Love at Harvest Moon (Holiday Mail Order Brides, Book Seven)

by Kit Morgan

  Love at

  Harvest Moon

  by

  Kit Morgan

  ANGEL CREEK PRESS

  Love at Harvest Moon (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Seven)

  by Kit Morgan

  © 2014 Kit Morgan

  Other titles by Kit Morgan:

  The Christmas Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book One)

  The New Year's Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Two)

  His Forever Valentine (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Three)

  Her Irish Surrender (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Four)

  The Springtime Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Five)

  Love in Independence (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Six)

  The Thanksgiving Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Eight)

  The Holiday Mail-Order Bride (Holiday Mail-Order Brides, Book Nine)

  August (Prairie Grooms, Book One)

  Ryder (Prairie Grooms, Book Two)

  Seth (Prairie Grooms, Book Three)

  Chase (Prairie Grooms, Book Four)

  Levi (Prairie Grooms, Book Five)

  Bran (Prairie Grooms, Book Six)

  His Prairie Princess (Prairie Brides, Book One)

  Her Prairie Knight (Prairie Brides, Book Two)

  His Prairie Duchess (Prairie Brides, Book Three)

  Her Prairie Viking (Prairie Brides, Book Four)

  His Prairie Sweetheart (Prairie Brides, Book Five)

  Her Prairie Outlaw (Prairie Brides, Book Six)

  Christmas in Clear Creek (Prairie Brides, Book Seven)

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people are purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Angel Creek Press, The Killion Group and Hotdamndesigns.com

  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is dedicated to the over 1,500 firefighters who traveled from seventeen states to my little neck of the woods. From the hot-shot crews, the Forest Service men and women, and the lovely little community of Estacada, Oregon, who pulled together at a time of crisis to take care of one another and see each other through. The wildfire that started on September 13, 2014 burned over 5,600 acres and displaced a lot of people. Evacuation is never fun, and it wasn’t easy for a lot of folks who had horses, cattle and other livestock to move. (Or for one person trying to finish a romantic Western.) While there were some losses, there could have been so much more had it not been for the hard-working crews that worked tirelessly to keep the fire contained. THANK YOU!!!

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other books by Kit Morgan

  Prologue

  Oregon City, April 1871

  Finn tossed and turned, trying to fight the nightmare. But soon the fight was lost, and the horrors that plagued him pulled him back to drench him in guilt and shame …

  … “Do ye think he’ll be all right?” Mr. McPhee asked as Doc Henderson examined Lorcan.

  The doctor was in a righteous fury. “What were you thinking, you pig-headed dote?” he scolded. “He’s lucky to be alive! And you!” he added, spinning on Finn Mullaney. “Some friend you are, forcing him to fight a man twice his size! If I hadn’t taken an oath to ‘do no harm,’ I’d be horse-whipping you right here and now!”

  Finn stood, twisting his hat in his hands as he looked upon the bloodied body of his friend. Lorcan had held his own for three rounds, faltered, then came back in the sixth. But the seventh did him in – the giant Stiles, acting as if bored with the whole affair, had dealt the deathblow. If it had been any other man fighting against Stiles, he probably would be dead. But there was a reason Lorcan was the best in Oregon City.

  Finn glanced over his shoulder at the Englishman and the fighter he’d brought, and swallowed hard. These men were definitely not from Oregon City ...

  “At least he didn’t lose any teeth,” Doc commented as he continued to clean Lorcan’s face. “Which of you is going to tell Mrs. Brody?”

  McPhee’s only response was shock; Finn’s, a gulp.

  The doctor snorted at them in disgust. “Big men when it’s someone else fighting. But when you have to do something …” He didn’t finish the thought, but returned his attention to his patient.

  Finn gulped again and looked at Lorcan. He still hadn’t come around fully, his mind clouded from the blows rained on him. But he would, and when he did, Finn was going to die, or at least have his brains knocked out of his head. He should have done it himself for thinking this would turn out well.

  “Well done, gentlemen,” the Englishman remarked casually as he walked over to them. “I’m sure he’ll recover.”

  Finn, McPhee and Doc Henderson could only glare.

  A beautiful woman emerged from behind the Englishman, her face barely showing beneath the lavender cloak she wore. She stepped forward and looked at Lorcan. One hand balled into a fist, and she raised it as if not sure of what to do, then bent to the still form on the cot. “Is he badly injured?” she asked Doc Henderson. She had an odd accent, and Finn wondered where she was from.

  “He’ll live, but his fighting days are over. At least they should be,” the doctor remarked. He looked at the others. “But then, they should have been over already. I told him to stop, that he couldn’t keep doing this ...” The look on his face left no doubt as to who he was implicating

  McPhee looked for somewhere to shift the blame. “Seems tonight he … wasn’t given the choice,” he said, eying first Finn, then the Englishman.

  “He’ll be fine, I’m sure,” the Englishman stated as the woman reached out and touched Lorcan’s hand. “I’d like to see him fight again.”

  Finn’s hackles went up, and he stiffened, more out of guilt than anger. “Ye heard the doctor. He’ll not be fighting anymore.”

