An Irish Blessing: The Irish Sisters Trilogy (Montana Sky Series)

by Debra Holland

  Alana moved close to hug each family member.

  Sian ran around them with happy barks and tail wags.

  Never had Patrick witnessed such a joyous homecoming. Yet, he stood frozen in isolation, watching the happy family. Although so very relieved that everyone was all right, guilt held him in place, keeping him from moving forward and greeting them. His skin was hot, and even the wind couldn’t chill him because inside he was colder than ice.

  Rory waded through his family toward Patrick to hold out his hand and give him a hearty clasp.

  Patrick gestured toward the children. “Glad to see everyone’s safe. Your womenfolk have been on pins and needles.”

  Rory’s eyebrows pulled together. “Couldn’t be helped. I came as quick as I could.”

  “Any sign?” Patrick asked, keeping his voice low.

  “Only tracks. The sheriff’s on their trail now.”

  Henrietta stepped back to her husband’s side.

  Rory dropped an arm around her waist.

  Feeling out of place in the face of their obvious fondness for each other, Patrick tilted his head toward the wagon. “I’ll take care of the mules.”

  “Ye will not,” Alana snapped, fisting her hands on her hips. “Charlie will take care of them.”

  Rory eyed his son. With a jerk of his head toward the barn, he signaled his agreement with Alana. “I’ll lend a hand.” He turned back to Patrick. “We’ll be in as soon as we can and tell you everything.”

  Charlie kicked at a clump of dirt. “Nothing much happened, anyway.” He glanced at Patrick’s bandaged head and scrunched his nose. “We missed all the excitement.”

  Patrick shook his head, then bit back a groan at the drumming pain from the movement. “Not the kind of excitement you want, Charlie. I guarantee it.”

  Charlie scowled.

  “Now, a good kind of excitement is…” Patrick deliberately trailed off to catch the boy’s interest, waiting for Charlie’s frown to change to a questioning glance. “Watching Thunder race. Win. Now that’s excitement.”

  Charlie wore an expectant expression. “That would be just dandy, Mr. Gallagher. Except, I won’t get to see Thunder race.”

  The exchange with the boy had melted some of the coldness inside Patrick. He mustered a grin. “Well, I guess Sweetwater Springs is as good as any place for a horse race. Might have to consider it for the future. But I’m thinking my Thoroughbred will need some exercise in the next couple of days, and I doubt your cousin the watchdog—” he winked at Alana “—will let me ride him.”

  Charlie’s eyes lit up. “I have a good seat and hands. Mr. Sanders said so. He even let me ride his Appaloosa once.”

  Patrick had met Nick Sanders—a rancher who had a rare, fine way of taming horses. After church a few weeks ago, he’d lingered and spoken to the man about putting Thunder to one of his mares. “Well then, you’ll ride Thunder around the paddock—at a walk first—under my watchful eye.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Gallagher.” With a bounce in his step, the boy headed toward the mules.

  Patrick glanced at Alana.

  She beamed at him with obvious approval. “In spite of the watchdog remark, that was well done. Just what we need to turn the children’s attention away from what happened today.”

  We aren’t out of the woods yet. Those outlaws are lurking out there somewhere. The thought made his stomach clutch.

  Rory dropped a kiss on his wife’s head and released her.

  Smiling, Henrietta snugged a daughter to each side. Together, they walked to the house, squeezing through the door.

  Once again, unfamiliar feelings of being excluded reared within him. I’ve taken pride in my independence, but I’ve missed out on these kind of familial bonds and the deep love the O’Donnells have for each other. He rubbed his chin. I might enjoy my money and horses and belongings and success, but I don’t possess what this family, so poor in worldly goods, has.

  Alana started to follow her relatives but stopped. She looked back, her eyebrows drawn in obvious concern. The soft glow from the doorway cast a fuzzy aura around her.

  He forced a grin and lifted his chin in an I’m fine, go ahead motion.

  She must have taken him at face value, for she flashed him a happy smile.

  For the first time Patrick saw Alana had a dimple, although on the opposite side of Bridget’s. The power of her smile made his heart stop. Warmth flooded him, melting the last of his frozen feelings.

