A Stockingful of Joy

by Hannah Howell

  “Oh, hell,” muttered Mitchell, and he took a few sips of his strong coffee in a vain attempt to calm himself down.

  A deathbed vow, he mused, and inwardly groaned. Worse, it was not some note left, some written legacy, but a promise made as they watched the man die. She was right. He could not talk her out of going. Mitchell could understand that, but he did not have to like it.

  He studied her as she ate the rest of her dessert, obviously waiting for him to try to sort out his thoughts. There was a part of him that was delighted she would not allow him to send her home. It would take a week or more to get to Paradise if they were able to stay on the trains, and that gave him time to get to know her and figure out just what his interest in her was and how deep it went. Instinct was telling him that this was the one, the woman he had been looking for since he had become a man, but he needed time to be sure. Beautiful big blue eyes could be confusing him. He just wished they could travel together without the threat of the Martins’ greed dogging their every footstep.

  “There is one other thing you should consider, Mister Callahan,” she said quietly as she pushed aside her empty plate and sipped at her coffee. “Your enemies already know I am trying to get the papers to you. Sending me home will make little difference. They won’t stop having an interest in me until they are sure I don’t have what they want, and I do not believe they will be very gentlemanly in trying to ascertain that for themselves.”

  “No, they won’t.” He was relieved that she had given him another good reason to take her with him. “The moment you accepted the job you became a target. Damn, I hate this. That land is all my father left us, what he spent his life building for us. I don’t want the Martins getting their greedy paws on it, but neither do I want anyone to die to give it to me.”

  “Two men, good men, have already died.” She took a deep breath to still the grief that always filled her when she thought of the murders of her uncle and Bill. “There is already blood on these deeds, but you didn’t put it there. The Martins did. Personally, I would like to see them pay for those murders, even if it is only to deny them what they so badly want.”

  “I can understand that. I want revenge, too, if only because it might ease some of the guilt I feel.”

  “You have nothing to feel guilty about, sir. I doubt you thought it would go this far. Unfortunately, you really can’t change your mind now. The die is cast, so to speak.”

  “True. We’re stuck. Guess we just have to make the best of it. Well”—he rubbed his chin with his hand as he thought over their options—“if we stay on the train it’ll take us a week, maybe two, to get where we are going. Depends on the weather and when the trains we need are running.”

  “Yes, I have lost several days here and there because of just those things. But, what do you mean by if we stay on the trains? Why shouldn’t we?”

  “Trains are easy to follow. I suspect, by now, they know you are traveling on the trains. Had any trouble yet?” He watched her prepare to answer him, could see her thinking of lying, then deciding against it. Mitchell wondered if she knew how easy it was to read her expression, then decided he would be a fool to tell her.

  “There have been a few incidents,” she reluctantly confessed. “They do know that I am going by train. However, there is some safety to be found there. There are too many witnesses on a train, too many people who have already proven ready and able to shelter a woman in mourning.”

  “True. I am hoping that is what will allow us to stay on the trains. However, we are getting closer to Paradise every day. They could get desperate enough to start ignoring witnesses.”

  “Do you happen to know what the Martins are paying their hirelings? What size of reward they may be offering for the papers?”

  “No, but they are rich, very rich. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out the reward they offer is enough to make a man risk hanging.”

  Maura sighed. The deaths of her uncle and their friend had made it clear that, whoever the Martins had hired, they were men who found killing too easy. That seemed proof enough that there was a tempting reward offered for the Callahans’ proofs of ownership. She really did not understand how anyone could go to such lengths for land, but had to accept that they did. Although she had eluded the few attempts already made to get her, she also knew that her being a woman was not going to prove any protection at all. In fact, what had happened tonight made her realize that she could well face an added danger no man would.

  None of that would stop her, however, she vowed with an inner straightening of her shoulders. She had promised her uncle that the job would be done and she had promised Deidre that she would not falter. Patrick and Deidre had taken her into their home without hesitation after her mother died. For five years she had lived on their gracious hospitality and not once had they made her feel like the poor relation, like she was taking charity and ought to be very grateful for whatever they chose to give her. They had made her part of their little family. Patrick had become the father she had never really had, her own a footloose gambler and lecher who had finally been shot by one of the hundreds of husbands he had so gleefully cuckolded. Now was her chance to pay Patrick and Deidre back for all they had done for her.

  “You are looking very serious, darlin’,” Mitchell said softly, reaching across the table to clasp her tightly clenched hand in his own.

  For a moment she stared at that big hand engulfing hers. It was a handsome hand, Maura thought a little dazedly, the fingers long, almost graceful, but that should not be any surprise. Mitchell Callahan was a very handsome man. It made her feel safe, this sense that she would now be protected whether she wanted to be or not. It was what else the touch of that hand made her feel that worried her. Strange feelings. A warmth seeped through her body from the place where his flesh touched hers in an otherwise innocent gesture, a warmth that had her softening, leaning toward him.

  “I did not give you permission to address me so informally,” she said, pulling her hand free of his.

  “Didn’t ask for it,” he replied with a brief grin, her jolting return to primness amusing him.

