Saturday's Child Read Online Free PDF Page A

her workers fondly. Katie hardly dared to breathe. She wanted to be the one chosen to work for the Sterlings. She wanted it more than she'd wanted anything in a long time. It was crazy. It probably wasn't even the same family. Even if it was, it could make no possible difference to her. A man like Quentin Sterling would never look at a girl like Katie McBride.
    But knowing it was foolish didn't stop her from wanting it. And when Mrs. Ferriweather's eyes fell on her, Katie was sure her desire must be plain to see.
    "It will certainly be a great deal of work, ladies. And long hours. Though much of the work will be done here in the shop, Mrs. Sterling wishes to have a seamstress in residence at her home. She's offered to provide a room where you'll be able to stay if you don't wish to travel home each night."
    Was it Katie's imagination or was Mrs. Ferriweather's eye lingering on her? She looked down, smoothing the crease from the fine wool, laying a section of braid in place absently. It was bad luck to want something so much.
    "Miss McBride?" Katie jumped at the sound of her name. She'd lost track of her employer's words.
    "Yes, ma'am?" She looked up, hoping her expression was calm.
    "I believe you live with your brother, don't you?"
    "Yes, ma'am, I do."
    "Would he object to you taking such a position temporarily? It would mean a few additional dollars, of course, to compensate for the extra hours you would be required to spend. Do you think he would allow you to take such an assignment?"
    "Yes, ma'am." Despite the breathless feeling that threatened to overcome her, Katie's voice was steady.
    Only someone who knew her very well indeed could have guessed at the foolish pounding of her heart. It couldn't possibly be the same family. But if it was?
    ❧
    "Maybe I shouldn't have come home." Tobias MacNamara looked up from the chessboard, focusing faded but still shrewd eyes on his grandson. Quentin was staring out the window at another foggy winter day. It had been almost a week since San Francisco had gotten more than a glimpse of the sun and Quentin had been getting more restless with every day that passed. But Tobias didn't think it was the gloomy weather that had his grandson as jumpy as a cat on coals.
    "Why did you come home, boy?"
    Quentin stirred restlessly, pretending not to notice when his grandfather moved an ivory knight in a manner that was unconventional, to say the least. One of the old man's chief pleasures was in seeing if he could sneak a few "unusual" moves past his opponent.
    Why had he come home?
    "I don't know." He moved a bishop, glowering at the ivory and ebony pieces as if his restlessness were their fault.
    "Must've had a reason, boy. You didn't come home for this shindig of your mother's." Tobias's contempt for the wedding preparations was dear. "If you had any sense, you'd have stayed away until Ann tied the knot and she and that weak-chinned nincompoop she's caught have sailed off on their honeymoon."
    Quentin smiled at the old man's disgust. "Jonathan is hardly a nincompoop, Grandfather. Ann tells me that he holds a responsible position in his father's shipping firm."
    "Hah! Jonathan Drake was born a nincompoop and he'll die a nincompoop. I knew his grandfather— had a claim near mine in 'forty-nine. Good man, a little too soft, but a good man. He started that business, made a good beginning and then got drunk one night, tripped getting out of his carriage and broke his fool neck. The son inherited and he's done fair enough with the business. Shipped around the Horn with them a time or two myself.
    "Went with a shipment of cowhides myself back in 'fifty-eight or so. Now that was a voyage." The old man's eyes grew distant with memories. "Caught us a storm just off the Horn. Captain thought we were done for but we made it out without losing a hand and I made a tidy profit on those hides. Now I hear they're talking about building some kind of Canal across Panama. That Frenchman tried and couldn't do it