Chances Read online

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  Sarah followed Kate and Molly up Blake Street to a tidy white building. At the front, a lettered sign declared it to be the establishment of Daniel Petterman, Undertaker, the man who should have received the body from the train.

  She set the back of the heavy wheelbarrow down and waited as the girls called out for their father. Biting her lip, she cursed Frank Bates for playing her for a fool. He’d told her Petterman was out of town, and she’d taken his word. Now she’d need to confess to making a mistake that she hadn’t really made and pray that Petterman was an understanding sort.

  The front curtains wavered slightly, then a slender, chestnut-haired man burst from the door of the coffin shop and down the front steps, two at a time.

  “Molly, Kate. Are you hurt?” He knelt next to the girls, touching them and eyeing Molly’s blood-soaked dress with concern. “What happened?”

  Kate shook her head. “Molly’s fine, Papa, but Biscuit’s dead.” Her lower lip trembled and tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.

  “Biscuit?”

  “Miss Sarah’s got him in the wheelbarrow,” Molly added, pointing. The tears poured down Molly’s face but the little girl held her earlier sobs.

  Petterman drew his daughters close. “Thank you for taking care of my girls,” he said hoarsely. He hugged them for a moment, then glanced up at Sarah, staring with the most amazing eyes she’d ever seen, an unremarkable hazel in color, but piercing and intense.

  Sarah fussed at her stained brown skirt for a moment, then straightened. Lord, she hated it when men perused her that way, like she was some thing rather than an intelligent and capable woman. And she hated even more that she had reacted by immediately fretting about how she looked.

  She wiped her dusty right hand against her thigh, then offered it to him. Let him think what he wanted. “Sarah Donovan, Mr. Petterman.”

  “Daniel Petterman,” he answered, somewhat warily. He stood, eyebrows raised, then shook her hand. She saw disapproval in his expression and bit her tongue. If he didn’t like women introducing themselves, he should have offered his hand first.

  “I’m afraid one of the local gangs caught up with Biscuit and claimed him for the bounty,” she explained, “and I also need to—”

  “They shot him?” Daniel barked, stepping toward her.

  Sarah nodded. Clearly, the explanation about the body would have to wait. “Twice.”

  “In front of my girls?” He paced until his breathing slowed. Once again composed, he turned back to Sarah. “I apologize for the outburst, Miss Donovan.”

  Sarah glanced at Molly and Kate. Kate’s earlier words echoed through her mind. Papa wouldn’t like us making a scene. Heavens, somebody shot their family dog, and he was worried about being angry? Though he should, he’d probably never think about the girls needing more than just physical comforting.

  She leveled her gaze on Daniel and sighed. “I thought Kate and Molly might want him to have a proper burial instead of him being hauled off.”

  “Thank you, Miss Donovan.” His probing eyes took in her disheveled clothes. “It looks as if my girls made quite an impact on your day. May I arrange for someone over at Hop Alley to clean that skirt?”

  Sarah shook her head at his businesslike tone. “Oh, that’s really not—”

  “Yes, it is, Miss Donovan. I don’t shirk from my responsibilities. I only hope the stain will lift out. Send it to Su Ling, and I’ll take care of the costs.”

  “Papa?” Molly tugged at Daniel’s hand. “Can Biscuit have a casket?”

  Daniel stiffened and shook his head, his face full of unease. “Well, Molly, I’m not sure—”

  “I don’t think Biscuit would be very comfortable in a casket, Molly,” Sarah interrupted, wondering where in the world the sudden urge to rescue Daniel from his discomfort had come from. “When he gets to heaven, I’m sure he’ll want to run and play. Does he have a favorite rug? That would be real nice for him, a familiar place to sleep.”

  “Oh, Miss Sarah, what a grand idea.” Kate hugged Sarah impulsively then quickly pulled away, straightening her dress. “Isn’t that a fine idea, Papa?”

  Daniel glanced at Sarah, as if trying to figure her out.

  “Papa?” Kate prompted.

