would make a difference in the world. She’d made a promise to herself then that no amount of ridicule or bullying would stand in her way. With the fuel of her anger, she’d discarded sweaters and knee socks midway through that summer, embracing the warmth of the sun for the first time in years. And when school started in September and the psoriasis had mysteriously disappeared, Katie was left with the glow of new skin, a new start, and something even more astounding. Newfound popularity … forever fused with a fierce passion for those who were not.
“Katie!” Jack met her at the restroom door and plucked the towel from her hand. He tossed it on a nearby booth and tugged her toward the door where the others were waiting. “We don’t have time for cleanup, doll—we gotta leave.”
She skidded to a stop, her Mary-Jane heels digging in while her eyes gaped in shock. “Wait a minute, Jack—did you pay for the check?”
“Nope, let Soda Jerk pay for it.” Jack said with a sneer that made it sound like a curse. “That’ll teach him to be rude to my girl. Come on, guys, hurry.” He pulled her through the door, tripping over a scruffy-looking terrier sprawled across the side of the stoop.
The dog yelped, and Katie twisted free with a cry. “You big bully—you hurt the poor thing.” She dropped to her knees and reached for his paw. “Hey, little guy, you okay?”
“Sorry, Katie,” Jack said with a nervous glance at the counter, “Didn’t mean to step on the little mutt, but we gotta go—now!” Without waiting for her reply, he hoisted her up in his arms and sprinted to his Franklin Sports Coupe parked down the street.
“Jack Worthington, you stop this very instant!” Her voice rose to a shriek and her limbs flapped as she kicked and clawed to break his hold. Her irritation surged at the shock of Jack manhandling her. Jack …of all people! The man who catered to her every whim. In a wild lunge, she tried to gouge him, but he only clamped tighter, chuckling while he huffed to the car.
“Calm down, Katydid, we gotta get out of here …”
Oh, she’d calm down all right—with a well-placed clip to his jaw! She gritted her teeth. As … soon … as …. she … could … break … free. Her pulse pounded in her ears over the laughter of the group as they bolted for the Franklin and jumped in. Katie’s temper boiled. Men were nothing but bullies—the whole sorry lot of them. Bloodthirsty for control over what they saw as the “weaker sex.” Ignoring her screams, Jack opened the passenger door and tossed her in.
I’ll show ‘em weak, Katie thought and then landed with a bounce and scrambled back up. Jack blocked her with a broad grin. “Come on, doll, it’s no big deal. We’re just having a little fun. Look, I even got you a souvenir.” He pulled her empty Coca Cola glass out of his pocket.
Her jaw dropped. She snatched the glass and shook it in his face. “Jack Worthington, you are nothing more than a brazen thief, and I will not be a party to this! Now, I am marching back there right now and—
“Jack, hurry!” Roger’s voice held a warning.
Katie ignored them both and darted from the car, but Jack was too fast. He picked her up with a chuckle and silenced her with a sound kiss, tightening his grip when she started to kick. “Aw, come on, Katydid, don’t be such a bearcat. Soda Jerk had it coming, and you know it. Now get in the car like a good girl—we gotta scram.”
“How about you scram after you pay the bill?” An icy tone confirmed that Soda Jerk was in the vicinity. His voice, deadly calm from several yards away, packed as much heat as a whispered threat from the lips of Al Capone.
Katie froze in Jack’s arms, which went as stiff as his pale face. With a slow turn, they faced an apron-clad Colossus of Rhodes, legs straddled and face chiseled in stone. “Put her down,” he whispered, his words as hard and tight as the muscle twitching in his face.
Jack lowered her to the ground with a scowl and eased Katie behind. “Says who?”
The soda jerk moved in close, towering over Jack by more than half a head. A rock-hard jaw, barely inches from Jack’s, sported a full day’s growth of blond bristle. His wide lips curved into a smile, but the blue eyes were pure slits of ice. “Says, me, you little piker.”
Jack leaned forward and jabbed a finger into the soda jerk’s chest. “Piker? Who you calling a coward, Soda Jerk? I’m not paying for anything, especially shoddy service.”
