bouncing in the seat by the time Blucher let her out near the Presbyterian church where he thought he was taking her. Georgina couldn't see Mr. Martin yet, but she knew he was here. He was as eager as she to see this story in print. She still glowed with the praise he had heaped on her when she had given him her notes on Mulloney's Department Store. People had always praised her gowns and her hair and her smile, but no one had ever cared whether or not there was anything behind them. And since no one had ever cared, she had never tried to be anything else but what she was. That was going to change.
She was going to change, and the world around her was going to change. She wouldn't be her mama, or anybody else's mama. She would be herself, and she was going to make a difference in this world. Daniel had promised her that the newspaper story would make a difference, and she believed him, even if he'd lied about his name. As soon as people saw how mistreated these clerks were, they would insist that things change. The people of Cutlerville were proud, upstanding citizens, and they would raise a clamor at such slavery in their midst. After all, hadn't they sent a battalion to fight slavery during the Civil War?
As the carriage and Blucher disappeared around the corner, Pecos Daniel ran down the church steps and caught the camera case in Georgina's hand.
"I didn't really think you would come. I feel like I'm eighteen again and sneaking around behind my sister's back. I guess I'll have to invest in a carriage so I can pick you up at the door personally."
He shouldered the case and hurried down the street faster than Georgina could walk in her tight skirt. She wasn't certain if it was his ebullient energy that carried him or some kind of anger at himself, or maybe even her. Mr. Martin grew more mysterious with time instead of less. But she wasn't about to let him leave her behind.
Pulling her skirt above her ankles, she hobbled after him as fast as she could. "Mr. Martin, if you can't wait for me, give me back my camera. I don't mind making a spectacle of myself on my terms, but I'll not do it on yours."
He turned in surprise, glanced down at her exposed ankle boots, then up at her irate expression, and grinned. "What kind of spectacle and what terms do you ask?"
Georgina was quite certain his thoughts weren't polite and that he was probably laughing at her, but she was too eager for this new assignment to allow him to ruin the moment. "Mr. Martin, you are rude, crude, and uncouth, and if you do not behave yourself, I'll take back my camera. How far away are we?"
Since there was no anger in her tone, he ignored the insult and extended his elbow for her use. "A few blocks. You really have to find better clothes for walking in."
"I just came from church, Mr. Martin. I don't expect you to understand the need for proper attire. A gentleman adjusts his pace to a lady's."
For some reason, Daniel had a hard time thinking of Miss Georgina Meredith Hanover as a lady. Perhaps it was because she was a full head shorter than he, and he was too aware of soft round curves instead of the battleship attire of the ladies he knew. She was too young, too mischievous, too full of laughter to be one of the proud matrons he considered ladies. She was more like Evie—a lady in name only.
Except that his thoughts about Miss Hanover were anything but sisterly.
Damn, but he had trouble keeping his mind where it belonged where women were concerned. Why in hell he had taken on a female photographer was more than he could imagine, but the deed was done and he couldn't undo it. The rustle of stiff satin against whatever getup she wore beneath that gown reminded Daniel only too well of the feminine hand on his arm, even if that haunting scent of lilies didn't surround him. He was damned glad they had almost reached their destination.
Georgina was studying the tiny wooden structures with interest. He bet she had never seen this side of town. Her carriage driver would have made it a point to avoid it when he drove her anywhere. Most of the streets were too narrow for a carriage