If I can just get Bonnie to agree . . .
She paused to appraise the back of Bonnie’s severe bun—a knot so taut and tight over the crown of her head that she might have been bald if one squinted—and felt almost giddy over the transformation she had in mind. Rimless eyeglasses—popularized by Teddy Roosevelt himself—would replace Bonnie’s heavy horn-rimmed style, allowing her graceful cheekbones to be the focal point while the spectacles almost disappeared on her face. Meg’s fingers itched to unravel that severe bun, softening her friend’s appearance with lustrous ebony hair piled loose and high in the graceful Gibson Girl style. Her gaze traveled the length of Bonnie’s lanky frame, certain a few tucks here and there with some of Alli’s stylish hand-me-downs and a lengthened hem would give her far more confidence than the matronly blouses and skirts she’d inherited from her maiden aunt. And with the makeup tips Meg had learned from Mr. Poiret, she had no doubt that Miss Bonnie Roof, self-proclaimed old maid, would not only turn a certain executive assistant district attorney’s head, but astound herself as well, infusing her with confidence both inside and out.
“I brought you coffee,” she said, causing her friend to lash around with a squeal. Meg grinned. “We really should work on that,” she said with a chuckle, assessing Bonnie’s desk with a pensive eye. Handing the cup to her friend, she blinked at the bright wash of sunlight streaming through the windows. “Goodness, doesn’t the afternoon sun bother your eyes now that we’ve permanently opened those blinds?”
“A little.” Bonnie glanced over her shoulder at the windowsill where a potted plant she’d brought from home proudly sat. “But I do enjoy watching my philodendron grow and the seagulls glide, so it’s worth it.” Her full lips curved in a crooked smile while a blush stole into her cheeks. “Although I do tend to daydream a little more now, so maybe that’s not so good.”
“Mmm . . .” Meg strolled the perimeter of Bonnie’s desk with folded arms, studying it with a squint. “Well, since we don’t want your productivity to suffer,” she said with a crooked smile, “why don’t we move your typing table to the opposite side of the desk so the glare’s to your back? That way you won’t vault in the air when somebody comes up behind you. And . . . ,” she said with a smile, “you can focus on your work instead of your daydreams.”
Bonnie set her coffee down to wheel her chair around, contemplating Meg’s suggestion before she popped up. “Oh my goodness!” She was suddenly breathless with excitement, her five-foot-eight height easily towering over Meg. “I don’t know why you want to be a lawyer or doctor when you are so brilliant at decorating and design!” Eyes sparkling, she immediately tackled the typing table, repositioning it on the other side, then stood back to admire the new arrangement. With a pleased clap of her hands, she promptly bundled Meg in a grateful hug. “Goodness, is there anything you can’t do?”
Meg laughed. “Well, I can’t make coffee like Linda Marie, but it’s better than Conor’s, I hope, even if just barely.”
Pushing her horn-rimmed glasses back to the bridge of her nose, Bonnie took a sip. “Oh, bless you, Meg—it’s perfect! I’ve been trying to decipher George’s chicken scratch all morning, and I’m near comatose, so I needed this badly.” She glanced at the elegant mahogany wall clock that Meg had also filched from Mother’s attic and set the coffee down, plopping back into her chair with a sigh. “I’ll need all the energy I can get when Mr. Turner and the others get back from City Hall with copious notes.” A shadow darkened the bubbled glass door, and Bonnie sat straight up, nervously patting the back of her bun. “Uh-oh . . . Mr. Turner’s afternoon appointment is early.”
“Well, I guess it’s back to work for me too,” Meg said, the squeal of the door sending her scurrying down the hall to pour another cup of coffee before returning to her research. Humming to herself, she stood on tiptoe to retrieve a mug from the cabinet over the sink, then filled it with the steaming brew. She doctored it with plenty of cream and sugar and leaned back against the counter to take a sip, eyes closed as she savored its rich flavor.
A low whistle jolted her, eyelids snapping open while coffee sloshed in her cup.