The wide smile broadened to a cocky grin. “My service may be shoddy, rich boy, but I guarantee my thrashing won’t be. Trust me, your little girlfriend won’t like it if I mess with your face, so I suggest you pay the bill …” He fisted Jack’s pin-stripe shirt and jerked him up. “Now.”
Genevieve screamed, and Warren and Roger jumped from the car. They circled Luke with fists raised. Suddenly it was Jack’s turn to grin. “So, how’s your confidence now, eh, big shot? Think you can handle three to one?”
Katie darted around to shove Jack hard in the chest. “Stop it now, or so help me—”
He pushed her aside. “Stay out of this, doll.”
Warren darted in with a quick swipe, and the soda jerk dodged with the grace of an athlete. His wide grin gleamed white in the lamplight as he egged them on with a wave of his fingers. “Come on, boys, I’ve lived on the streets all my life, so have at it.”
Roger lunged, and the soda jerk felled him like a tree with a right hook to his jaw. Out of nowhere, Warren rushed from behind, leg poised in a kick. Big mistake. Katie winced as the soda jerk latched onto his shoe and yanked him to the pavement with a sickening thud. She screeched in horror, then charged forward, only to be looped at the waist by Jack who tossed her back in the car, flailing and screaming. He turned with a loud roar and rammed his body straight for the soda jerk, head tucked like a raging bull. In a deft move of his foot, the soda jerk tripped him and sent him skidding into the street.
“Jack!” Katie jolted from the car and ran to his side. “Are you okay?” She helped him as he lumbered to his feet, the right trouser leg of his gray Oxford bags torn and streaked with dirt.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just let me at that slimeball—”
“No!” She planted two petite hands on his chest and shoved him back with more force than her small size warranted. “You’re done, Jack! Do you hear me? Or we’re through.”
He staggered back, a bloody hand to his head. “Come on, Katydid, don’t talk like that—”
“I mean it, Jack, I swear.” She whirled around, her eyes singeing all of them within an inch of their lives. “Warren, Roger—get in the car. Now!”
“Come on, Jack, are you gonna listen to her? We can take this guy …”
She spun around, fury pumping in her veins. “So, what’s it gonna be, Jack—them or me?”
He glanced from Katie to his friends and then back again, a nerve twittering in his cheek. His tone was tight as he exhaled his frustration. “Get in the car, we’re leaving.”
Muttered curses rumbled as the boys stumbled toward the coupe.
Katie darted toward Jack. With a lightning thrust of her hand, she lifted his wallet from the pocket of his trousers as neatly as a veteran pick-pocket.
“Katydid, what are you doing—”
She ignored him and marched up to the soda jerk with fire in her eyes. At five foot two, she barely measured to the middle of his chest, but she didn’t give a fig if he was seven foot five. No hayseed soda jerk was going to intimidate her! She glared up, annoyance surging at having to crane her neck. “How much do we owe, you roughhouse bully?”
He met her fierce look with cool confidence, sizing her up with that same probing gaze that had riled her before. “That’ll be $2.48 total, miss. That’s 15 cents for three Coca Colas, $1.80 for six chocolate shakes—” A shadow of a smile edged the corners of his mouth. “Three cents for extra cherries—and 50 cents for the glass your boyfriend stole.”
She peeled off two crisp dollar bills from Jack’s stash and threw them at his feet, then spun around and snatched the glass from the seat of the car. With barely concealed fury, she shoved it hard against his rock-solid chest. “Here, keep the change. Not that you’re worth it.”
A massive palm locked onto her wrist before she could snatch it away. “Nice girls don’t run with riff-raff,” he breathed.
The intensity of his gaze forced a lump to her throat. For a split second she barely drew air, their eyes fused while the heat of his hand throbbed against her arm. Then all at once, her pride resurged with a vengeance. “Nor care about the opinions of lowly soda jerks,” she rasped, incensed at the shame that scalded her cheeks. She jerked her hand free and slid into the car, refusing to give in to the tears that pricked at her eyes. She threw the wallet on the seat while Jack got in and slammed his door. He turned the ignition and shifted into gear. Humiliation and silence hung thick in the air as they jostled down the shadows of the cobblestone street.