  Daniel’s attention returned to his daughter. “It sounds like the best one offered so far. Why don’t you take Molly in and see if Mrs. Winifred will help the two of you get changed into clean dresses? We’ll get Biscuit settled temporarily out back. We can bury him this evening, maybe say a few words.”

  The two girls disappeared around the building to the side door of their private quarters, leaving Sarah and Daniel alone. “I’ll haul him around back,” he announced.

  He lifted the back of the wheelbarrow, and his muscles tightened under his crisp white shirt. He straightened and the cloth stretched over his biceps.

  Sarah smiled in appreciation. Daniel Petterman was obviously a fit man, his body molded by hard work.

  “You managed to bring this all the way from the railroad yard?”

  Sarah bristled. “I’m not a bird, Mr. Petterman, however slight I may appear.”

  He ignored her and pushed Biscuit around the end of the wood frame building. Sarah kept pace, matching his long strides with quick steps of her quite-a-bit-shorter legs. It was time to tell him the other reason she’d come.

  “Mr. Petterman?” she said hesitantly. “I have something else—”

  “Yes?” He tipped the wheelbarrow, the dog slid forward and the blanket slipped away. The animal was a mangled mess. Ragged holes tore its flesh and its yellow fur was matted with dried blood. Daniel stared, his mouth tight. “Jesus, my girls watched this?”

  Sarah’s heart caught at the emotion in his voice, and she wished she were able to offer more comfort than quiet words of explanation. “I think they tried to stop it. I didn’t pay much attention until the shots.”

  “What a damned idiotic statute. A bounty on dogs. Does nothing but encourage hoodlums to kill family pets. They could have easily shot Molly or Kate.” He settled Biscuit onto his side and recovered his remains with gentle reverence.

  “Then why hasn’t the statute been changed? Have you considered doing something about it?”

  “I’ll file my complaint with the City.” He straightened and turned to her. “Good enough?”

  “For a start, but why stop there? Don’t just complain. Write a letter to the editor of the Rocky Mountain News, go to the next City Council meeting, start a petition, march in front of City Hall, throw rocks at the dog wagon, refuse to allow anyone to pick up the dead dogs.”

  “My, aren’t you the hotbed of ideas?” Daniel shook his head and reached for the wheelbarrow again.

  “Ideas lead to action, Mr. Petterman, and action leads to change. Things don’t change when people sit quietly at home.” She followed him around the building.

  “Well, I’m afraid I don’t do any of those things, Miss Donovan.”

  Sarah stopped, dumbfounded. She couldn’t imagine not taking action. “Why not?”

  “Businessmen use proper channels. They do not cause problems.”

  “Problems? A few moments ago, it sounded as if you thought the law was a problem. Businessmen carry a lot of power, Mr. Petterman. Perhaps you ought to use it. They shot your dog, for crying out loud. What if they’d hurt your daughters?”

  Daniel stopped and marched back to her. “The law is a problem, and I know they shot my dog.” His voice was tinged with hostility, surprising her. “It is an absurd law which incites situations like the one that killed Biscuit and endangers the public. I will handle it in my own way, not with some radical knee-jerk reaction. Don’t you dare imply that I don’t care about my girls or that I take this lightly.”

  “But you won’t do anything about it?”

  “I said I would handle it in my own way. I don’t do any of the things you mentioned, Miss Donovan.”

  “Sarah, please,” she prompted, knowing he’d use
her first name if she were a man. “And why don’t you?”

  “Because I prefer to avoid the bother it would cause. I live my life quietly. Besides, it isn’t dignified.”

  “Dignified? What kind of answer is that? Either you care about changing the law or you don’t. If you don’t care enough to do something about it, then you clearly don’t care, period.”

  “We elect city councilmen to make these decisions. Our actions are taken at their meetings and at the polls. If we don’t like their decisions, we’ve only ourselves to blame.”

  Sarah felt her anger rise. “Elect? I certainly didn’t elect anyone, Mr. Petterman. I don’t happen to have a vote.”

  Daniel sighed and shook his head. “Of course not, Miss Donovan. You’re a woman.”