  The Englishman chuckled. “I know fighters, boy. And this is a real fighter – a good one too. He’ll fight again if I want him to.”

  Finn brought himself to within inches of the man. “No, It’s my fault he’s here, and I … I was wrong to bring him. He’ll never fight again. Not unless he really wants to, and even then, I’ll stop him.”

  The Englishman looked Finn up and down. “Commendable … but stupid. He’ll fight.” He took the woman by the arm and pulled her to her feet. “Until next time, gentlemen.” He turned on his heel, and he and his companion sauntered away.

  “No, he won’t!” Finn yelled after him.

  Doc Henderson touched Finn on the shoulder. “Don’t aggravate that man, son. He’s not to be trifled with.”

  Finn looked at Lorcan, now starting to moan, with tears in his eyes. “I’ll make sure he never fights a
gain, I swear. I … I almost got my best friend killed tonight.”

  “Luckily for you, he’s still quite alive – otherwise, I’d be dragging you before the sheriff. Though maybe you’ll wish I had after your friend’s done with you…”

  Finn continued to toss and turn. At one point, he stilled and reached his hand to the other side of the bed, felt the coolness of the sheets, the pillow. He moaned. He couldn’t free himself, not when the nightmare got to this point. His guilt snaked around him and squeezed, sometimes hard enough to make him choke “You selfish, selfish man,” it would hiss, reminding him of his folly. It taunted him, teased him, never let him forget that it was his fault his best friend Lorcan Brody was now blind. Nor, because of Finn, how it all came about…

  … “Lord Brennan will see you now.”

  Finn twisted his hat in his hands and entered. There were several hotels and boarding houses in Oregon City, and this was the finest. But nothing in the hotel could compare to the lavish clothes or effects this Brennan fellow had surrounding him. Vases of flowers were everywhere, including a few exotic plants he’d never seen the likes of. Silk gowns were draped over chairs, alongside cloaks of rich velvet. Bowls of strange fruit sat here and there, and the furniture didn’t look like the furnishings in the rest of the establishment.

  But what got his attention and held it was the woman who’d accompanied Brennan the night of the fight. She was beautiful: her hair beyond blonde, almost silver, her eyes the most unusual shade of blue he’d ever seen. She was arranging some flowers in one of the vases.

  Lord Brennan entered from an adjoining room. “Mr. Mullaney, how good of you to come.”

  Finn swallowed and nodded. “What can I do for ye, ah …”

  “Lord Brennan. I don’t use my title when I’m involved in things such as … arranged fights. Of which I am an adoring patron.”

  “Are ye now? And are ye a patron of seeing a bloke’s head bashed in by forcing him to participate in one of those fights?”

  Brennan smiled. “Mr. Mullaney, you were the one who told my associates he would fight.”

  “Aye. But if Lorcan Brody says he isn’t going to, then I’m not one to argue with him. Ye forced him – and that sort of fighting, sir, I want no part of.”

  Brennan smiled again and looked at the woman. “Lissa my love, come here.”

  The woman stopped fiddling with the flowers and went to him, but said nothing. He looked into her eyes, smiled, and said something in a language Finn didn’t understand. She glanced at Finn and left the room.

  “As you can see by your surroundings, my wife enjoys beautiful things,” Brennan told him. “But I do not wish her to hear the talk of men.” He closed the distance between them. “I want your Mr. Brody to fight for me on St. Mr. Brody’s Day.”

  Finn’s mouth dropped open. “Are ye slow in the head, sir? Have ye seen him? He can’t get out of bed let alone fight!”

  “I assure you, he’ll be right as rain by the time I need him.”

  Finn shook his head. Enough of this! “I can’t speak for Lorcan. If ye want him to fight, ye’ll have to ask him yerself.”

  He turned to leave, but a man came out of nowhere and blocked his path. Two more men got behind him. He was now trapped between the three. He turned as best he could, wedged as he was. “What’s all this about?”

  Brennan sat in a plush chair, slung one leg over the arm, and casually examined his fingernails. “Do you have any hobbies, Mr. Mullaney?”

  Finn could only stare at him.

  “Well, I do. I enjoy fighting, and so I collect fighters, the best of the best. I also enjoy watching them try to outmaneuver each other, strategize, discover the best way to… kill the other.”

  “That’s sick,” Finn stated.

  “No, Mr. Mullaney.” He raised his head and looked at him. “That’s entertainment.”

  Finn swallowed. He was trapped, and didn’t know what to do except stand there and listen to this madman.

  “I lost my best fighter some years ago – not far from here, in fact. You have no idea how upset I was when that happened. Now I find that I’d like to replace him. Your Mr. Brody intrigues me. I’ve decided I’d very much like to add him to my …” He smiled. “… collection.”

  “Ye are slow in the head,” Finn remarked.

  “Your friend will heal up in time. See that he is ready to fight for me by St. Paddy’s Day. I’ll send word of the location and time.”

  Finn’s mouth dropped open again. “He’ll never agree to it. Not even if ye paid him ten thousand dollars.”

