by Regina Scott
“And I’ll have that house,” Maddie told her. “When I’ve earned it. If you want to help, get up in the morning, work in the bakery and stop questioning everything I do!”
Ciara’s face crumpled. Pulling away, she turned and ran up the stairs.
Maddie sagged against the counter. There, she’d made a mess of things again. Surely she could have found a better way to discuss the matter with her sister. She was supposed to be the adult!
Yet how was she to counter Ciara’s logic? Mr. Kellogg’s seemingly kind offer was nothing but a slippery slope, and if she started down it she very much feared she’d never make it back to the top again. She wanted the best for her brother and sister, but they all had to make do with what they could afford. She was simply grateful the bakery was doing so well that they could afford more in Seattle than they had in New York.
Prayer bubbled up inside her. If God really did care about the little people such as her, maybe He’d hear it.
Help me find a way to explain it to her, Lord. Bridle my tongue if You must. And please, give me patience!
No majestic voice thundered an amen, but for some reason she felt better. Drawing in a deep breath, she returned to the kitchen.
Mr. Kellogg and his clerks were gone, the rear door shut. Michael and Aiden were loading the last of the supplies into the larder. She counted two cones of sugar, a haunch of venison and a fine ham. The anger she was working so hard to master leaped up again like a dog on a chain.
“What have you done?” Maddie demanded, clutching the coins so hard the metal bit into her palm. “I refused his credit, and you took his supplies anyway! Why can’t you understand I can’t afford this? Do I have to fight the lot of you?”
Aiden glanced between Michael and Maddie. “Michael said it would be all right.”
Fury wrapped around her like a howling hurricane, setting her arms to shaking. “Michael Haggerty is not the authority in this house,” she spit out. “I am. Go upstairs, Aiden.”
Aiden took Michael’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “If she puts you on bread and tea, you can have some of mine,” he whispered. Then he scurried past Maddie for the other room.
Michael would have to have been blind and deaf to have missed the fire blazing out of her. She felt as if she might char to a cinder from the heat of it. Blue eyes drawn down at the corners, he spread his hands in supplication. “Let me explain.”
“No.” She couldn’t listen to another calm word. She wanted to throw over the worktable, order him from her sight, somehow take back her life from all the demands that had been placed upon her. She strode up to him and grabbed his hand, shoving the coins against his fingers.
“You take this and anything it won’t pay for back to the store. And find yourself somewhere else to stay while you’re at it. It was bad enough you took my place with Ciara and Aiden. I’ll not be having you make financial decisions for me.”
He did not so much as blink, his blue gaze holding hers. “I didn’t make a decision for you. I made one for me. I don’t hold with debt either. That’s why I was so set on working off my passage. I told Mr. Kellogg that I’d restock for him at night to pay for the supplies. That way, you can keep baking.”
He’d offered to work nights as well as days here, for her? Doubling the burden on himself? No one had ever done so much for her.
All the fire washed out of her, leaving her drained, lost. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugged as he handed her back her money. “Maybe not. But I didn’t do it entirely to help you. I thought that if Kellogg saw my good work he might think again about hiring me.”
It was a brilliant solution, like the line he’d stretched by the oven to hasten the drying, like the way he handled squabbles between Ciara and Aiden. She felt small for not realizing his intentions sooner.
“I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her hand. “You’ve been nothing but kindness. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst.”
“You’ve had to be on your own for a while,” he said. “It’s understandable that you don’t like others interfering.”
Understandable, perhaps, but not the person she wanted to be. This feeling of helplessness, of crushing weight, had been why she’d run away from New York to begin with. She’d thought things would be different in Seattle, that she could make a fresh start, make something of herself. She refused to fall back into the old pattern.
“There’s interfering and there’s being helpful,” she told Michael, “and I’m not very good about seeing the difference. I fear I was no better with Ciara. She thought I was selfish for refusing to go into debt for her.” Just remembering her sister’s behavior and her own brought tears to her eyes.
“She doesn’t understand,” Michael said. “You and I saw how debt can hurt people. She’s too young to have realized the cost. But what you did today will save her and yourself years of heartache later.”
She wanted to believe that. “I’ll talk to her, once I’ve calmed myself.” She shook her head. “I’ve a terrible temper, Mr. Haggerty. Sure-n someone should have warned you before you stepped into my life.”
He smiled. “I’ve seen worse.”
So had she. But at least they were free from the gang violence in Five Points.
Unless, of course, it had followed them to Seattle.
Maddie squared her shoulders. “It seems we have work to be doing. I’ll start that meat pie for Aiden, then you and I can deliver the laundry. And I’ll try to smile for me customers.”
He reached out and wiped away the tears that had started down her cheek. “You could frown, and they’d still come flocking to your side, Maddie. You’re beautiful even when you don’t smile.”
For some reason, that made the tears start all over again.
He gathered her close, held her gently, let her sob against his chest. When was the last time someone had cared enough to listen to her fears, offer support? Her friends Allegra and Catherine had been wonderful aboard ship, and Rina had been a kind friend since, but none of them had known the truth about her. She’d been ashamed to admit that she’d abandoned her own family for Seattle.