“Saint Peter’s Gate—I’m in heaven,” a husky voice said, a hint of tease in a rich baritone that Meg would have recognized anywhere. Unable to breathe or blink, she could only stare, her eyes dry sockets of shock as Devin Caldwell strolled into the kitchen and butted a hip to the counter not two feet away. His commanding presence forced her gaze up while he all but dwarfed her, assessing her with a cross of arms while he scanned head to toe with a boyish smile. “Sweet thunder, and I thought this internship would be boring.”
A harsh gasp caught in her throat. Internship?? The breath in her lungs refused to comply, diminishing her air. She started to hack, and he promptly relieved her of her cup, scorching her body when he patted her back. “Are you all right, Miss . . . ?”
Her heart ricocheted against her rib cage as she jerked from the massage of his hand on her back, her words stuttering more than her pulse. “Y-Yes, I’m f-fine,” she rasped, ignoring his quest for a name.
The grin that had haunted many a dream rolled across wide lips while his gaze of approval traveled like a caress from the crown of her loose chignon, down her lavender silk shirtwaist to her form-fitting cream skirt. “You certainly are,” he whispered, his tall winged collar bobbing the slightest bit. Rubbing his palms on his dark tailored suit, he extended a hand with an engaging smile, and she instantly recognized that mischievous twinkle he’d bestowed on all the pretty girls in her class. “Devin Caldwell at your service, and you are . . . ?”
“L-Late,” she stuttered, frantic to flee anywhere that took her far away from the one boy with a talent for both engaging and enraging. She started for the door, only to be halted by the touch of his hand.
“Wait—you do work here, don’t you?” A wedge appeared between dark brows that matched thick chestnut hair combed back, which seemed prone to thwart the Brilliantine he wore. His smile dimmed as concern deepened the dark brown of his eyes. “Oh, please tell me you work here,” he said softly, fingers stroking the silk sleeve of her arm.
She stumbled back with a shaky nod, his touch heating both her skin and her cheeks.
“Oh, thank heavens,” he said, his mouth relaxing into a smile once again. “You’re a breath of fresh air after the prim schoolmarm at the front desk and the dull intern they hired.”
Meg froze, heart thudding to a slow beat. “D-dull in-tern?”
With a cock of his hip, he casually slipped his hands in his pockets, his expression almost sheepish. “Yeah, Megan McClare, a girl I know—long on brains, short on beauty, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I know what you mean,” she whispered.
Painfully so.
“I have an orientation meeting with Andrew—uh, Mr. Turner, my godfather—when he returns from City Hall, so when I saw you making coffee . . .” He exhaled slowly, flashing the same dazzling smile that had mesmerized every girl and nun at St. Vincent’s. “My day just got a whole lot better.” He nodded to Linda Marie’s desk where her nameplate was prominently displayed. “So, this is your desk, I presume, Miss Finn?”
She blinked, tongue pasted to the roof of her mouth.
“Mr. Caldwell?” Bonnie hovered in the doorway with shoulders hunched and head bowed, barely meeting Devin’s gaze. “Mr. Turner just returned, and he’s ready for you now.”
Devin beamed, his easy smile pinking Bonnie’s cheeks. “Thank you—Miss Roof, is it?”
“Yes, sir.” Bonnie’s face was now aflame, a typical reaction where the handsome Devin Caldwell was concerned. Meg’s lips compressed.
“Will you tell him I’ll be right there?”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a quick nod, disappearing faster than Meg could blink.
He shifted to focus on Meg again, the blush in her cheeks going head-to-head with Bonnie’s. “I look forward to getting to know you better, Miss Finn.” He warmed her with a roguish smile. “And I w
ould love a cup of coffee, if you don’t mind, delivered to Mr. Turner’s office?” He had the audacity to give her a wink on the way out. “Black if you will.”
Oh, I will. She stared as he disappeared down the hall, stunned as always by the bold confidence of Devin Caldwell, the runt in the sixth grade whose life changed forever when he started to grow. “Black as night,” she muttered, rattled by his good looks and towering height, which were exceeded only by his cockiness. “Right around the eye . . .”