  She shook her head. In all of her teachings, her mother had never really explained how one dealt with a man who did not follow the rules. Maura was a little disgusted with herself when she realized she found him charming. It was obviously time to give herself a few bracing lectures and shore up her resolve, especially if she was going to be in the man’s company for any length of time.

  “I was just thinking of my uncle,” she said. “He never would have accepted this job if he had known there was any chance of being shot. He was no coward, but he did not think he should be dying for someone else’s troubles, no matter how well he was paid.”

  “Yet he asked you and his daughter to finish it.”

  “Yes, he was dying and there was not much set aside for Deidre and me. As I told you, he called this our legacy. I think he also wanted to see it done, finished. After all, no man wants to die for nothing. He certainly would not have wanted to die thinking his murderers had won.”

  “No, that would certainly keep a spirit restless.”

  “And, I owe the man. He took me in when my mother died, treated me as if I was his own daughter. Deidre also welcomed me like a sister. This is all they have ever asked of me. I intend to see it done.”

  “And so you shall,” he said.

  Mitchell hid his surprise. Obviously what kept her little back so straight was the steel in her backbone. She was a tiny, beautiful lady, yet there had been a hard determination behind her words. Even he felt disinclined to argue with it and he was very accustomed to dealing with stubbornness, his own and that of his brothers.

  “Well, the train leaves early so we best turn in,” he said. “Am I allowed to escort you to your room?” he asked with a grin as he stood up and helped her out of her chair.

  “Since you already know where my room is, there is little point in refusing your offer,” Maura drawled, her suspicion that he had purpose
ly found out what room she was in clear to hear in her voice.

  “Is the black for your uncle?” he asked as he escorted her out of the dining room, casting a mildly frowning look at the almost prudish black dress she wore.

  “Yes, although he never favored the ritual of deep mourning. It is also a way to both evoke sympathy and keep some people at a distance. A trick my uncle would fully appreciate.”

  “It didn’t keep those cowboys away this afternoon,” he reminded her as they headed up the stairs.

  “True, but they were so drunk I am not sure they could see the color of my dress.”

  Mitchell suspected there was some truth in that. The cowboys had seen a lone woman and grabbed her. Men bent on rape would not be deterred by such things as mourning attire. The severe black also accentuated her delicate beauty. He suddenly had a craving to see her in colors, however, such as a deep blue to flatter her beautiful eyes.

  His fascination with the small woman walking serenely at his side was not fading, was in fact growing by leaps and bounds. Mitchell felt excited, as if he had just found something long lost. Despite the teasing of his brothers, especially from the cynical Tyrone, Mitchell had always felt that he would know the woman meant for him almost at first sight. Every instinct within him was saying that Maura Kenney was that woman. There was one test he could make that might well clear up some of his doubt. Or, he thought with an inner grin, get him punched right in the nose and called river scum.

  When Maura paused in front of her door, he took the key from her hand, ignoring the cross look she gave him. He neatly caged her against the wall by placing his hands on either side of her head and edging his body close to hers. Mitchell was pleased to see that he was not frightening her. Her fierce scowl just grew fiercer.

  “I would like my key, Mister Callahan,” she said firmly, desperately trying to still the odd tingle of anticipation his closeness was stirring in her veins.

  “Call me Mitchell,” he said softly, and touched a kiss to her forehead.

  “If you do not cease this little game, I will call you any number of things, none of them flattering.”

  “I know. I heard you flaying those cowboys with your tongue.”

  She blushed as she recalled some of the things she had said. “I was under a great deal of stress.”

  “Don’t look so nervous, pretty Maura. This won’t hurt a bit.”

  Before she could repeat her request that he give her back her key and leave, he touched his mouth to hers. Maura flattened herself against the wall, alarmed and yet intensely curious. She had never been kissed before, not even by the few men who had courted her back home. Following her mother’s teachings, she had firmly rebuffed any such advance beyond a chaste peck on the cheek. The way Mitchell Callahan was nibbling at her lips told her that he meant to be anything but chaste.

  Perhaps she had been too long away from her mother’s firm lessons in propriety, but Maura suddenly found herself thinking that one kiss would not hurt anything. Even her uncle had said that a little kissing was not enough to plunge her into the everlasting fires of hell. As the pressure of Mitchell’s lips increased, however, Maura had the wild thought that there could well be some other fires she was dancing a little too closely to.

  His tongue nudged her lips and she gasped softly in surprise. Mitchell took quick advantage of her parted lips, sliding his tongue into her mouth to stroke and tempt her. Maura was faintly aware of leaning against him, of clutching the lapels of his coat, as the strokes of his tongue seemed to burn away all good sense. When the feeling that she wanted to crawl all over his big, hard body swept over her, she was so shocked she pushed him away. The look of desire on his lean features almost drew her back into his arms, but she resisted that temptation, and held out her hand. She prayed he did not see how badly it was shaking.

  “It’s all right. You can retreat for now. I have my answer,” he murmured as he placed the key in her hand and walked away whistling softly.

  How strange, she thought as she unlocked her door. She hurried into her room, locked the door behind her, and bolted it. Then she slumped against it and struggled to catch her breath.