  The remark bit into her like a slap. “This woman was the very one who stood out there and made sure those hoodlums left your daughters alone. This woman dealt with their tears and the blood and the remains. Don’t you dare tell me this woman doesn’t possess the ability to vote. If women had suffrage or the right to stand for office, stupid laws wouldn’t even exist.”

  Daniel’s jaw tightened, and his gaze bore into her. “No, if women voted, the whole City Council meeting would turn into a tea party.”

  Sarah stomped her foot in frustration. Men were all the same. “Oh, of all the hare-brained, ludicrous statements! No wonder men never get anything done.”

  “Are we finished here? I have a body to locate.”

  “Oh, my goodness, the body.” How could she have forgotten? Now he really would think her nothing but a bumbling female.

  Daniel tensed. “You know something about Mr. Harding?”

  “I tried to tell you earlier.” She paused, then composed herself and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m the new telegrapher. Cheyenne sent a wire, but I thought you were out of town so I sent the message to Silverman. The body came in on the 10:20. Silverman already picked it up to take it to Potter’s Field.”

  Anger washed across Daniel’s face, running roughshod past his self-discipline. “And you think women possess the brains to vote? If that body is buried already, you can inform the family and work out the legal issues involved with exhuming what’s likely to be a badly deteriorated corpse. If he’s six feet under, you’re going to get yourself a new job because I’ll personally see you fired. How’s gravedigger suit you?”

  Chapter Two

  Daniel watched Sarah’s plainly clad figure disappear up Blake Street with her wheelbarrow. He hated the position she’d put him in, and he hated having lost his composure. He’d yelled, at a woman, in public. The quick crunching of Sarah’s footsteps lingered behind her, further aggravating him.

  Frowning, he entered his shop and slammed the door. Wincing in regret at the sound, he crossed to the expensive mahogany casket that lay waiting for Wilson Harding. Snow-white satin lining shimmered beneath the etched glass of the lid’s viewing panels, and polished brass hardware graced its sides.

  Harding’s family wanted the best. He’d had the coffin shipped in special from the Stein Manufacturing Company in Rochester, New York, their top-of-the-line model. The funeral itself was scheduled for tomorrow morning. He sure as hell hoped Silverman hadn’t put Harding in the ground yet.

  Daniel crossed the spotless workroom and checked on the corpse cooler. This afternoon, he would prepare the body it was keeping chilled. Lifting the lid, he noted that the top chamber was still full of ice. He had time to head to Silverman’s.

  Opening the rear door to his family’s private residence, he informed the housekeeper, Mrs. Winifred, that he was headed out, flipped the “open” sign to “closed” and left the shop.

  Daniel hurried through the busy business district of Blake Street. Merchants displayed their wares from glass storefronts and carefully arranged boardwalk cases. He ignored their inviting offers, intent on the distasteful task ahead of him. All he wanted to do was collect Harding and get home, without any further complications.

  Silverman’s establishment was located just a scant block from the Kansas Pacific Depot. He was one of the less professional of the Denver undertakers and not well known for his quality of work. He probably didn’t even have a cooler. Even if Silverman hadn’t buried Harding already, Daniel hated to think about the possible decomposition the lack of cooling might have prompted in the unusual autumn heat.

  Rounding the corner of Blake Street, Daniel crossed 21st Street to Silverman’s squalid little building. Located less than a block off Market Street, Silverman catered to a lower class clientele, often providing burials to the working girls of “the Row.” Daniel wrinkled his nose in distaste and entered the bare wooden structure.

  Silverman stood behind a rough wooden plank in heated discussion. On the street side of the makeshift counter was a petite blonde, none other than Sarah Donovan herself. Daniel’s jaw clenched as he approached.

  “You don’t understand, Mr. Silverman. The body was supposed to go to someone else.” Sarah punctuated her words with her hand.

  Silverman chewed on a wad of tobacco, indifferent to her vehemence. “Didn’t though. Notice was delivered here. Makes it my responsibility, and ain’t no way I can release it to you.”

  Daniel sighed and marched to the counter to rescue the situation. “But you can release it to me,” he stated with firmness.

  “Well, if it ain’t Dan Petterman. You slummin’?”

