by Barbara Metzger, Connie Brockway, Casey Claybourne; Catherine Anderson
Moments later, Faith giggled. “I just fastened all these buttons, Patrick O’Shannessy. Now I can only wonder why I bothered.”
He nibbled at her throat, sending tingles of heat spilling into her belly. “Beautiful gifts must always be unwrapped,” he whispered.
Faith let her head fall back, trusting him as she’d never trusted anyone. “Love me, Patrick,” she whispered.
He slipped the sleeves of her dress down her arms, kissed her deeply, and then granted her request, loving her as every woman yearns all her life to be loved. He began with a deep kiss that made her toes curl. Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Her chemise and bloomers soon followed her dress into a puddle on the floor.
“Oh, yes,” Faith cried when his wonderful mouth trailed to her breasts. “Oh, yes!”
Faith floated on a dizzying rush of sensation, surrendering all that she was to him. When at last he entered her, she felt complete as she never had in her life.
Bracing his muscular arms, he suspended himself over her, not moving, barely breathing. “I love you,” he whispered raggedly. “Ah, Faith, my sweet, I love you so much.”
Before she could respond in kind, he plunged deeply within her and took her with him to paradise.
The next morning, Faith felt content in a way that only a well-loved woman can. She and Patrick had made love several times during the night, each time sweeter and more fulfilling than the last, until they’d collapsed with exhaustion in each other’s arms just before dawn. As a result, they had awakened late, and both of them were scrambling to complete their morning chores before the day was half gone. After gathering the eggs, Faith blew her husband a kiss from the back stoop. Then later, just after she finished the milking, he caught her as she exited the stall and led her to the hayloft, where he gave her good reason to wish the day were over so they could make love all night again.
“For a woman who had no taste for this, you’re sure warming to the experience mighty fast,” he said as he fastened her bodice with deft fingers.
Faith giggled and plucked straw from her hair. “I must look a sight.”
“You look beautiful,” he whispered and kissed her again.
Before she knew quite how it happened, she was prone in the hay again, her body quivering with yearnings that only he could slake. And, oh, how wonderfully right that felt. For the first time in her life, she felt really and truly loved, just for herself.
That was such a fabulous feeling.
Some time later, Faith was gathering carrots from the kitchen garden for a stew for supper when she heard the sound of horses approaching. She cautiously circled the house, her heart pounding with unreasoning dread. She wasn’t really surprised when she reached the front yard and saw her father sitting astride a galloping horse, flanked by at least a dozen riders, all wearing sidearms.
Faith almost bolted, but then she remembered that she was legally married. Legs trembling, she walked resolutely to the front fence and rested a hand on one of the pickets. The men who rode with her father ran hard, glittering gazes over her as they came to a halt in a long line. When Faith looked at them individually, they stared back unflinchingly. The stench of their bodies drifted to her on the warm summer air—a sickening mix of soured sweat, whiskey, and another smell she felt certain was pure meanness. They were mercenaries, the kind of men who regularly sold their souls for a dollar. Faith had seen men like them before in Brooklyn, only there they’d worn suits and postured as gentlemen.
Saddle leather creaked as the men shifted in their seats. A horse snuffled and pawed the dirt, sending up puffs of dust that quickly vanished in the breeze. Faith tried to speak, couldn’t, and swallowed hard to find her voice.
“Papa,” she finally pushed out by way of greeting. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to fetch you and my granddaughter home. What do you suppose I’m doing here?”
The harsh clip of his voice propelled her back through time to her childhood, when his every command had been her edict and disobedience had earned her an unpleasant punishment. A shiver of icy fear coursed through her body. She dug her nails into the wood. “I shan’t ever return to Brooklyn, Papa. I’ve remarried. You’ve no control over me now.”
Her father leaned forward in the saddle, his face turning almost purple with rage. “You dare to defy me? Collect your daughter. You shall return home. The marriage can be annulled easily enough.”
Faith had no doubt that her father could do it. There was always a way to bend the law if a man was wealthy and determined. “I have the right to make my own choices now, Papa, and I’ve chosen Patrick O’Shannessy as my husband.”
