by Leah Atwood
There were still some folks who didn’t push them away and welcomed them into their lives. For that, Sam was grateful. They were mainly the old-timers, the ones who’d lived in Weatherton their entire lives and had known Pa. Fortunately, Glen Simpson and his wife Rosie were one such couple. Unfortunately, Rand McCade was not. He’d moved to Weatherton several years back and last winter had married a woman he’d met through a mail-order agency.
For whatever reason, Rand never warmed up to Sam, but the animosity had gotten worse since shortly before he’d married Lettie. In the past, Rand would at least greet him with a terse salutation, but now, he’d walk right past Sam without acknowledging his existence. And that was on a good day. On a bad day, Rand would glower at him for no apparent reason. Sam didn’t understand it because Rand was known as a fair man and far as he knew, Patrick had never wronged him.
Regardless, Sam usually tried to maintain space between him and Rand whenever their paths crossed. However, he wouldn’t leave the mercantile simply because Rand was also there. He, personally, had nothing of which to be ashamed beyond having the bad luck of claiming Patrick as kin.
The mercantile became eerily quiet. Keenly aware of the abrupt absence of conversation, he also felt icy stares directed toward him. He looked back to the counter and saw Rand and Glen glaring.
That couldn’t be good—not if Glen was also joining in with the glowering.
He walked over to them and took a stance, halfway between defiant and exasperated. His arms crossed over his chest and his right foot was slightly forward of his left one.
“What’s going on?” he asked, cutting straight to the point.
“I should wring your brother’s neck,” Rand hissed, then calmed down when one of the babies whimpered.
Sam rolled his head back, biting down on his tongue. “What now?” He didn’t bother acting surprised or shocked.
“Crossed the street all drunk and stumbling. Fell right into Lettie and knocked her over.”
Glad for the buffer of the babies, Sam had a feeling that without them, Rand might have been tempted to deck him for Patrick’s errors. “Is she okay?”
Glen spoke up this time. “Yes, just ripped her dress up pretty bad. She’s over at Doc’s now, letting Myrtle clean her up, but it could have been much worse, especially if she’d been carrying the babies.”
“I’m sorry, Rand.” He really was. Leave it to Patrick to return finally and make a scene doing so. “How long ago did it happen?”
“About thirty minutes ago.”
“In what direction was Patrick headed?” Probably the saloon or home if he was already drunk. Rand’s idea didn’t sound too bad—Sam had half a mind to wring Patrick’s neck as well.
The looks on their faces said it all.
“Sheriff Grayson threatened to lock him up next time,” Glen advised.
“Let him.” Sam was at his wit’s end. At some point, Patrick needed to be held accountable, and the Holden family needed their good name restored. He glanced at the row of candy jars and put a hand to the outside of his vest pocket. Sadly, he realized there’d be no treats for the family today. His fingers reached into the pocket and withdrew the coins. Handing them to Rand, he told him, “I really am sorry about Patrick’s behavior. This won’t atone for what happened to Lettie, but please accept it to cover the damage of your wife’s dress.”
Rand’s scowl relaxed. For the first time, his expression demonstrated a hint of respect toward Sam. “The gesture’s appreciated, but not necessary. Myrtle and Rosie think it can be repaired to look new again.”
“I insist.” He stepped forward and laid the coins on the counter though it pained him to do so. Good thing he hadn’t mentioned anything to the younger children about bringing some treats home. The admiration in Rand’s eyes affirmed he’d made the right decision. He tipped his hat. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I must go to see my brother.”
Outside the mercantile, he stood at the edge of the boardwalk, looking down one end of town and then the other. He couldn’t be lucky enough to spot Patrick that easily—to the saloon it was. Just the idea made him grimace. The numbers of times he’d been in the saloon, other than to fetch his brother, could be counted on one hand. Imbibing the whiskey that Patrick favored never suited Sam. Once, when he’d been younger, he’d gone to the saloon and had too much to drink.