“I’m sorry, Katydid,” Jack whispered, and she nodded dumbly, blinking hard as she stared out the window. Her body shivered and she clutched at her sides, ashamed she’d lost her temper and belittled another human being. And it wasn’t until the coupe rounded the corner and a solitary figure faded from view … that she allowed even a single tear to fall.
***
Privilege is wasted on the rich. Luke shook his head and watched as the tail lights of the Franklin careened around the corner of the two-story Sears, Roebuck and Company, leaving a squeal of tires in its wake. He stooped to pick up the two dollar bills that the feisty rich girl had flung at him, and his lips quirked into a wry smile. She was a pretty little thing, even if she was spoiled rotten. A child of privilege and obviously used to getting her own way. He peered down the dim street lit only by the flicker of neon and squinted in the direction the coupe had disappeared. Humor tugged at the edges of his mouth. He’d give her one thing, though—she had more spunk and mettle in that tiny, little wrist he’d grasped than the whole carload of her rich friends put together. Luke’s lips flattened into a hard line. Especially the pretty-boy lackey whom she obviously had on a short leash.
Nope, there weren’t many fireballs like little ol’ “Katydid,” he thought with a grudging smile. At least not that he’d met anyway, which in the end was a good thing. He sure didn’t have time to get involved with a woman right now, especially the in-your-face kind who seemed to have a knack for taking him down. Grazing his thumb against the edge of her glass, he ambled back to the diner, only to stop short at the door. He folded his arms and cocked a brow at the mangy mutt snoozin’ between the potted urn and the red-brick stoop, legs limp in the air. “Okay, you little scamp, don’t you have someplace else to sleep?”
The terrier’s eyes slitted open and he yawned with a stretch of his hind legs. Luke crouched to his knees. “Sorry to disturb you, Sleeping Beauty, but this is a diner, not a hotel.” He rubbed the dog’s belly and frowned at the pronounced imprint of ribs beneath the smooth white skin. He sighed and rose to his feet. “Okay, I’m a sucker for the underdog—or the underfed dog—so I’ll feed you. But just this once, and then you high-tail it home, you got that?”
The terrier popped up and stretched his front paws with another yawn, wagging his perky, white tail. Luke laughed and opened the door, then closed it again with a noisy clang of bells. Two liquid-brown eyes followed him through the glass, the pup’s head cocked in anticipation as black ears flopped over a curious black and white snout.
Luke shot a quick look at the clock and groaned. Ten-fifteen—Betty would be waiting. Sweet saints, he hated being late. He stashed the two dollars in the register, then ducked in the back to dig a half-eaten burger out of the trash, grateful he’d finished cleanup before the rich kids had left. He’d even washed the mixer after their shakes.
He sprinted to the front and grinned at the terrier, patiently parked in front of the glass. “Here ya go, you little beggar. Eat and go home, ya hear?” The terrier snatched the food from his hand and darted away. Luke sighed and locked the door, sparing one last glance across the store.
A low groan rumbled in his throat. The booth the rich kids had occupied still needed to be cleaned. His shoulders drooped. Now he’d be late for sure. With a heavy sigh, he moved toward the table and stopped, shock flaring his eyes. His jaw tightened at the sight of six glasses of water, all upside down. Biting back a curse, he kicked at the booth and rattled the dishes. Man alive, what he wouldn’t give to get his hands on those spoiled, little brats again—he’d teach ‘em a thing or two. He exhaled his frustration and strode into the kitchen to grab a couple of towels. His anger suddenly tempered at the thought of one spoiled brat in particular. Hair like spun gold, eyes like blue fire, and an attitude way taller than she. Oh yeah, he’d like to get his hands on that one for sure. A grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. And he’d teach her all right—a definite thing or two.
***
Katie bit her lip and eased the front door closed as deathly still as possible. She held her breath when the click of the lock echoed in the dark hall of her house, then released it again in one long, silent sigh of relief. Thank God the lights were out and her parents were in bed. Jack’s watch had said almost midnight—long past her ten-thirty curfew—and tonight she wasn’t in the mood for one of father’s “Katie Rose” lectures.