Michael knew the truth, and he still was willing to hold her, encourage her.
“I just want the best for Ciara and Aiden,” she murmured, resting her cheek against the rough wool of his waistcoat. “They deserve more than I had—a roof that doesn’t leak when it rains or shake when the neighbors fight. Food that isn’t half-rotten. A family that isn’t falling apart from work and weariness. Am I selfish for hoping I won’t have to go into debt for all that?”
“No,” Michael murmured against her hair, arms tightening as if he wanted to protect her. “There’s nothing selfish about you, Maddie. You work harder than anyone I’ve ever met and you’re being clever about it, if you ask me. You’re building a business to support you and Ciara and Aiden, and maybe even their children when they’re grown. That’s something to be proud of.” As if to prove it, he bent and kissed her on her forehead.
Maddie shuddered at the gentle pressure. Raising her head, she stared at him. In the expanse of blue she thought she saw a question. For once, she was sure of the answer. She needed that comfort, and, she thought, so did he. She lifted her lips, and he met them with his own.
The warmth, the sweetness of it set her to trembling. She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him back. The turmoil and conflict of the day disappeared in his touch. All she wanted was to stay like this forever.
A warning rose inside her, insistent, demanding. She had a future all planned, and it didn’t include falling in love. That way led to sorrow. She knew that.
Why, then, had she offered Michael a chance to stake a claim on her heart?
* * *
The warmth of the kitchen seemed to fade as Maddie pulled away from Michael. Her lips were as pink as her cheek
s, her cinnamon lashes fluttering. All he wanted was to pull her close again.
Good thing she was smarter than that.
“That’s entirely enough,” she said, turning away from him. “Sure-n there are more ways to comfort a lady than to kiss her, Michael Haggerty.”
Comfort. Yes, that’s what he’d intended. She’d had such a difficult afternoon, with the robbery, Kellogg’s offer and Ciara’s reaction to her refusal. He’d only wanted to bring back the smile to those soft, sweet lips, not feel them warm beneath his.
Maybe there was something in the air in Seattle, to make him want to kiss her. He was hard-pressed to explain himself otherwise. He’d already had one pretty Irish lass knock a hole in his heart. He wasn’t about to give that chance to another.
“Just doing my duty, ma’am,” he said, knuckling his forehead in salute. “As you said, we have work ahead of us.”
Maddie drew in a breath as she visibly gathered her composure around her like a shawl. Had the kiss affected her as much as it had him? Why did the thought make him smile?
She went upstairs to check on Aiden while Michael finished with the clothes. Something soft brushed his trousers, and he looked down to find Amelia Batterby gazing up at him with wide eyes as bright as copper pennies.
“I agree,” Michael told her. “That wasn’t my finest moment, but I was only trying to help.”
Her tail in the air, she turned and stalked back into the shop. It seemed even Maddie’s cat didn’t believe his excuses.
* * *
The sun was disappearing behind the Olympics as Michael and Maddie went to return the laundry. Lights spilled from houses, laughter and music from the rougher establishments on the skid road. The mud squelched under Michael’s feet, and he lifted the sacks higher to keep them safely out of it.
“We should come to an understanding, you and me,” Maddie said beside him, one hand on the lantern.
Was she talking about the kiss this time? He wasn’t ready to put words to those feelings yet. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready. Better to focus on her earlier accusations, that he was still trying to usurp her place in the house.
“I thought we had,” Michael said, pausing to thump the mud off his boots. “You are the authority. I’m the hired help.”
She grimaced, but whether because of the mud she shook off her skirts with her free hand or his assertion, he wasn’t sure.
“You’re more than the hired help and you know it,” she said, heading down the block toward the two-story whitewashed boardinghouse. “Ciara and Aiden look up to you.”
He noticed she didn’t include herself in that statement. “From habit,” he said, following her as she approached the door. Overhead, a sign read Rooms for Rent—Gents Only. “They knew me in New York and on the ship.”
“And they miss Da,” she acknowledged. “Sure-n but you’re the first fellow to pay them any mind since the fire. That has to mean something to them, especially Aiden. You’re important to them. I see that. But you can’t go around protecting us without asking. Sometimes it’s best if we protect ourselves.”
Funny, but he’d never thought of protection as a bad thing. He’d done all he could to support Sylvie—giving her part of his pay, coming by the house several times a week to fix things, playing with the children. In his mind, that’s what made a man a man, that he protected those he cared about.
Those he loved.
But he didn’t love Maddie. Not yet, and not ever if he had his way about things. He could not deny, however, that thought and emotion were as tangled as a lose bowline inside him, and he wasn’t sure how to straighten them out.
Lord, could You be helping me on this? I feel all at sea.
Maddie lifted her hand, but paused short of knocking. “Listen, now,” she said, looking to Michael, eyes narrowed. “Let me do the talking inside. And we can discuss this matter of Ciara and Aiden more on the way back.”
So she wouldn’t even let him question the men? Was he good for nothing but fetching and carrying? It went against everything he believed in, but she clearly needed to be the one in charge. Michael forced himself to nod.
That must have satisfied her, for she turned to rap on the wood. A moment later and a slender man with a gray goatee opened the door. He frowned at Michael.