The experience was horrid. The following morning, he had woken up feeling like an ax was splitting his head open and his stomach had retched with the very thought of food. Ma had made the foulest smelling breakfast that day, her way of displaying her disapproval. Once he’d recovered from the alcohol’s effects, he realized that he hadn’t even enjoyed the prior night. Then and there, he’d vowed never to be drunk again and the best way to do that was never take a sip of the stuff in the first place.
A horse pulling a buckboard ambled by him. When it passed, Sam looked both ways and then crossed the street. He made his way toward the end of town opposite of the church. The saloon was a point of contention in town, with many of the women unhappy about its existence. Last year, they’d staged a large protest, threatening to burn the building down. No one thought they actually would, but no one wanted to take that risk. As a compromise, Kirby Malone, the saloon’s owner, moved his business to the far end of town. It wasn’t ideal, according to the ladies, but it would suffice.
The smell of stale and fresh smoke collided outside the saloon’s entrance. Ignoring it, Sam entered and immediately began searching for Patrick. Even at midday, the saloon had a number of customers. The seats around several round tables were filled by men engaged in games of poker. A few loners sat at the bar, staring down, maintaining solitude. A thorough search around gave no sign of Patrick.
Kirby came out from the back room, greeting him with a nod. “Let me guess, you’re looking for Patrick?”
“Do I ever have any other reason for being here?” Sam quipped.
“Most men would at least have one drink. I’ll even offer up a free one.”
“I’m not most men.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Kirby laughed heartily, his protruding belly jiggling. “Most men would have disowned that brother of yours by now. More trouble than he’s worth, that boy.”
“Then why keep serving him?” Sam countered Kirby’s remark with a hard stare.
“If I got rid of every customer not worth their trouble, I’d have but one or two left.” Kirby winked, then poured another glass for a man who’d just pushed his empty glass forward.
“You’re probably right about that.” He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “So have you seen him?”
“Patrick? Yeah, he’s upstairs. Paid for one night’s stay.” The saloon also served as a hotel if one could call it that. The rooms were filthy and usually occupied by men too drunk for returning home.
“Which room?” Why on earth wouldn’t Patrick have come home? Where had he been all this time?
“First on the right, but I wouldn’t go up there.” Kirby backed up a few steps, looking suddenly uncomfortable. He dried the same glass two times and was working on a third.
“And why shouldn’t I?”
“He’s with a lady friend.”
“Since when do you allow that sort of business here?” he shouted, taking his increased wrath toward Patrick out on Kirby. His fists clenched, and he slammed one against the bar.
Kirby set the glass and rag down, then held his hands up in surrender. “Calm down, Sam. It’s not like that. I might make a living selling whiskey, but I have some scruples. He brought the woman in, claiming she was his wife.”
“That’s impossible. I picked up a woman at the train station over two weeks ago, whom Patrick is to marry. He brought her here from Chicago.”
“I only know what he told me.”
Ending the conversation without another word, Sam turned and practically ran toward the stairs. He took them two at a time, then went to the first door on the right and began pounding
.
“Coming,” he heard Patrick grumble. “Can’t a man get a moment’s peace?”
The door opened.
“Not when he abandons the woman he brought here to be his wife and disappears for two weeks without a word.” Sam’s eyes narrowed into menacing slits. He had very little patience left.
To Sam’s surprise, his brother’s face turned ashen. “How’d you find me here?”
“Lucky guess after I heard you knocked over Rand McCade’s wife.”
“That was an accident. I wasn’t drunk as they claimed. Haven’t had a drink in over a week.”
Sam snorted. Patrick’s disheveled appearance—wrinkled clothes, unshaven face, unkempt hair—alluded otherwise. “You expect me to believe that?” he asked, looking him up and down.
“On Pa’s grave I promise you I am telling the truth.” Patrick stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
Creases formed on Sam’s forehead as he stared at his brother. The scared look on Patrick’s face told him that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t lying and that scared him. Something wasn’t right. “What’s going on?”
