Page 87 of If Looks Could Kill
“Handled yourself just fine,” he interrupted. “Which you did.”
We paused to cross a street. “I’d been so afraid he was one of Mother Rosie’s men,” I said. “When I realized he wasn’t the thing I was afraid of, I… er, forgot to be afraid anymore.”
The absurdity of what I’d just said, and what I’d done, caught up to me.
“In stories,” Mike began, “the lad is supposed to know how to protect the girl.”
“Oh, you slugged him beautifully,” I told him. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He humphed. “You can flatter me if you like,” he said. “But I was terrified.”
“You’ve lived in the city four years, didn’t you say?” I asked him. “This can’t have been the first time this has happened to you.”
“?’Course not,” he said. “But then, I wasn’t trying to keep a Salvation Army maiden safe.”
“And what did you do, those other times?” I asked.
“Gave the louse my cash, if he had a gun,” Mike said ruefully. “But if he didn’t, I’d throw punches, if I saw an opening.”
“There’s your problem, then,” I told him. “You couldn’t tell what he had, because he was hiding it behind my back. It threw you off your fighting form.”
Mike stopped in his tracks and laughed aloud. He relinquished my hand to wipe his eyes.
“Where else,” he asked, “would a girl beat off her own attacker, then spend the rest of the evening reassuring her, er, young man friend that he’d been splendid?”
Young man friend.“What did you want me to do?” I demanded. “Swoon with fright?”
“No,” Mike said. “I don’t want you to do anything other than what you are doing.”
“And what’s that?”
He reached for my hand once more. “Being yourself.”
Beingmyself?
“I wouldn’t have felt so bold if you weren’t there,” I told Mike. “We make a good team.”
He favored me with a grin. “We do, don’t we?”
As I may have mentioned, Mike was something of a pleasure to look at, and especially so when he smiled. There was something curiously pleasing about his teeth.
We arrived back at Lafayette. A gas lamp shone a halo in the falling snow.
“Here we are,” I said.
He stopped and set down Pearl’s suitcase. “?’Tis so.”
“You’re covered.” I brushed snow off his shoulders. “You look like a polar bear.”
He watched me de-snow him with an amused expression.
“Anyway,” I said, wishing to prolong his departure as long as possible, “as I was saying, I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done.”
“Do you want to know how?” he asked me.
A nervous thrill ran through me. “How?”
Now it was his turn to brush snow off my shoulders. “Stay safe,” he said, “but don’t leave.”