“We’re full. Try French’s two doors down.”
So much for hospitality.
Maddie stepped forward. “Sure-n but my customers will be sad to find their shirts somewhere else.”
“Ah, Miss O’Rourke.” He nodded at her, breaking into a smile that revealed a gap between his two front teeth. “I didn’t see you there. You may come in and bring your—” he looked Michael up and down “—fellow.”
“Mr. Michael Haggerty,” Maddie supplied as she walked past him into a narrow parlor crammed with wooden benches and chairs along with a few bright brass spittoons. “A fine gentleman newly arrived on our shores. He’s looking for better work while he helps me.”
“Lucky man,” the boardinghouse owner muttered as Michael passed.
In the parlor, men in cotton shirts over flannel, with suspenders holding up their trousers, rose from their seats. Others came clambering down the stairs, smiles broadening at the sight of Maddie. But as soon as they spotted Michael, their smiles faded, their heads came up and they crossed their arms over their broad chests.
Michael refused to acknowledge their hostility. If he could let the angry taunts and threats from the gang members roll off him in New York, he wasn’t about to let a little old-fashioned jealousy prick his pride. He stood beside Maddie, scowling at anyone who got too friendly, and handed her a sack at a time to call the owner. And he looked each customer over carefully for size and demeanor, seeking anyone who might smell of Five Points and the Dead Rabbits.
The first two fellows were far too beefy to own the red-striped trousers, the next two either too short or too tall. Others were too slender. In fact, not a single man the size of Michael came forward. He began to see why Maddie had assumed the pants must be his.
The last sack was for Mr. Hennessy, and Maddie had certainly been right about his size, for a behemoth shuffled forward when she called his name. He took the sack from Maddie’s grip, glanced down at it, then brightened into a smile.
“That’s my name,” he said loudly enough for the entire room to hear him as he pointed to the word someone had stitched on the burlap in colored thread. “I can write it now as well as read it.”
Maddie beamed at him. “Sure-n but Miss Fosgrave was telling me what a fine student you are, Mr. Hennessy.”
This fellow attended classes? He seemed tremendously pleased about the matter, for his cheeks darkened, and he shifted on his massive feet. “She’s a good teacher. Mr. Wallin is lucky to be marrying her.”
Maddie was nodding. She’d told Michael to keep his mouth shut and let her do the talking, but she wasn’t talking. She’d found the trousers near Hennessy’s sack. Didn’t it follow that Hennessy might know something more about them, even if they weren’t his?
“Did a friend of yours order a new pair of trousers for the wedding?” Michael put in.
Hennessy frowned at him. “No.” He glanced down at his stained pants. “Do I need new trousers to go?”
“You’ll be fine,” Maddie assured him with a look of warning to Michael. “It’s just that we found an odd pair of trousers in your wash—blue with a red stripe down the sides.”
He shook his head. “They’re not mine. I’m no fancy man.”
As if just as determined to get to the bottom of things as Michael, Maddie lowered her voice and leaned closer to her client. “Might you be knowing a fancy man here in the boardinghouse?”
Michael thought she waited as expectantly as he did for the answer.
“No,” Hennessy said, scratching his grizzled chi
n with one hand.
Maddie sagged, but Michael gave her credit for not giving up. “Not even one?”
Hennessy’s frown grew, as if he was putting every effort into thinking about the matter. “Maybe that new Irishman who came on the boat this week from New York,” he offered.
Maddie glanced at Michael, brows raised. But Michael felt as if Hennessy had reached out and flattened him with his broad hand. Maddie clearly thought the man meant Michael, but he knew the truth.
The only other Irish passenger on the boat from New York had been Patrick.
Chapter Thirteen
Maddie wasn’t sure what to say to Michael as they walked home. She’d received fewer bonuses than usual, but more than she’d hoped with him standing beside her. She was certain the comments her customers had made about him being “Miss Maddie’s fellow” had not sat well with Michael.
But more important, she was certain he knew the owner of those trousers. Why was she afraid to ask? She’d never been one to run from a fight.
The streets were dark and nearly abandoned as they slogged their way toward the bakery. Though she’d refused his help in other ways, she could not deny that she was glad for his solid frame beside her. The golden light of the lantern bathed his face as he turned from side to side, ever watchful for trouble.
Maddie drew in a breath and plunged in. “Who else from Five Points or Irishtown came on the boat with you and Mr. Flannery?”
“No one.” He bit off the words as if the fact troubled him as well. “But those pants can’t belong to Patrick. He left New York to escape the violence just like I did.”
She didn’t like to think about the dapper Mr. Flannery as a member of the vicious gang. Yet the only other answer would be what she’d originally feared—that Michael was a member instead.
“And you’re certain of Mr. Flannery’s background?” she couldn’t help asking as piano music echoed from one of the houses they were passing.
“I’m certain,” Michael said, so firmly she wondered if he was trying to convince her or himself. “I had it from his own lips, and on the ship he often talked about the need to protect ourselves from them. If he spoke the same way in New York, I’m sure he didn’t endear himself to the Dead Rabbits. They liked to be the ones claiming to provide all the protection.”