She leaned back against the heavy oak door and closed her eyes, her mood considerably dampened by the events of the night. Jack had insisted on taking everyone home first so she and he could be alone to talk. Her lips skewed into an off-center smile. Or at least, that’s what he called it. Usually he pleaded and she forgave. He nuzzled and she reveled in the attention. Her jaw stiffened with annoyance. Except tonight. No, tonight, even Jack’s kisses, which she usually enjoyed, had failed to stir her. And all because of some hayseed soda jerk.
“Nice girls don’t run with riff-raff.”
Guilt assailed her, and her eyes popped open as she blew out a shaky breath. What in the world was the matter with her? Jack wasn’t riff-raff, he was the catch of the year and desperately in love with her. Looks, wealth, sense of humor, social standing and intelligence—everything on her list and then some. A prospective lawyer, just like her, both slated for law school in the fall—Jack after graduating from college and she, gloriously enough, right out of high school!
She drew in a deep breath, hope winging at the thought of attending Boston’s prestigious Portia Law School. Established exclusively for women in 1908, Portia’s generous admission guidelines required only a high school degree, and the prospect of going to law school at the same time as Jack thrilled Katie to the bone. This was her chance—an era when women were flying high into their futures—literally—like Amelia Earhardt with her world record for female pilots. A shiver of anticipation raced through Katie. Well, she intended to set a record of her own—to be the first truly independent woman in her family. To pursue women’s rights—first as a lawyer, then as a congresswoman someday. And Portia Law School was just the start. It was there where her plan would unfold to help women who couldn’t help themselves, and there where she’d sow the seeds for her own financial freedom. And in Jack, she had the perfect complement—a man who not only shared her vision, but who enjoyed the distinct advantage of connections. Her lips slanted into a smile. Connections that included an attorney father who presided over one of the most prestigious law firms in the city, not to mention winning a senate seat last year. Pride swelled in her chest as she made her way to the stairs. No, Jack was definitely not “riff-raff.” And furthermore—contrary to the warning of one truly obnoxious soda jerk—Jack Worthington was the man she intended to marry.
“So … what’s the excuse this time, Katie Rose? A broken watch, a broken car … or just pure obstinance in flaunting your father’s will?”
Katie jolted at the staircase, hand grafted to the newel post at the base of the oak banister. She groaned inwardly and turned, squinting into the dim parlor where the faint glow of a pipe could be seen. She sucked in a deep breath and wondered how she’d missed the sweet smell of tobacco in the air. Black Cavendish, with hints of maple and vanilla—Patrick O’Connor’s trademark scent. She exhaled her nervousness. “Father, I’m sorry—we lost track of time.”
“So, it’s the broken-watch scenario then, is it, darlin’?” The bowl of the pipe smoldered, expelling a curl of smoke into the air.
“Uh, well, no, not exactly. I … forgot to wear my watch.”
“I see. And I suppose Jack forgot his as well?”
Katie stood stiff in the door, stomach churning. No … but you see, we stopped for a soda at Robinson’s, after the picture show, you know ...”
“Mmm … and they still close at ten, do they?”
She picked at her nails. “Um, yes, of course, but Jack took all the others home first …”
“Yes, I see your dilemma, then. A ten-thirty curfew—not near enough time for sodas and rides … or a friendly chat in the car.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “Father, really! We were only talking.”
Her father tapped his pipe and then laid it aside. He shifted in the moonlight that spilled through the window. His handsome face was obscured by shadows, but she sensed his annoyance in the steely blade of his tone. “I may be 51 years old, Katie Rose, but I’m not ancient. I know exactly how much “chatting” goes on in the front seat of a car.” He released a weighty breath and patted the wide arm of his chair. “Come, sit a spell, darlin’, will ya?”
Katie groaned and plodded in, quite certain this was one late-night “chat” she wanted to avoid. She took great pains to perch on the very edge of the chair, but her father’s solid arm had a mind of its own and scooped her close to his side. She finally relented and leaned against his broad chest. The scent of musk soap and tobacco filled her senses with the warmth and safety of home. She sighed in reluctant surrender. “I’m sorry, Father. I’ll try harder next time.”
