Jack had never in her entire life been less excited to attend a dance.

Of course, she was obligated to attend. She was, after all, a Ragtime Girl. and she had to support their work to raise money and support for the war effort. But Jack loathed the thought of trying to masquerade as happy to the town of Irvington with the vast number of rumors swirling about. Still, she had to attend, so she rustled through her old dresser for a pair of blue silk pants she'd purchased for herself for Christmas and pulled them on with a faded cream blouse and her boots. She had no desire to portray herself as ladylike this evening--she would rather prefer to show up with her shotgun in hand just in case the Slate brothers decided to show their miserable faces at the Ragtime party.

It had been two weeks since Jack had seen or spoken to Donovan. She knew he hadn't left yet because of the automobile still parked in front of the Bookers' home and occasionally she saw his back from afar as he left for the school in the morning. But they hadn't spoken since that fateful argument the night Jack had confronted the Slates. Minnie told her that they should just apologize to each other and get it over with, but Jack maintained that she had nothing to apologize for and they were both too stubborn to admit the other spoke some grain of truth.

Jack couldn't entirely explain her anger and she preferred not to dwell on it. All she knew was that she wanted Donovan to do something to stop the Slate brothers and he wouldn't. That was all there was to it.

She didn't notice his car approaching her house until the engine roared outside her front door; when she saw him in his fine black suit jacket, his hair tied back and his eyes gleaming in the setting sun, a wave of emotion washed through her, and that emotion wasn't anger. It was regret and loss and fear all tied up into an ugly package.

She watched through the window as he walked up her crooked steps and knocked on the door, but she kept herself hidden so he wouldn't see her. Perhaps he would leave her alone so she could attend the dance alone. That was what she wanted, anyways. Wasn't it?

"Jack, I know you're in there," Donovan called and Jack realized how ridiculous she was acting, like some scorned schoolgirl.

With a huff, she swung the door open. "Yes, I'm here. What do you want?"

Donovan didn't say anything for a moment, taking her in with hungry, desperate eyes that made Jack want to kiss him until they forgot their differences.

"Jack, I don't want to fight," he murmured, his voice cracking.

Lifting her chin, Jack pushed past him and climbed into his car. "Yes, well, it's too late for that," she said, refusing to meet his eyes as he climbed in next to her.

What was she saying? It wasn't too late for them, but she refused to apologize for wanting him to do the right thing. Jack bit her lip and studied the vacant scenery for some source of distraction.

"I'm only trying to protect you."

At his voice, Jack spun to face him. "I don't need to be protected, Donovan! I've told you that a thousand times."

He sighed and started the car. His hands squeezed the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "I know you don't, Jack, but I still want to keep you safe."

Jack turned away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. They were at a stalemate. He failed to acknowledge her own ability to protect herself from the Slate brothers and she refused to acknowledge that she needed any protection. Jack's heart pounded in her chest a question lingered in the back of her mind. What if? What if this was the final straw that would send Donovan away from Irvington? What if he thought he had no choice but to leave her behind for good? What if she was losing him thanks to her own stubbornness?

Jack inhaled sharply and refused to acknowledge Donovan for the rest of the drive to the church. She had been the one who had told Donovan she would not accept him if he continued to cower in fear. She was the one destroying the tenuous fragile bond between them, the very bond Jack was terrified would break.

They arrived at the church a few moments later and Donovan dismounted from the car and turned to help Jack. She considered refusing him and leaping down to enter alone, but at the look in his eyes, she could scarcely move. He reached for her waist and lifted out of the car. His hands burned hot through her blouse and the touch tingled through her, made more irresistible by the long drought of affection.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Donovan said as he set her on the sidewalk, his fingers lingering for a long moment. "You can't forgive me for refusing to stand up to them, but I would never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you because of me."

With bowed shoulders, he turned and entered the church without her and Jack was left standing speechless on the sidewalk. For a moment, a very brief moment, she had understood him perfectly. Jack was so afraid that his cowardice was a sign that he wasn't the man she was falling for all too quickly, that he was less brave than she thought, but when she'd looked into his eyes, it had all become clear.

He wanted to stand up against the Slate brothers; Donovan wanted to stop them, but he wouldn't because he cared more about Jack than he did about justification or his own safety just as Jack had sacrificed her safety when she went to confront the Slate brothers. Their selfless care for each other was what was driving them apart, and the last thing Jack wanted was to spend any more time apart from Donovan.

After this irritating dance ended, Jack swore to herself she would talk to Donovan, and if there was no other option, she would even apologize. Admitting her own faults was far superior to losing him because of them.

With a skip in her step, Jack walked towards the brightly lit church and the vibrant noise emanating from it. Hannah greeted her at the door with a smile, her face glowing with vibrancy and life.

"Jack, you're here!" She kissed her friend on the cheek. "Oh, please help Corrie with the donations."

