Read Online Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel by Julie Lessman - Free Book Online

with a brainless bully like you,” she shrieked, voice so high-pitched, it hurt his ears. “Oooooo, you are simply the most infuriating man I have ever had the misfortune to encounter—out!”
    He put his hands up to fend her off. “If you would just hear me out—”
    Whoosh! The stick nearly sliced his ear before he dodged, snatching it from her fingers so fast, it hit the wall before her gasp hit the air. He loomed over her, temple throbbing. “One more stunt like that, lady, and I’ll arrest you for assault with a deadly weapon.”
    “I’ll give you assault!” She hiked a heel and stomped his foot, further singeing his temper when she marred his freshly polished shoe.
    He gaped at the half-moon indentation on the tip, hardly able to believe what the little brat had done. His ire swelled while his head lashed up. “Okay, lady— nobody scuffs my Italian leather oxfords.”
    “No?” Whirling around, she grabbed a wooden ruler off her desk and jabbed it toward the door. “Out— now —or I’ll be scuffing more than your shoes.”
    He stared open-mouthed, hands on his hips. “What is it with you and sharp instruments, anyway—your tongue isn’t enough?”
    “Oh, you . . . you . . . !” Green eyes glittering, she flew at him with stick raised, promptly popping him with the ruler.
    “That’s it,” he muttered, and shoving his hat up, he wrenched the ruler from her hand and snapped it in two before hurling it away. He yanked his waistcoat closed and buttoned his vest with fingers as thick as the insults on the tip of his tongue. “I’m warning you, Princess, for your own good—stay off both the cable car and the streets by yourself on the Barbary Coast, especially after dark, understand?”
    She scrambled for the blasted yardstick again, holding it out with two hands as if to prevent him from coming anywhere close.
    Ha! No problem there.
    “I understand that you’re not only rude and obnoxious, you’re also a bully, you, you—”
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He glared, cauterizing her and her stick with so much heat, he was surprised one or both didn’t go up in flames. “Suit yourself, lady,” he said with a press of his jaw, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And yanking his hat on too hard, he strode down the hall and slammed the door behind him, a style of departure that was quickly becoming a habit where Miss McClare was concerned.
    “Brainless female,” he muttered, stalking down the street into the city’s own personal hell, where the dregs of society would swallow a society dame like Allison McClare whole before chewing her up and spitting her out. A schoolteacher without a lick of sense who was oblivious to the fact he was only trying to warn her. Scrounging for a handful of animal crackers in his pocket, he slammed them down while passing a drunk sprawled on the sidewalk in a pool of vomit. The stench of it—alcohol, urine, and body odor—immediately roiled his senses. He shook his head. But some people were too thick and too stubborn to heed advice, and the high and mighty Miss McClare was obviously one.
    Head down, he ignored the flurry of lewd comments and invitations from scantily clad women in the brothels above, hands in his pockets while his anger simmered and stewed. Jaw taut, he jerked the precinct door open and exhaled a weighty sigh. Yes, indeed, she was one of those poor, unfortunate souls in life destined to learn the hard way. He slammed the door behind with a grunt.
    Like me.

5
    J umpin’ jaybirds, Miss Alli, this is fun!”
    Allison glanced up from her desk at tiny Lottie LeRoy, the sweet six-year-old orphan from next door. She smiled at the little girl whose chestnut curls bounced with every crank of the pencil sharpener bolted to the wall, eager to please with whatever task she could do.
    “I’m glad, Lottie, because I sure wasn’t looking forward to sharpening all those pencils by myself, so you’re really helping me out.”
    The little girl