The rise and fall of his chest indicated a sigh followed by that low chuckle that always brought a smile to her lips. In a rush of love, she turned and clutched him tightly, the distress of the evening merging with her need to be held. As always, his arms did not disappoint. He gave her a fierce hug, and she closed her eyes to savor his husky laughter, warm against her ear.
“I forgive you, Katie Rose, and I love you more than I can say.”
Relief rushed through her like an ocean swell. Forgiven! No stern lectures? No confinement to the house? No ridiculous curfews? She closed her eyes. Thank God!
“Which is why I’m compelled to do what I have to do.”
Her eyelids flipped open.
“Apparently curfews and confinement don’t carry the impact I hoped they would, young lady, so I’ve decided to lend them some assistance.”
She jerked out of his embrace. “Assistance?” she said with a hoarse gasp. “You mean in addition to curfews and confinement?”

Patrick O’Connor struggled to maintain a serious demeanor. Which wasn’t easy. The horrified look on his daughter’s face begged to release the squirm of his lips to a full-fledged grin, but he tightened his jaw to fight the impulse. For what was surely the hundredth time in his life, Patrick wondered why the Almighty had chosen their most strong-willed child to be born last of all their six children, at a time when his and Marcy’s energy was sorely depleted by age and exhaustion. The irony of it baffled him, forcing a tired breath through his lips. He was certain that Katie was responsible for more of the gray hair that glinted at his temples than his two sons and other three daughters put together. He thought of Charity, his second daughter whose stubborn streak rivaled his own. Yes, she had been difficult, no question. But it was Katie who’d been the true handful right out the gate. He had a suspicion that Katie had been destined to be a difficult child—Marcy’s horrendous morning sickness certainly confirmed that, as had Katie’s arrival into the world a month and a half early. That event had prompted a constant vigil of prayer from sibling and parent alike that their listless infant would garner the will to live.
The will to live, he thought with a twist of his lips. Mmm … and then some. He released a weary sigh. Perhaps their prayers had been too diligent in those early months, for if Katie Rose had been blessed with anything, it was an iron will. A frown creased his brow. A will that had spent the last eighteen years butting heads with his own.
He inhaled a deep breath and slowly released it, lifting his chin to meet hers. “Yes, Katie Rose, in addition to. You and I both know you’ve never been good at following orders, and unless I want God to take me to task for not reining you in, I have a responsibility to teach you a valuable lesson.”
With a lift of his fingers, he gently cupped her chin. “Your mother and I love you, darlin’, but neither the world nor this family revolve around you, no matter how much you would like them to. There is a sequence of order and authority to be obeyed, beginning with God, the law, and then your parents. Consequently, your curfew will now be ten until you prove you are responsible enough to follow orders. In addition, your confinement begins tonight for the next two and a half months, and maybe the entire summer if you choose to defy me further. No dates with Jack, no gallivanting with friends, no shopping with your sisters. Nothing but church, family and volunteer work.”
“What?” The gasp from her colorless lips was little more than a hoarse shriek. Her face bleached as white as the expanse of her eyes. “You can’t be serious. Jack will die!”
Patrick chuckled. “No, darlin’, he won’t. I guarantee he will survive, and hopefully a little more inclined to get you home on time.”
Her groan conveyed her life was over as she dropped her face in her hands. “But, I’ll go crazy! What’ll I do?”
He smiled and rubbed her shoulder. “That’s where the volunteer work comes in.”
Her head shot up, and her blue eyes circled in shock. “Volunteer work? You’re joking.”
He studied the look of scandalized panic on his daughter’s face and knew he was doing the right thing. He had prayed long and hard for something that would save her from herself, a chance to curb that headstrong will of hers with a gentle dose of humility. He stared at the precious daughter before him, and a profound sense of satisfaction pervaded his soul, confirming to his spirit once and for all that this was it. “No, darlin’, I’m not.”
“But where? When?”
He avoided her eyes. “The Boston Children’s Aid Society.”
“An orphanage??”