“Don’t argue with me, girl. You’ll come home if I have to drag you.”
Faith feared that her father would try to do just that, his plan undoubtedly to browbeat her into submission once they were back in Brooklyn. There was just one problem; she had a husband now who would object very strongly to her being forcefully removed from the premises.
Fleetingly, Faith wondered where Patrick was. When last she’d seen him, he’d been mending the door of the henhouse. “I’m not going back with you, Papa.”
“You will do as you’re told!”
One of her father’s henchmen wrapped his horse’s reins around the saddle horn, as if he meant to dismount and collect her. Faith fell back a step, prepared to run. But before the command from her brain could reach her legs, the smell of smoke surrounded her. Horrified, she glanced over her shoulder. To her dismay, she saw a black cloud billowing up from somewhere behind the house. For an awful moment, her heart froze. Then she rounded on her father.
“What have you done?” she cried.
“Nothing!” Her father narrowed his gaze on the sooty plume. “There’s a fire, apparently. I didn’t start it.”
Faith didn’t believe him. Her father could be ruthless when he wanted something, and right now, he wanted her married to Bernard Fielding. After being with Patrick, the very thought sickened her. If she ever had a son, and she prayed that she would, the child would be Patrick’s, conceived in love.
She ran a frightened gaze over the ruffians her father had hired. They all sat relaxed in the saddle now, their hands close to their guns. They were the sort who could kill without blinking an eye.
“What have you done to my husband?” she cried.
“Nothing,” a deep voice said from behind her.
Faith sagged with relief. “Patrick!”
His hand came to rest at the small of her back. His touch soothed her as nothing else could. “Go in the house, sweetheart.”
Faith threw him a terrified look. When she saw the tick of his jaw, she cried, “No, Patrick. You’re one man against a dozen.”
Patrick settled a fiery blue gaze on her father and smiled calmly. “No worries. Your father knows he’ll be the first to go down if bullets start to fly. We’ll just talk and reach an understanding.”
Faith didn’t want to leave him. In that moment, as she looked up at his burnished face, she knew that she’d never loved anyone as much as she loved him. She loved her daughter, of course, but that was an entirely different kind of love.
“No, Patrick. Please, if you make me go, come with me.”
“Faith, do as you’re told,” he said evenly. “Go into the house. And don’t come out until I say it’s all right.”
She started to argue. But then Patrick glanced down at her. “Trust me,” he whispered. “It’s going to be fine.”
After sending her father a pleading look, Faith turned to go inside. Leaving the front door ajar so she could monitor the exchanges between her father and husband, she went only as far as the sitting room. There, she stood with her nose flattened against the window glass, whispering disjointed prayers for Patrick’s safety. Foolish man. Feet planted wide apart, arms held out to his sides, he stood alone against a small army, his right hand poised over his gun. Did he have no sense at all?
Nevertheless, Faith felt
proud to be his wife, fiercely proud. By comparison, her father was a pale figure of a man, courageous only when the odds were heavily in his favor.
In the distance, Faith saw a cloud of dust fast approaching. Soon she could make out riders. Her heart lifted with hope. Seconds later, Joseph Paxton brought his stallion skidding to a stop in the yard. He was out of the saddle before the horse had come to a complete stop. Shortly after, Esa and David rode in. They dismounted from their horses and went to flank their older brother.
Faith’s father shifted nervously in the saddle. “Don’t push me, mister,” he warned Patrick. “My men are expert marksmen and fast at the draw. You and your friends here are going to die if you get in my way.”
Patrick kept his hand over his gun. “You’ve got a lot of men riding with you,” he agreed, “but sadly for you, Mr. Maxwell, their loyalty is rented.” Patrick slowly turned his head to look each hired gun directly in the eye. “I may go down, just like he says, and maybe my friends will go down as well. But we’re going to take some of you with us. Which of you falls remains to be seen, but mark my words, at least half of you aren’t going to be sitting down for breakfast tomorrow.” He looked back at Faith’s father. “Are they willing to die for you, Mr. Maxwell? Seems to me that money sort of loses its shine when a man’s facing possible death. Can’t spend a paycheck from six feet under. Another thought for you to ponder on is that you’ll be our first target. No matter how fast your men are, they can’t get all of us before one of our bullets finds you.”