Megan Maureen McClare! Meg winced, imagining her mother’s gentle scold while her cheeks throbbed from both anger and guilt over such vile thoughts. She’d survived years of ridicule by following her mother’s wise counsel—love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who insult and persecute you. But this! The bane of her existence, here in the flesh, in the middle of the internship she’d prayed and hoped for—belittling her!
Just like always.
Body rigid, she slowly released the breath she’d been holding, ashamed over the hostility Devin Caldwell provoked.
And the attraction?
No! She stood up straight, shoulders square and head high. If Paris had taught her anything, she’d learned to give insensitive people like Devin Caldwell a wide berth, treating them with the respect due any of God’s creatures, certainly, but nothing more. No matter how much he had raced her pulse in the past, she would steer clear of those feelings—and the man who provoked them—as much as possible. Lips pursed, she poured his cup of coffee, shocked when visions of spilling it in the buffoon’s lap trickled through her brain. With a quick prayer of repentance, she prayed for him and marched down the hall to Mr. Turner’s office, sucking in a deep breath before she quietly knocked on his door.
“Come in.”
Meg poked her head in, offering Andrew a penitent smile. “Coffee for Mr. Caldwell,” she said with as much humility as she could, purposely avoiding the “buffoon’s” grinning gaze.
“Ah, Meg—just the person I wanted to see!” Andrew rose and waved her into the office with a bright smile, pride fairly shimmering in his tone. “Devin, this is Miss Megan McClare, my first intern and one of the brightest young women I have ever seen, so you’ve got your work cut out for you, my boy, if you hope to keep up with her.”
Meg blushed, not daring to peek at Devin lest her cheeks burn even more. “Thank you, Mr. Turner,” she whispered, careful to set the cup on the edge of the desk and not in Devin’s lap.
Where it belongs.
“Meg’s mother, Caitlyn, is the president of the Vigilance Committee and a very dear friend.” Andrew rounded his desk to place a protective arm around her shoulder while Devin shot to his feet. “Meg, meet my godson, Devin Caldwell, who expressed interest in this internship just the other night at dinner, so I hope you don’t mind—I suggested he join you this summer.”
Meg fought the rise of a gulp. “No, sir, I don’t mind,” she lied, her gaze slowly climbing to meet Devin’s. Before she could stop it, her jaw sagged open, nearly unhinged. Never in eleven years of school events had she ever seen Devin Caldwell blush before. And not just a ruddy, masculine shade, but the deepest, brightest pink she’d ever seen on a human being’s face, instantly tipping her lips into a delighted smile. She extended her hand. “Goodness, what a surprise,” she said, his blatant humiliation buoying her spirits.
Devin cleared his throat, fingers sweaty when they grasped hers. “H-Hello, Meg.” He pulled away to shove his hands in his pockets, obviously flustered. “It’s been a long time.”
“You two know each other?” Andrew asked, gaze flicking from Megan to Devin.
Another clear of a throat, gruffer this time, before Devin’s response came out in a near croak. “Yes, Meg and I competed in every competition, spelling bee, and science project from first grade through eleventh.”
“No kidding?” Andrew squeezed Meg’s arm with a low chuckle, still bracing her shoulder. “And who usually won?”
Meg grinned, the sight of a scarlet Devin Caldwell doing wonders for her confidence. “Well, I suppose that depends,” she said with a teasing tilt of her head, unable to thwart the squirm of her lips. “If humility was the prize, then I believe Mr. Caldwell holds the crown.”
Andrew’s laughter rolled through the office, bloodying Devin’s cheeks, if possible, even more than before. “What’d I tell you, Dev? This young woman is a force to be reckoned with.”
“Yes, sir,” he said with a tight clamp of a smile. He reached for his coffee and acknowledged her with a stiff raise of his cup. “Thank you for the coffee, Meg, and I apologize for not recognizing you in the coffee room earlier.”
Giving her a final pat, Andrew resumed his seat. “Don’t feel too badly, Dev, none of us recognized her after she returned from Paris, not even her own brother. She’s certainly blossomed into a beauty, eh?”
“Yes, sir.” A knot jerked in his throat, near the size of the fist pinched on the handle of his cup.