  Sarah looked at both men, then turned back to the proprietor. “Mr. Silverman, it seems—”

  “I’ll handle this, Miss Donovan, if you don’t mind.”

  “But I—”

  “I said, I’ll handle this.” Daniel shook his head. What in God’s name was she doing here? If she’d made a further mess, he’d file a report with her supervisor. In fact, he might just do so anyway. He reminded himself to stay calm, then shifted his weight and moved in front of her. “Silverman, Miss Donovan made an error. The body should have been delivered to me.”

  Silverman’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “She already covered that. You got paperwork?”

  Sarah pushed Daniel’s elbow out of the way. “And why wasn’t my paperwork satisfactory, Mr. Silverman?”

  “Be quiet, Miss Donovan. This is no longer your affair.”

  “It is my affair, Mr. Petterman. You have implied that I made a mistake when I was, in reality, misinformed and unable to take any other action.”

  Once again irritated to the verge of outburst, Daniel drew himself away from the counter and faced Sarah. The little spitfire looked riled at the implication that she had erred. He peered down at her, bit back a scathing comment about her professional abilities, and discovered a pair of big violet eyes that could just about melt an iceberg. Somehow, with the girls and the dog, he’d missed seeing them earlier. God Almighty, but the woman was pretty, too pretty for that forward personality.

  He sighed and switched tactics. “Miss Donovan, will you cease your chattering? I don’t care how or why it happened. I can’t straighten this out until you’re quiet.”

  “You two about done?” Silverman interrupted. “Paperwork looks in order, and you’re welcome to take the body. You best run, though, ‘cause it’s halfway up to Potter’s Field by now.”

  Sarah glanced at Daniel. His jaw muscles were twitching again, and she knew he was fighting to control himself. He glared at her, then crossed the room and exited without a word.

  By the time she made it to the door, he was halfway down the block, headed southeast, toward Cemetery Hill. Sarah watched him ease into a loose trot and knew he was likely hating every embarrassing minute of it.

  The cemetery lay some two to three miles distant, past the meandering city ditch. It’d take Daniel forever to get there. Why the dickens hadn’t he just borrowed a horse?

  Sarah turned northwest and entered the Kansas Pacific yard. Frank Bates’s company horse stood at the rail, waiting patiently for his next delivery. Glancing into the depot, she spied Bates again lounging on one of the benches,
his mouth stuffed full and a sandwich in his hand. He wouldn’t need the horse for a while. She untied Buck, flipped the reins over his head, and glanced around before hiking up her long skirt. She mounted the horse and settled the brown serge around her legs, then trotted toward Broadway after Daniel. By now, he was starting to look winded. Goodness, men had no sense whatsoever when they had their minds full of themselves.

  Sarah came abreast of Daniel and slowed the horse.

  “You going to run all the way or would you like a ride?”

  Daniel glared at her, then halted for a breath. “Th-thank you, Miss Donovan. I should be delighted to ride.” He waited expectantly.

  Sarah inched forward on the horse. If he thought she was dumb enough to dismount and have him take off without her, he had another thought coming.

  “Do you need help down, Miss Donovan?”

  “Look, Petterman, if you want to get to the cemetery before they put that body in the ground, you’d better get on. Otherwise, I’ll go without you. I have a stake in this, too. Until that body is safely in your hands, I cannot clear up the paperwork with Western Union or the Kansas Pacific.”

  Daniel glanced around the area, then let out a huff and swung himself up behind Sarah. When Sarah continued to grasp the reins herself, he slid his reluctant arms around her waist.

  “This is hardly proper. Why didn’t you bring a buggy?”

  “You ought to be thankful one of us thought to bring a horse. If there had been a buggy available, you can be sure I would have thought of bringing it instead.”

  She felt him stiffen behind her, and she knew she’d hit a nerve. It served him right. She hoped he stewed in it. Why in the world was it so difficult for men to accept that they were fallible, and that, sometimes, women could do things better than they could?

  Sarah kept Buck at a controlled trot as they left the business district. Daniel’s warm heat coursed through her as his arms bounced up and down, occasionally bumping against her breasts before settling back around her waist. He shifted, his firm chest hard behind her back.