  Alana stepped forward to grasp his hand and squeezed. “I’ve said a lot of prayers the last few years that haven’t been answered. But today….” She took a shuddering breath. “I prayed as hard as I did to save my mother when she was dying.”

  Patrick dredged up a long ago sermon from the depths of his mind. “How do you know your former prayers weren’t answered?”

  She wrinkled her forehead in puzzlement. “I think the answer was obvious.”

  He cocked an eyebrow before continuing. “Maybe they were, but you didn’t like the outcome. Perhaps God’s answer was no. And maybe yes answers will come in the future for you from prayers you didn’t even know to utter.”

  As he spoke, Patrick realized this was true for him as well.

  Alana’s forehead smoothed. “Well, that was a fine priestly thing to say. But I suppose yer right, and I must think on yer words.”

  He gave her a slight bow, ignoring the jab of pain from his ribs, and raised her hand to his lips. A gust of chill wind made her shiver and brought his attention to the cold outside and their lack of coats. With a tilt of his head, Patrick signaled for them to go inside.

  She nodded, not meeting his eyes, and pulled back her hand.

  Patrick let go, wishing he had the right to keep holding on.

  They went into the house, inhaling the welcome smell of soup. His stomach grumbled, the nausea having passed.

  Henrietta, chivvying the girls to wash up and help set the table, looked over at them. “You two must be freezing.” She made a shooing gesture. “Sit by the fire for a few minutes. The girls and I will have supper on the table in no time.”

  With careful steps, he followed Alana toward the fireplace.

  “I didn’t even notice how cold I was until now.” Alana crouched to feed the fire with a log from a wood box near the hearth. She held her hands to the flames springing up around the edges for a minute before rising and turning to him, the color high in her cheeks.

  Patrick wondered if she was flushed from the heat of the fire or from when he kissed her hand. The thought of the latter gave him hope.

  Alana pointed to the cushioned wooden chair nearest the fireplace. “Sit. The heat will do ye good.”

  I might not be able to do much in my current condition, but at least I can see Alana is taken care of. He sank into a worn leather chair farther away, then reached over and patted the seat of the wooden one. “Sit close to the fire and warm yourself,” he commanded. His small effort to overcome his previous helplessness made the words come out more strongly than the situation warranted. He strove to soften his tone. “I’m fine right here.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, obviously not liking his imperious manner.

  He raised his eyebrows and waited for her compliance.

  With a toss of her head and a gleam of laughter in her eyes, Alana obeyed, daintily perching on the edge of the seat.

  Although Patrick knew she was teasing him, still, the small victory restored his equilibrium.

  Rory entered and lifted the rifle to the rack above the door. “Left Charlie fussing over your horse.” He raised his voice so Patrick would hear.

  “Thunder will enjoy the attention.”

  Rory removed his coat, scarf, hat, and gloves and hung them up before heading to the bedroom to wash up. When he returned, he stopped at the stove, put an arm around his wife’s waist, and said something softly to her.

  Henrietta nodded. “Girls, finish putting the food on the table.” She handed the wooden spoon to Isleen.

/>   Rory guided his wife over to Patrick and Alana, but he remained on his feet, still holding Henrietta. “I followed the tracks to town,” he said in a low voice. “Once I made sure the children were safe, I left them in the care of Mrs. Gordon—our schoolteacher. Then I went to the sheriff’s office, told Sheriff Granger the story, took her outside, and pointed out the tracks.”

  Patrick had met the law woman one Sunday and, after he got past his initial astonishment that the sheriff was female, had been impressed with her air of cool competence.

  “Sheriff Granger said since the tracks were headed through town and toward the railway, it would be safe to take the children and head home—to leave her to apprehend the robbers if they were still around. She knew the train had been and gone.”

  “Did she go after them alone?” Patrick asked.

  Rory nodded. “She loaded up her guns…. Well, more guns—” he amended. “I’ve heard she usually always wears a gun belt except to church. In addition, she slipped a small derringer into her coat pocket and another into her boot. She grabbed a pouch of bullets, or so I think by the clink of them, and stuck them in her other pocket. She took a rifle out of her gun cabinet as well.”