Andrew checked his pocket watch and cut loose with a low whistle. “Dash it, I almost forgot.” He reached for his leather attaché from a credenza in front of the large window and fished out a manila envelope. “Meg, I was supposed to drop this off at the Barbary Volunteer Legal Services on my way back from City Hall, but it slipped my mind.” He glanced up with a conciliatory smile. “Would you mind delivering it for me? You can call Hadley or take the cable car out front—it goes right by their building on Washington. Then just feel free to head on home early since it’s Friday, all right?”
The Barbary Volunteer Legal Services? Excitement scurried and scampered within, completely obliterating any thought of Devin Caldwell and his snide opinion of her. Ever since Bram had mentioned a law-school classmate of his had an uncle who’d opened a free clinic for legal services on the edge of the Barbary Coast, Meg had longed to volunteer there. But Mother had put the kibosh on it, telling her she was too young. And yet, that was exactly the type of lawyer she wanted to be, accessible to those poor souls in the Coast, especially women and children. And now, to be able to go there and see it firsthand—and via cable car no less! A slow grin slid across her face at the very thought. My first cable car ride! Goodness, Mother never allowed them on the cable cars before, citing germs and unsavory characters as reason enough.
“If you’d rather not, Meg, I understand . . .”
She blinked, Andrew capturing her attention when he laid the envelope aside.
“No!” With a catch of her breath she snatched it up and hugged it to her chest, beaming so brightly she could have been the blinding sun blazing through Bonnie’s window. “I would love to do this for you, Mr. Turner, truly! Sweet heavens, I’ve been dying to see the Barbary Volunteer Legal Services office for years now, so this is perfect.”
He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I can’t say a brownstone storefront on the edge of the worst part of town would be my first choice for something I’ve been ‘dying’ to see. But I’ve already figured out that you are no ordinary young woman, Meg, so I am happy to oblige a long-held dream of yours.” He jotted the address and the name of the man to whom she was to deliver the file, then handed it over. “Marcus Wilson is the director and a good friend, and this is the file on one of his clients that he asked me to look at. Tell him I’ll be happy to assist in any way he needs and I’ll be in touch.”
“Oh yes, sir, and thank you! I may even take advantage of your generosity to take the afternoon off and stay awhile to observe if they’ll let me.”
With a shake of his head, Andrew sat back in his chair, arms relaxed on its sides. “I’ll tell you what, Meg, you so remind me of your mother, and that’s high praise, indeed.”
Her cheeks warmed with pleasure. “Thank you, Mr. Turner, and I agree—my mother is everything I aspire to be—a woman of deep faith and gentle compassion.” Mischief flickered at the edge of her smile. “With enough steel in her spine to accomplish whatever she wants and withstand anything she doesn’t.”
&n
bsp; Andrew grinned. “Ah, yes—something I’ve learned quite well.” Elbows propped on the arms of his chair, he tented two fingers to his mouth, affection lacing his smile. “Well, enjoy your observation then, Meg, and come Monday, I’ll expect Devin to be observing you as an example of just what a legal intern should be.”
Meg chanced a peek at Devin, who was still standing with the cup in his hand, more awkward than before. She nodded at him with a polite smile, not exactly sure what to say. I look forward to working with you? Hardly. Nice to see you again? Goodness, that would be perjury, and in a district attorney’s office, no less. She clutched the folder like a shield. “I . . . hope you enjoy it here as much as I do,” she finally said, relieved she didn’t have to lie because she certainly enjoyed the experience thus far. Of course that was before the scourge of St. Patrick’s had arrived to torment her . . .
His head bobbed up and down as if he didn’t know what to say, and his smile was as strained as their working relationship was likely to be.
“Have a great weekend, Mr. Turner, Mr. Caldwell.” And with a spin on her heel, she darted for the door, halting at the nervous clear of a throat. She glanced over her shoulder at a very wooden Devin Caldwell as he once again lifted his cup in the air. “Uh . . . thank you for the coffee, Meg—you brew a very decent pot.”
His nervous compliment seemed to dissolve all the years of ridicule she’d suffered at his hand. Tubby. Four eyes. Wallflower, and more. Hurtful names she now realized were nothing more than the barbs of an insecure little boy. And a bully who would never bully her again.