Patrick glanced at the closed door, grabbed Sam’s arm, then dragged him down the hall a few feet. “I’m married.”
Kirby had said as much, but Sam hadn’t believed it to be true. He hadn’t thought it possible for Patrick to shock him further, but he had. Poor Maeve—what a humiliation she’d be forced to endure. Although he was pretty sure that she’d decided against marrying Patrick, that decision should have been hers, not made by his louse of a brother. Where would she go now and what would she do? She definitely wouldn’t stick around the ranch now that her fiancé was married to someone who wasn’t her. His only consolation was that Maeve deserved someone far better than Patrick.
A new level of disgust welled up inside of him. His fists were still balled and of its own accord, one rose and punched Patrick in the jaw. When it made contact, his knuckles hurt from the force. He backed away, shaking his hand. Did he really just punch his brother? Violence had never been something he’d resorted to ever before, and he wasn’t too pleased with himself.
Even if he did think Patrick deserved it.
His brother leaned against the wall, rubbing his jaw. “Guess I had that coming.”
Oddly, the punch diffused the tension between them, though they were far from done with the conversation. “Yes, you did.”
“I’m sorry, Sam. I know what I promised you and I didn’t mean to break my word.” Whatever had gone on during the last two weeks had humbled Patrick.
“Then what happened?”
“I messed up something bad.”
“That much is obvious,” Sam couldn’t help saying.
“I went over to Pine Prairie, just to have some last days of fun before coming home to marry Maeve.” Patrick ran a hand through his dark hair. “Before you give me another lecture about it, I already know I was wrong. Unfortunately, I had that revelation several days too late.”
“So that’s where you’ve been all this time?”
Patrick nodded. “Met a girl who’d just moved there with her Pa. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen and so sweet and pure. There was a barn dance on my third night there, the night I was planning to come home. Candace, that’s the girl, invited me. Should have said no, and then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“What happened at the dance?”
“You know me. Being the cad I am, I sweet-talked her for a spell and convinced her to go out back with me. All we were doing was kissing, but her Pa showed up and caught us.”
“I’m assuming he wasn’t too happy about that?” Sam sighed. He knew one day his brother’s actions would catch up with him.
“To say the least. After screaming at me for compromising her reputation, he dragged her away. By that point in the night, it was too late to come home, so I stayed another night at the hotel. Another mistake. The next morning, my room door was kicked in, and I had a Winchester pressed against my chest.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose and his eyes opened wide. “Her father?”
“Yes. He was demanding I marry her. No matter how much I insisted we only kissed, he wouldn’t back down.”
“So you married her?”
Patrick threw his hands up. “What choice did I have?”
“Go to the sheriff. You can’t be forced into a marriage like that.” Sam was still trying to wrap his mind around the turn of events.
“Do you think I didn’t try? I don’t exactly have the best reputation and no one believed me.”
“Couldn’t Candace have told them the truth?”
A resigned sigh came from Patrick. “She did once, that I know of, but her Pa shut her up and called her a name that not even I care to repeat.”
Both brothers stared at each other, trying to figure out where to go from there. Down the hall, a door creaked open and a petite blonde woman poked her head out. She looked to be eighteen, if a day, and had an innocent air to her.
“Patrick, is everything okay?” she called out in a timid tone.
“Yes, I’ll be back in another minute,” Patrick’s strained voice answered.
The girl closed the door without another word.
“Candace?”
“Yes, that was her. What am I supposed to do, Sam?”
His brother’s plea was almost his undoing. Almost, because when it came down to it, Patrick had brought this on himself, and now two women were being affected by his poor choices. “There’s nothing else to do, but make the best of your marriage.”
“What about Maeve? Did she make it to Weatherton?”
“Yes, she did, but it’s a little late to be thinking of her now.”
