Free Somebody Wonderful by Kate Rothwell Page B

hit the target dead center. More than that, he did not need to know. Mick suddenly felt a thunderous headache coming on.
    Daisy poked him with her elbow again. “Michael, I know you are busy, but surely you have time to mention Miss Calverson to me. Don’t you read the Town Crier ? Or the Time ’s society column? My goodness! Now I recall reading that Miss Calverson recently arrived here in New York.”
    Daisy clasped her hands together beneath her chin and twisted toward Timmy. “You and your father are traveling somewhere for his latest work, am I right?”
    She turned back to Mick. “Her father is a very distinguished explorer. How terribly exciting, Michael. To think, you never even told me you know Miss Calverson.”
    “We only met yesterday,” said Timmy. “He saved my life.”
    Daisy laughed lightly. “Yes, he is quite a hero.”
    “Indeed he is.” Timmy had that smile on her lips, the one that made Mick’s blood run cold. “Mr. McCann is perhaps the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.”
    Daisy’s smile showed a hesitant dimple, clearly unsure about how she was supposed to react. Mick couldn’t blame her. He had no idea what anyone could say to Timmy’s palaver. Daisy’s answer seemed good enough. “Oh yes, Michael is my favorite admirer.”
    The smile grew much wider, but Timmy was silent.
    Mick wished he could tip his hat at these two women and his confusion, bid them goodbye forever and stride on home to his apartment. The torture wasn’t over yet.
    “Where are you and your illustrious father staying in New York, Miss Calverson?”
    “I hope that my father is on his way to Minnesota. He should be in Ohio, or at least I pray he is.”
    “With his bloody secretary,” Mick grumbled, but Timona did not appear to hear. And, except for a sweet little frown at him, Daisy ignored the remark.
    Timona went on. “I have been staying in the same building as Mr. McCann, who will help me track my father down.”
    Though Daisy must wonder why the Timona was in such a poor part of the city, that answer seemed to work.
    Until Henry, wandering back from admiring the black horse felt he add his little mite to the conguiation
    “She’s staying with Mr. Mick. All dressed up like a boy, until Ma lent her some decent clothes. She was a trouper with cleaning up after the fire, too. Ma said so. So is that why you want to be called Miss Cooper? Because you’re famous?”
    “Staying with Michael?” Daisy did not open her mouth. The words had to squeeze their way out between her teeth. Her little frown grew dark.
    Timmy gave Mick a sympathetic look but didn’t say anything. So he had to answer. “Daisy, there’s a good explanation—”
    “Yes?” Daisy interrupted, her head tilted to the side, like a bird’s.
    Timmy must have at last taken pity on him. “I was one of his strays, Miss Graves. Like Botty. He found me unconscious in the street, dressed, in, er, a disguise. He took me in, thinking I was a boy. At the time he had no idea I was a female. I was too battered to be moved last night, so he kindly lent me a bed.”
    Daisy looked less put out. Thank goodness she had never seen his flat, and so didn’t know how small it was. Or that it had only one bed.
    “One of Michael’s strays? Who is Botty?” she murmured puzzled. She laughed and her brow smoothed. “Mercy me! Miss Calverson, I recall reading about how you stayed with the Africans. The reporter with you said you dressed like the natives, wrapped up in big pieces of cloth. And you stayed with them and ate with them. The same food, even.”
    “Mr. Carter, the reporter in Africa, was a nincompoop,” Timmy said decisively. “So you haven’t met Botty—” she began.
    “You are on a lark here in New York!” Daisy interrupted with a crow of delight. “How exciting. An adventure!” She glanced all around the street at the people bustling past. “Is there a reporter with you?”
    “Not just now.”
    “Hoy, lady,” the cabbie shouted down