  Patrick frowned. “That’s as much as you know?”

  With a tired exhale, Rory rubbed his forehead. “We parted ways.”

  Patrick wasn’t reassured. “Then we should assume those robbers are still at large.”

  The alarm on Alana’s face and Henrietta’s gasp made Patrick regret he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. “I doubt they’ll head back this way in the dark,” he hastened to assure the womenfolk. “But we should still keep watch.” His head ached at the thought. A sudden drop in energy made him want to collapse.

  Rory must have seen his exhaustion. He lowered a hand to Patrick’s shoulder. “Let’s eat. Trouble always looks worse on an empty stomach.”

  With an inward brace against the pain, Patrick pushed to stand.

  Charlie dashed into the house. A wave of cold air gusted in his wake. He quickly shut the door and peeled off his outerwear.

  “Come.” Rory gestured toward the table. “After supper, we’ll worry about what to do tonight.” He walked to the door and lowered the bar.

  They took seats on the two benches flanking the table.

  Henrietta ladled thick soup into wooden bowls and passed them around. Then a platter with thick slices of brown bread made the rounds.

  Charlie hurried from the bedroom where he’d gone to wash up and took a seat on the far end of the bench next to Idelle.

  Rory clasped his hands and bowed his head in a silent signal to say grace.

  Mostly from eating alone all the time, Patrick had fallen out of the habit of giving thanks before a meal. After a month with the Thompsons, saying a blessing had once again become familiar. But today, a petition to the Almighty felt not only right but important.

  “Dear Heavenly Father, we ask for protection,” Rory said, his tone fervent. “Please shield our family and our friend Patrick Gallagher from all harm. We ask for you to safeguard our livestock and possessions, as well as our fellow citizens of Sweetwater Springs. Guide our sheriff, gird her with your armor, and grace her with your wisdom.”

  Patrick snuck a peek at Alana, sitting across the table from him, her long lashes feathering her cheeks. While you’re at it, Lord, I, too, could use some of your wisdom.

  * * *

  The joy and relief from the safe homecoming had ebbed. After Rory finished praying, the subdued family began to eat. The darkness of the interior of the house pressed dim and close, lit only by the lantern on the table and the small fire in the fireplace.

  Knocking on the door startled them.

  Patrick leaped to his feet, his heart thumping, his hand dropping as if reaching for his Colt. His head throbbed at the jolting movement.

  Rory rose, motioning for his family to stay seated, while he stepped to answer the summons. He reached to take down the rifle from over the door, his body tense.

  With an arm bracing his side, Patrick moved to join him, aware of his empty hands.

  “Who’s there?” Rory called, his words clipped.

  “Sheriff K.C. Granger.”

  Rory’s shoulders relaxed. He returned the rifle to the rack, flipped up the bar, and opened the door. “Come in, Sheriff. You’re just in time for supper.” He made a sweeping motion into the house.

  A breath of relief squeezed out of Patrick.

  The sheriff, a tall woman dressed in men’s clothing, stepped inside, bringing in a chilly breeze. She unwound the wool scarf wrapped around her neck and part of her face, and then took off her wide-brimmed hat. Two brown braids dropped down her back. “Glad to hear that. I’m right starved. I could wrestle a grizzly for his supper.”

  Henrietta’s smile was welcoming. “We have plenty.”

  Patrick realized he’d have to take the law woman aside to secretly tell her of the stolen necklace.

  “Sheriff Granger, I’d like to introduce my wife Henrietta to you.” Rory gestured to her. “We haven’t been to town since Christmas, so you haven’t met her yet. Then there’s my niece Alana, who’s too newly come from Ireland for you to know. Have you met my children?”

  The sheriff shook her head. “But I’ve noticed them, especially your girls. That they are identical twins caught my eye when I saw them once after school.”

  “My daughter Isleen wearing the green hair ribbons is next to her mother.” Rory swept a hand toward each one. “Idelle is across the table, with my son Charlie next to her.”

  Everyone nodded and smiled a welcome.

  Rory tilted his head toward Patrick. “So you two have met?”