“Can you stop that? I’m a horrible person, I see that, but it doesn’t change the fact I have a wife I wasn’t planning to marry and have to take her home where the woman I planned to marry is waiting.” Contriteness twisted his face into harsh lines.
“Obviously, you won’t be marrying Maeve now. I guess we’ll figure out a way to pull some money together and send her back to her family in Chicago.”
“Why don’t you marry her?”
Sam nearly choked. “I don’t think so.”
“Just an idea,” Patrick said, shrugging.
“Regardless, you can’t keep hiding. Eventually, you’ll have to come home and own up to your responsibilities.”
“I know, and whether you believe me or not, I’m changing my ways.”
I bet, Sam wanted to say, but refrained. Patrick did appear to be truly remorseful for the situation, but it could just be because his choices had finally caught up to him.
Only time would tell.
Chapter 7
Late afternoon, Maeve sat on the porch with Liza and Ma Holden. The cool September air was a welcome change from the oppressive heat of late August, and the women had taken their mending outside. Benjamin and Lucas were chopping up a fallen tree, setting its logs aside for winter. Little Jeanette sat on the porch steps, holding a full conversation with her rag doll.
“Sam should be back from town soon,” Ma Holden said. “I wonder if there will be any news of Patrick this time.” A frown marred her face, worry lines were etched into her features.
“I’m sure Patrick is fine, Ma.” Liza set down the shirt on which she was repairing a rip and reached out to pat Ma Holden’s shoulder. “This isn’t the first time he’s disappeared.”
“Never for this long, and not when he had someone waiting for him.” The older woman, showing a rare display of vulnerability, looked to Maeve. “I’m sorry for what my son has put you through. Goodness knows his Pa, and I raised him better, but Patrick’s always made his own choices and not very good ones at that. It doesn’t mean I don’t love him though.”
It was Maeve’s turn to comfort her. “Of course you love him. A parent’s love never dies, just like the Good Lord doesn’t stop loving us when we do something wrong.”
Ma Holden smiled a bittersweet smile. “I’m not going to
ask you to give my son a chance once he finally returns because you should marry someone who will love and respect you. That said, I’m sorry you won’t be marrying into our family. Adding you as another daughter would be a true blessing.”
Her words touched Maeve in that portion of her heart that missed her own Ma. If she ever did marry, she hoped her mother-in-law would be as kind as Ma Holden and she told her as such. “My own Ma passed away many years ago, but I’d have been honored to have you like a second Ma.”
“It’s still possible.” A twinkle in Ma Holden’s eyes lightened them to a beautiful shade of green.
Tilting her head, Maeve looked at Ma Holden with a curious, but definitive look. “I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine any scenario in which I could still marry Patrick. I could forgive his absence, but not the numerous lies he told, which have since come to light.”
“God often has a funny way of changing our plans,” Ma Holden said cryptically.
Confused over the older woman’s meaning, Maeve allowed the conversation to drop and busied her hands with the mending. The other two women also fell into silence and the only noise heard was Jeanette’s chattering. About a quarter of an hour passed when two riders appeared in the distance.
Putting an arched hand over her forehead, Ma Holden looked ahead, a slow smile forming. “Well, I’ll be. It’s Sam and Patrick.” The smile sharply disappeared.
“What’s wrong, Ma?” Liza placed the mending in the basket by her chair and stood. “Oh my,” she muttered, placing a hand on the porch railing.
Looking up, Maeve saw the reason for their dismay and surprise. On the mount riding beside Sam, was a man, who matched the description Patrick had given her of himself. At least there was one thing he hadn’t lied about. That by itself wasn’t notable, beyond Patrick finally returning, but what was significant was the woman sitting behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist.
The noise of the approaching riders brought Benjamin and Lucas to the front of the house. Both of the youngest Holden brothers stood with impassive expressions and stances. Only Jeanette still smiled, blissfully unaware at her tender age of the ensuing situation.