Joseph flexed his fingers over the butt of his Colt. “You’d best perk up your ears, Mr. Maxwell. Your boys may be fast, but we’re faster.” Narrowing his eyes against the sun, Joseph scanned the group of hired guns. “If you boys are fast draws, then you’ve surely heard of Ace Keegan.”
“What if we have?” a swarthy man asked.
“Ace is our brother,” Joseph replied. “He taught all of us boys how to handle a gun. Maybe we aren’t as fast as he is. Maybe we are. Carry on with this madness, and you’ll soon find out.”
The dark man shifted uneasily in the saddle. He sent Faith’s father an angry glare. “You said this would be easy. I didn’t bargain on facing fast guns. If I’ve got to put my life at risk, I want more money.”
“He’s bluffing,” Faith’s father cried.
“Am I?” Joseph flashed a dangerous smile. “Proof’s in the pudding, boys. Let’s slap some leather and see who meets his Maker.”
Faith’s father had started to sweat. “There’s no need for violence. I’ve just come to collect my daughter and granddaughter.”
“You mean my wife and child,” Patrick corrected. “Sorry, old man, but that ain’t happenin’.”
“The marriage is invalid!!” Faith’s father shouted. “Faith is betrothed to another man. She cannot be married while she’s contractually obligated to someone else.”
David stepped forward, thumbing his badge. “By whose law? You’re in Colorado now, not Brooklyn, and I’m the marshal hereabouts. Your daughter’s marriage to my brother-in-law is legal. Unless you want to ride out of here slung over the back of a horse, I suggest you accept that and make fast tracks.”
Carlton Maxwell sent Faith a burning look through the window glass. “This isn’t finished, young lady,” he called. “Mark my words, this isn’t finished by a long shot.”
“Oh, it’s finished,” Patrick corrected evenly. “If I see you on my property again, the time for talking will be over. I’ll shoot you on sight.”
“Do you hear that, Faith? This no-account piece of trash that you married just threatened to shoot me.” Her father jabbed a finger in her direction. “You’ll rue the day you formed this alliance. When the time comes that you realize your mistake, don’t come whining to me. From this moment on, I don’t have a daughter. Do you hear me?”
Faith was still trembling when her father and his men wheeled their horses and rode from sight. She raced from the house. Patrick held out an arm to encircle her shoulders and draw her close to his side. He bent to kiss her hair. “Hey, darlin’, you’re shakin’ like a leaf.”
Faith turned her face against his shirt. “Oh, Patrick, never in my life have I been so sick with fright.”
“All’s well that ends well.” Patrick drew his wife closer and met Joseph Paxton’s gaze over the top of her dark head. “I owe you one.”
Joseph dusted his hat on his trouser leg. “You don’t owe us nothin’. If the tables were turned, you’d do the same for one of us.”
“That may be, but I still appreciate that you came so fast.”
Joseph’s cheeks creased in a grin. “Of course we came fast. You’re family now. We Paxtons look after our own. Besides, it appeared to me like you were handlin’ them well enough on your own.” He clamped a hand on Esa’s shoulder. “We just evened up the odds a bit. Right, little brother?”
Esa nodded. “Ace is gonna be flat pissed that he missed out on all the fun.”
David spat in the dirt, then toed away the evidence. “Nah. He’s got more important fish to fry this morning.” With a twinkling look at Faith, he added, “He took Caitlin and Charity into town to shop for baby stuff.”
Joseph settled his tan Stetson back on his blond head. The wind kicked up just then, lifting golden hair straight as a bullet to trail the strands across his chiseled face. “Well, boys?” He narrowed an eye at the sun. “Looks to me like it’s near about noon, and my belly’s sayin’ it’s lunchtime.”