  Brennan narrowed his eyes at him, and Finn’s body went numb. There was evil in those eyes, evil Finn had never seen the likes of. “He will fight for me, I assure you. Your job is to have him ready to do so. Understand?”

  “He’ll never do it,” Finn said, his voice almost a whisper.

  Brennan was out of the chair and in his face so fast, Finn didn’t even have time to take a breath. “See that he is ready,” he hissed. “Or the grave you dig, Mr. Mullany, will be your own” …

  And so Finn’s nightmares continued – night, after night, after night …

  One

  Oregon City, September 1871

  “Whoa!” the stagecoach driver yelled. “Slow down there!”

  “Umph!” Eva Brock exclaimed as she was jostled back and forth inside the coach. For whatever reason the horses had bolted, and now the stage was out of control.

  “Dagnabit!” she heard the driver yell as he tried to get his team under control. There was a loud crack, and Eva screamed despite herself. The stagecoach lurched to one side, bounced twice with enough force to fling her into the opposite seat, then careened off the road and into the ditch.

  “Good Lord!” she gasped. She couldn’t see much, but from the sounds outside she guessed the horses were rearing in panic, trying to free themselves from their harness. The stagecoach was tilted to one side at an odd angle, as if some of the wheels were missing. For all she knew, maybe they were …

  Eva was the only passenger, so she did her best to push herself away from the wall of the coach and climb up the seat to the opposite door. “Help!” she cried as she scrambled up. But the driver didn’t respond.

  “Are you all right?” she shouted.

  Still nothing.

  Bracing her body to keep from sliding back, she managed to push the door open and, gathering her skirts, climbed out of the stagecoach. Or, more accurately, fell out. “Umph!” she grunted as she hit the ground. The impact sent up a cloud of dust, and she began to cough.

  Once the dust cleared, she scanned the immediate area for the driver, but didn’t see him. “Oh dear,” she said and climbed to her feet. What if he was hurt? She turned to look at the stagecoach and the horses. Even though the beasts were not as panicked as before, they still trembled. “Easy now,” she cooed as she slowly approached them. “It's all right, calm down, whoa now ...”

  Once they were gentled, she moved back far enough to examine the entire conveyance. The stagecoach had lost a wheel – the right rear, to be exact – and was now firmly settled in the ditch. Other than that, the damage to the vehicle was minimal.

  “But where's the driver?” Eva asked aloud, and was answered by a low moan from the other side of the stage. She made her way around and found the driver lying on the ground, his head frightfully close to the horses’ hooves.

  “Help,” he rasped.

  “Good Lord! Are you badly hurt?”

  “I think I broke my ribs, ma'am,” he groaned.

  “Oh no!” Eva began to feel panicked herself. “What should we do?”

  “We don't do anything. You run to town and get me some help.”

  She watched the nervous horses, then looked back at the man. “I've got to get you away from the team or you could get trampled.”

  “Easier said than done,” he told her, his voice strained. “But ya can try.”

  Eva nodded, gathered her skirts and grabbed his hand. She hoped she wa
s strong enough to drag him a few feet at least. “I’m afraid you're going to have to help me. I'm not sure I can do this by myself.”

  “You pull, I’ll push,” he rasped.

  She gripped his hand in both of hers and pulled with all her might. The man wailed in pain but tried to push himself with his feet and legs. Between the two of them, they managed to move him about a yard. It wasn't much, but it would do.

  “We're close to town,” he said, his voice hoarse. “No more than a mile or so. But ya can get there quicker if’n you cut through Jasper Smith’s field across the road there, then go through Mullaney's pumpkin patch. After that, there’s the graveyard, then Oregon City. Get help – any help. I’m in a poor way.”

  Eva nodded, lifted her skirts again and was off like a shot.

  She crossed the road to the field and headed across it as fast as she could. It didn't take long before her breathing became labored. “Blast this corset,” she muttered. But it wasn’t like she’d had time to take it off – who knew how badly the man was injured, or how long he could stay conscious? She had to hurry!

  The hayfield was enormous, but thankfully it had been cut recently. Relief flooded her when she caught a glimpse of orange and green ahead – Mullaney's pumpkin patch, just as he had said. She stopped to catch her breath. “Good Lord!” she panted. “It's a good thing I didn't take the road.” She turned and looked behind her, and could still see the stagecoach and horses off in the distance. She sent up a quick prayer for the driver and hoped he was okay. He was still close enough to the horses that if something panicked them, he could suffer further injury.

  Taking a deep breath, she headed into the pumpkin patch.

  * * *

  Finn Mullaney climbed out of the freshly dug grave and grimaced. It was hard work for one man, and he missed the times he and his best friend Lorcan had dug them together. Mullaney’s Funeral Parlor employed several men to help on occasion, but getting one to work could be a challenge. The hired help frequented the saloons too often to be of much use. But that had never bothered Finn – all he’d had to do was fetch Lorcan, who was more than happy to escape his family’s bookstore and get a good “grave-digging workout” in.