“Yes, an orphanage, darlin’, and more. The BCAS is an organization that reaches out to those not as fortunate as you. Tell me, Katie, when you’re out slumming with friends, have you even noticed the children on the street? Those dressed in rags or sleeping in doorways? Well, they’re there, and they need help.” He sat up straighter in the chair and squared his jaw. “And you’re going to give it to them. Both at the BCAS and its associate organizations, the Boston Society for the Care of Girls and the Massachusetts Infant Asylum.”
“God, have mercy.” Katie pressed a shaky hand to her chest, appearing about to faint.
“You’ll actually be working in the main office most of the time,” Patrick quickly reassured. “You know, paperwork, filing, typing, whatever they need.” He hesitated. “You’ll only work with the children when they need backup.”
She groaned again, face buried in her hands. “How often and how long?” she whispered.
He shifted in the chair and stalled, suddenly wondering if he had gone too far. “Five days a week.” His tone was barely audible.
She blasted from the chair as if her hair were on fire, and he wasn’t all that sure that her eyes weren’t—they cauterized him on the spot despite the dim lighting. “No!” she screamed, hands fisted at her sides. “I won’t do it. You can’t make me!”
Patrick rose to his feet, feeling the need to intimidate with his full six-foot-two height. He straightened his tense shoulders for the task at hand and narrowed his eyes. “I can, Katie Rose, and I will. That is, if you ever want to see Jack again.”
A gasp sputtered from her lips. “You wouldn’t!”
Patrick’s jaw hardened. “Don’t tempt me, darlin’. You may have designs on that boy, but they don’t exactly match mine. He’s hardly a good influence.” He scanned the length of her, his lips tightening at the sight of rolled hose just below her short skirt and powdered knees. “Picture shows and sodas are one thing, Katie Rose, but as the father of a young woman not inclined to follow my lead, I worry about other things with a boy like Jack. Things like speakeasies and petting parties, for instance. So help me, God, if I ever catch wind of anything like that, you won’t be seeing that boy—or any other—ever again.”
“Mother will never agree to this …” Her voice was a threat.
“She already has, young lady. As the baby of the family, I know you think you have your mother wrapped around your little finger, but I assure you that in this case, we are in sound agreement. And quite frankly, both of us think you could do with some time apart from Jack.”
Even in the moonlight, he spied color staining her cheeks. She jutted her chin, eyes glittering with defiance. “Don’t force me to see him behind your back, Father.”
He took a step forward, meeting her jaw to jaw. “And don’t force me to withdraw all funds for law school, darlin’. That would be a real shame.”
As if paralyzed on the spot, she stared, her shock evident in the glaze of her eyes and the bloodless pallor of her lips. Her voice trembled when she spoke. “Y-you w-wouldn’t …”
The sight of her pain twisted his heart, and he reached to tug her close, ignoring the angry stiffness of her body. “I wouldn’t want to, Katie, but I would have no choice.” Patrick pulled back to look into her eyes. “I want to give you law school, darlin’, I do—desperately. Certainly a woman with your keen mind and sense of purpose was meant for such a path, if ever a woman was. But I can’t honor you with God’s blessings if you choose to defy us, nor can I stand by and allow your disobedience to impede all future blessings he hopes to give. And it will, Katie Rose, make no mistake.”
She started to cry and he handed her his handkerchief before tucking her against his chest. “Now, now, darlin’, it’s only a summer, not a lifetime after all. Try to think of it as preparation for law school, if you will, a kind of internship, eh? You’ll be working with lawyers while you’re there, what with adoptions and what not, so you may find you like it.”
She sniffed and peered up, her tone nasal and waterlogged. “If I don’t die of embarrassment first.” She blew her nose soundly, then swiped at her eyes. “I suppose I’ll have to do it since you’ve left me no choice, but I have no idea what I’m getting myself into.”
Patrick pulled her close and stroked her hair with the palm of his hand, his thoughts flitting to the Boston Children’s Aid Society. A smile surfaced on his lips that he was glad she couldn’t see. No, you have no idea at all, my little mule of a daughter, he thought to himself with a quiet sigh. And God help them, neither do they.

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