“Won’t you stay and have the noonday meal with us?” Faith asked. “We’ve plenty, and we’d love to have you.”
“What’re you fixin’?” Esa asked with a hungry glint in his eyes.
Joseph gave his brother a sharp jab in the ribs. “Thanks for the invite, but we’d best mosey on home. Chores to do, and all that.”
“What chores?” Esa asked.
“Afternoon chores.” Joseph grasped his younger brother’s elbow and turned him toward their horses. “Do I need to make out a damned list?”
As the three brothers mounted up, Patrick could hear Esa muttering under his breath that all the chores were done. Joseph and David ignored his protests, waved farewell, and herded the youngest Paxton’s horse from the yard.
“I think they refused the invitation to lunch because we were married only yesterday,” Faith observed.
Patrick nodded. “I think you’re right.”
When the Paxton brothers had ridden out of sight, he tightened his hold on his bride and turned her into his arms. “Are you all right?”
She nodded and went up on her tiptoes to hug his neck. “Just a little rattled. When I came around the house and saw my father, my heart almost stopped beating.” She leaned her head back to look up at him. “Whatever will we do if he comes back?”
“He won’t,” Patrick assured her. “I got my message across to him, loud and clear, and Joseph let him know that I’ll always have their backing. Men like your father are too fond of their hides to risk getting shot. They only throw their weight around if they think they can get away with it. I can almost guarantee that we’ve seen the last of him, and good riddance.”
A troubled expression entered her eyes. “That bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“That men like your father are too fond of their hides to risk getting shot?”
“No, that you’ll always have the Paxton brothers’ backing.”
Patrick bent his head to rest his forehead against hers. “I suppose it does in a way. I reckon it always will.”
“Why, Patrick? Your sister is married to Ace. Soon she’ll have a child, binding your families together. It’s time to put the past behind you.”
His throat went tight. “My father killed theirs. Two years ago, we all buried the hatchet, and on the surface it’s all but forgotten. But down deep, I can’t believe they don’t still hate me, at least a little.”
“Why? Because down deep, you’ll always hate yourself?” Faith leaned back to take his face between her hands. “Oh, Patrick.
You aren’t your father. You’re a kind, wonderful man, and I love you with all my heart. I’m so proud to bear the O’Shannessy name. Don’t you think it’s time that you felt proud of it again yourself?”
“My father—”
“Enough about your father. It isn’t about him anymore, Patrick. It’s about you. It’s about us. We can spend the rest of our lives looking back, but to what end? I don’t want our future to be tainted by bad memories, neither yours nor mine. I want Charity and our other children to hold their heads high when they go into town, proud to be O’Shannessys.”
Faith held her breath as she waited for Patrick’s response. When his eyes went suspiciously bright, she knew that she had reached him.
“You’re right,” he whispered huskily. Then, grabbing her hand, he led her to the barn. “Stand right here,” he ordered.
Faith did as he asked, frowning in bewilderment as he rummaged around inside the building. After a few minutes, he emerged into the sunlight, dragging a huge wooden sign behind him. Faith stepped around to read the carved letters. Then she laughed.
“Will you help me hang it back up?” he asked.
“I’d love to.”
And so it was that Faith stood on the tailgate of Patrick’s decrepit old wagon, holding up one end of the sign while Patrick nailed the other end to the side of the barn. When the task was completed, they linked arms and stood back to admire their work.
The sign read, THE O’SHANNESSY RANCH. Faith nodded in approval, and in that moment, she knew she would never again yearn for all that she’d left behind in Brooklyn. Everything that she’d ever wanted or needed was right here. She turned to hug Patrick’s waist with a deep sense of rightness and belonging.
As their lips met, she thought of the wedding dress, wondering once again where it might be. After making the bed that morning, she’d searched the room a final time and found nothing, which had convinced her, for once and for all, that the gown had vanished. She had no explanation for that, other than the one she’d whispered to Patrick last evening, that the dress was magical.