Jack was happy to put herself to work even if it meant feigning gratitude when Mr. Robertson, owner of the general store, only donated a can of outdated pickles to the war effort. Perhaps he would behave differently if his son were on the front lines.

As the four Ragtime girls worked, the church began to fill with visitors bedizened in their very best clothes, some so gaudy that they put Jack's harem pants to shame. The familiar Ragtime quartet began to play, music filling the church and rising to the very steeple. Knowing that she would reconcile with Donovan immediately afterwards helped Jack to enjoy the evening and she prided herself on greeting even her arrogant sister with cordiality.

"Good evening, Anita!" Jack said, offering her sister a faux curtsey in the oversized pants.

Anita's lips curled in disgust and she reclined her head just enough to be considered polite. "Jacqueline. So you've worn this...outfit of yours again, I see."

"Well, with the rumors abounding these days, I figure it can't get any worse," Jack said with a shrug. Anita's face blanched and Jack studied her for a moment. "You've heard, have you?"

"Oliver warned you, Jacqueline. That Indian man will bring you nothing but trouble." Though her words spoke of disapproval, Anita's eyes were afraid rather than threatening. She stepped closer to her sister so no one else could hear. "If you're not careful, Jack, you'll be in just as much trouble as he is."

A shiver went down Jack's backbone and every elated feeling evaporated. Was that meant as a threat or a warning? As if on time, the door opened and the Slate brothers, escorting Margaret Hunt, entered the church. Jack's eyes sought Donovan's where he stood in one corner of the room talking to the elderly Schoolmaster Britton. If Anita meant her words as a caution, Jack was afraid Donovan's time of avoiding the Slates in peace had run out.

The men entered leisurely, enjoying the attention they garnered upon appearance. For a moment, Jack wondered whether they would be so foolish as to shoot Donovan in broad daylight and she searched the room for Sheriff Fletcher. He was the only man in the Irvington government whom she trusted to treat the situation judicially. He stood next to Hannah, who was pouring punch into paper cups, with the cane he used for walking at his side and his keen gray eyes on the door.

At least someone was watching.

Jack felt her stomach roll as Clyde and Max entered the crowd, walking straight towards her, and she remembered the whiz of the bullets around her as she narrowly evaded their shots. These men wanted her dead and in the midst of this crowd, she could not even run away from them.

Max's dark eyes fixed on her as they approached her and he doffed his hat to her. "Evening, Miss Harrison."

Jack lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. "Slate."

The man laughed, the sound grating on Jack's ears, as he looped Margaret's arm through his. In the warm light of the church, he looked handsome and suave. All Jack could see was a serpent waiting to choke her when everyone's backs were turned.

"That's some way to greet an old companion, Miss Harrison. Clyde and I quite enjoyed your visit the other night."

A few bystanders heard the words and she heard a shocked wave of gossip spread through the crowd. No doubt his words would be misinterpreted by the town and cast another dark shadow on Jack's reputation.

"That makes one of us," Jack muttered, blood rising to her cheeks.

I should have brought that shotgun.

Max leered towards her, his breath smelling of tobacco. "The next time you come for a visit, Miss Harrison, we'll have to make sure you stay a little longer."

The words made Jack shudder and she could barely contain her revulsion until the Slate brothers and Margaret moved past her. Then, she fled out of the church and hurled in the alleyway beside it. For all her bravery, Jack couldn't pretend she wasn't also afraid of what the Slate brothers could do to her and everyone she loved. All the hatred they harbored towards Jack was nothing compared to their enmity towards Donovan. If she was in danger, he was practically dead in the grave.

As Jack crouched in the alleyway, she heard voices muttering just outside of the church and she strained her ears to catch their words.

"You have to take him in, Fletcher! The man's guilty as sin and he needs to be questioned."

Jack knew that weasley voice--Oliver Walker.

"The sheriff in King William even let him go," Titus answered, his voice hard as stone. "There's something not right going on here, sir. These Slates have money and power and Donovan has nothing."

"He's a murderer, Fletcher, and he needs to be hung. The situation matters very little. If he's guilty, he's guilty and we can't have criminals fleeing to Irvington to avoid judgment."

"If he's guilty, I'll be the one to determine that," Fletcher answered and Jack heard him start to walk away when Oliver called out to him.

"Wait just one minute, Sheriff Fletcher. I trust that you won't let any affinity for my sister-in-law interfere with this investigation, correct?"

"Of course not." Titus sighed. "And I trust that you won't let the Slates' power, influence, and wealth influence your judgment?"
A moment sizzled between the two and Jack held her breath. Finally, Oliver said, "Then you make sure you try Donovan for murder, and you find him guilty."

Sheriff Fletcher walked away without another word and Oliver shortly followed him. Jack sunk to the ground in the alleyway and dug her fingers into her scalp. Oliver and Titus had somehow heard of the accusations against Donovan, and Jack knew he would be tried. If he didn't present his side of the story and give Titus a chance to pursue the truth, Oliver and the Slate brothers would make sure he was hung before anyone had time to question their false claims.