  “Two Sundays ago,” the sheriff said, eying his bandaged head and doing an apparent visual sweep of his body, as if checking for other damage.

  “I’m surprised you remember.” Patrick was a bit taken aback by the recognition. “I’ve heard you’ve only lived in Sweetwater Springs for a few weeks. Must be plenty of people for you to get to know.”

  When Patrick had met the woman, K.C. Granger had a watchful air, her cool gray eyes surveying her surroundings as if making sure all within her territory remained on the side of law and order.

  Now, the sheriff looked tired, with fine lines fanning out around her eyes. She untied her scarf and shrugged off her coat before turning back to them. “I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that the varmints got away. The good news is they caught the train out of town. Hopefully, they won’t be back to bother us.”

  Patrick took the coat from her hands and hung it over his. “How do you know?”

  The sheriff tilted her head in Rory’s direction. “He trailed the tracks into town, and then came straight to my office. One of the horseshoes has a distinct dent on the right side. I just had to follow where the print led. Wasn’t easy to track them through town with all the foot and horse traffic we have, but I searched the whole road. Stopped in at the saloons to check just in case, but no one had seen any strangers.” She grimaced. “I’m too new in town to discern strangers from most of the regular inhabitants. But I’ve been spending a lot of time making the rounds of the saloons, and I knew everyone I saw today.”

  Patrick hadn’t visited the saloons in Sweetwater Springs, and he wondered what kind of reception the female sheriff had encountered.

  “I checked at the depot. Stationmaster Jack Waite said that a stranger had bought two tickets and planned to stay with their horses in the boxcars. Since Jack keeps his finger on everyone in the area, he knows who belongs here. He gave me a good description of the man. After he left, Jack went to the window and spied another man with him. Didn’t recognize him, either. But that one kept his hat pulled low and wore a black coat and same-colored scarf wrapped around his neck up to his chin. For all we know, he could have been from here.”

  Fear made Patrick’s stomach clench. His thoughts raced. How soon can I get to a telegraph so I can let my people know to stay armed and keep watch? Especial
ly over those valuable mares in foal by Thunder. “Did they head for Crenshaw?”

  The sheriff shook her head. “Opposite direction.”

  Patrick relaxed, letting out another slow breath. “If they’d targeted Thunder, wouldn’t they head in the direction of Crenshaw, looking for another opportunity?”

  “Seems to me they would,” Sheriff Granger said slowly as if thinking. “Have your men been with you a long time? Are they trustworthy?”

  “Known my foreman from my cradle. He was a friend to my Pa. Some of my other hands have been around almost as long. The rest of my cowboys have worked with me at least five, six years.” A corner of his mouth turned up. “I pay them well. Bonuses even. Treat them like family. Don’t think any of them would stoop to horse thieving.” The more Patrick talked, the more reassured he felt by his own explanation. “In fact, my men have won quite a bit betting on Thunder’s races, with more to come in the future. They wouldn’t risk their winnings and their necks to steal the horse.”

  “What can you tell me about the robbers?”

  “Didn’t even see the attack coming,” Patrick said bitterly, cursing himself for being a fool to ride Thunder over the prairie without paying a lick of attention to his surroundings. “One jumped me from a tree and landed on my back. The other landed in front of the horse, but I was already falling off backwards, so only caught a glimpse of a man in black like Jack saw. That’s all I can tell you.”

  The sheriff shrugged. “Can’t be helped. At least they’re gone, and you weren’t terribly hurt.”

  “Are we safe now, then?” Isleen asked in a small voice, her shoulders rounded with tension. She leaned against her mother, who placed an arm around her. On the other side of the table, Charlie and Idelle huddled together, the boy’s arm protectively around his sister.

  The sheriff’s expression softened. She smiled at Isleen and then at her two siblings. “Those men made a foolish mistake today—besides trying to steal a horse, that is. Jack Waite saw what one looked like. From now on, our stationmaster will be on watch, and if that scalawag ever shows his face in town again, Jack will let me know. I’ll write up a report and will be sending out a description of the attack and the culprits to the towns and cities around here and along the train route.” She flashed a wolfish grin that didn’t bode well for the criminals. “So don’t you worry now.”