  “So much for one kiss causing no harm,” she muttered, then shook herself free of a lingering bemusement and started to get ready for bed.

  Maura wondered if that was why her mother had always been so adamant about allowing no familiarities, no matter how small, then shook her head. Instinct told her that she could have kissed every one of her beaux and not felt what Mitchell Callahan made her feel. And that was what made him dangerous. She was not sure how to fight the wantonness he could stir in her, a wantonness that had begun to sweep over her the moment she had guessed he was going to kiss her. Somehow, she was going to have to learn how to hold him at a distance.

  Briefly she wondered if he was the one for her, the mate her mother said all women had out there. A soft curse escaped her as she realized she was seriously considering advice on men from her mother. She had loved the woman dearly, but her mother had shown her only the pain that could come from loving a man. Charming and exciting though her father was, he was useless as a husband and continuously hurt her mother with his absences and infidelities. Maura had long ago decided that she would choose a husband based on common sense, on practical reasons, and not on any romantic nonsense. Then, if her husband proved to be like her father, she would not have her heart torn to pieces as her mother had. The kiss she had just shared with Mitchell Callahan told her that he was definitely not the man to choose, that he could too easily possess her body and soul. She refused to make herself that vulnerable. Her mother had always been the best of teachers.

  * * *

  Mitchell got ready for bed, then sprawled naked on top of the blankets, sipping idly on a glass of whiskey. His mind was filled with thoughts of Maura Kenney. She was the one. He had no doubt about that now. The moment he had felt those soft lips beneath his, had savored the fire that raced through his veins despite the inexperience of her kiss, he had known. The problem would be in making Maura see it.

  He frowned, unease deadening the last of the pleasure he had gained from the kiss. It was not just modesty that had made her pull out of his hold so abruptly. He was sure he had seen a hint of fear on her small face. It could be just that she had felt the same thing he had and was too innocent to understand, but he had the sinking feeling there was more to it than that. There was some tangle in Maura’s way of thinking that he was going to have to unknot.

  Maura Kenney also had a secret. Mitchell was sure of it. There had been the hint of reticence in some of her answers to his questions, the occasional pointed attempt not to meet his gaze. If it was that secret that made her want to hold him at arm’s length, he was going to have to find out what it was. Maura was going to be his wife. He grimaced as he realized he might only have a week to convince her of that, for he knew in his gut that she was not going to be an easy conquest.

  Chapter Three

  MITCHELL STRETCHED OUT IN his seat, subtlely crowding up next to Maura. He inwardly grinned when she tsked in annoyance. It had only taken one glance this morning to know that she was going to try to force some distance between them. He did not think the queen herself could have been more correct, more prim, more cold. If Maura thought that would push him away, she was not thinking too clearly. When he chose to be, he could be more stubborn than both of his brothers combined. She was his and, since he might not have much time to make her understand that, he was not going to cater to any whim of hers that tried to hold him back.

  “Are you perchance growing?” she asked, her tone of voice far too sweet.

  He could not help his grin. “Just getting comfortable.”

  “Really. I swear you seem to expand with every mile.”

  “Big breakfast.”

  Maura rolled her eyes and stared out of the window of the train. This time there was no place for her to move to, to get away from the light touch of his side against hers. Mitchell was indeed a big ma
n, but he was lean. She could not understand how he could take up so much of the seat. Even stranger was how, no matter how many times she moved away, he oozed closer, yet did not seem to move much at all.

  She had greeted him politely but coolly this morning, all of her armor donned. The wretch had just smiled, then proceeded to be so charming she had felt the chinks in her armor start to widen. He had obviously seen that she was trying to draw a line in the sand and he was scuffing it out with his big feet as fast as he could. It was not just how easily he could bend her resolve that was disturbing her, but how easily he could read her. One beau had told her that her constantly serene expression made it very difficult, if not impossible, to guess what she was thinking or feeling. Mitchell Callahan obviously did not have that problem.

  “What does your cousin Deidre look like?” he asked.

  Even his voice worked to seduce her, she thought with some disgust, then sighed. “A bit like me, only she has fiery red hair and green eyes.”

  “So, there are two beautiful little redheads trying to outrun the Martins. How is she getting to Paradise?”

  Fighting not to let the compliment affect her too much, Maura told him as much as she knew about the route Deidre had taken. “She is using the stage, and her itinerary will be more easily changed. It will also take her longer. Although, I have not made very good time. It is almost Thanksgiving and I am only a little more than half the way there. Delays caused by the train and a period of convalescence rather depleted the advantage the speed the train should have given me.”

  “You were ill?”

  “Bad meat, I think. The worst of it came and went quickly, but it took me far longer than I liked to regain enough strength and steadiness to continue my journey.”

  “Yes, that sort of thing can lay a person low for quite a while. How did you choose which route you would take?”

  “We tossed for it. She kept trying to get me to switch with her, for she felt the ones after us would find it too easy to follow the trains. Deidre feels she is stronger than me and is, well, a little more knowledgeable of the rougher side of life. In all honesty, the fact that she felt this route was the more dangerous of the two made me all the more determined to take it.”