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

by Kit Morgan

  Mrs. Mullaney shook her head. “I can understand why.”

  They spent the next half-hour chatting and getting to know one another, until Finn returned, covered in sweat and dirt. “Good Lord, son!” Mrs. Mullaney cried when she spied him as he passed through the parlor. “What happened to ye?”

  “Worked on a new grave,” he replied sharply as he disappeared down the hall. There was the slam of a door, then silence.

  Eva hoped he wasn’t so worn out that they couldn’t talk after dinner. She’d been looking forward to speaking with him again, ever since he’d left that afternoon. She’d also been thinking about the kiss they’d shared, and wondered what it would be like if he kissed her again. She sighed at the thought, and peered into the parlor as if he’d bound into the kitchen at any moment.

  But he didn’t, and it was soon apparent that he wouldn’t any time soon. Even Mrs. Mullaney began to fidget at the delay. “Where is that boy?” she wondered as she got up to take the biscuits out of the oven.

  Eva stared into the other room, her brow furrowed with worry. Had he worn himself out? Was he so tired that he’d just washed up, then fallen into bed? “Maybe one of us should check on him?” she suggested.

  Mrs. Mullaney wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll do just that, dearie.”

  But she’d just started for the parlor when Finn stepped into the kitchen, and she ran right into him. But the greater shock was when she backed up and looked at him. “Finn Mullaney! What happened to ye?” she yelped in surprise.

  “I had a slight disagreement with a shovel,” he said dryly.

  Eva stared at the bruises on his face and the black eye beginning to form. “Who won?”

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “The shovel did … this round, anyway.” He sat and licked his split lip.

  Mrs. Mullaney grabbed a dishrag off a peg near the sink. “You’d think after all these years, you and that shovel would have learned to get along by now.” She pumped some water onto the rag, wrung it out and handed it to him. “Here, put this on that lip, and I’ll get something for yer eye.” She hurried out of the kitchen.

  Eva continued to study him skeptically. “That must be some shovel.”

  Finn’s eyes flicked to hers, and she caught a look of anger. Was he upset by the remark? “Aye,” he agreed. “What has Maither made for supper?”

  She drew a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to tease.”

  “Ye didn’t, lass, and if I were you, I’d be saying the same thing. No offense taken.”

  She smiled. “Your poor eye ...”

  Finn reached up, touched the swollen flesh and winced. “I’ve had worse.”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d been in a brawl.”

  Finn froze. “I imagine it could look that way.”

  Eva leaned toward him and put a hand on his as he lowered it to the table. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Not unless ye’d like to beat up the shovel for me.”

  She smiled. “How did a shovel do that?”

  “Easy – it met my face.”

  “But how?”

  He stared at her a moment and shrugged. “Fell on me.”

  She shook her head. “Ouch.”

  He watched her a moment. “Eva …”

  “Here we are – I knew I had some!” Mrs. Mullaney announced as she returned to the kitchen. She handed him a small piece of white cloth. “Hold that over yer eye – it’ll help with the swelling.”

  “What is it?” Eva asked.

  “Witch hazel. Did yer mother not teach ye anything about doctoring?”

  “No, and neither did Betsy. There was never any call for it. Nothing ever really happened to anyone we knew, and if it did, they went and saw the doctor.”

  “Well, around here, ye need to learn a few things. This is a much bigger town than yer little Independence, and the doctor isn’t always in when ye need him. Birdie does all right, but she gets tied up too.”

  Finn’s jaw tightened. “Aye, that she does.” The women looked at him. His jaw was tight, and he stared at the oven with his one good eye.

  Mrs. Mullaney followed his gaze. “I guess it’s about time for dinner. I’ll go downstairs and fetch yer da.” She left the house to get her husband, leaving Eva alone with a man who was definitely not himself.

  “Finn, are you sure you’re all right?”

  His gazed drifted to her. “I’ll be fine. I’m … tired, is all.”

  She watched as his eyes flicked back to the stove. He did look tired, but she knew there was something else, though she had no idea what. “Maybe you should eat and call it a day.”

  “Aye, I think I shall.”

  Disappointment hit her like a rock, but she pushed it away. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

  He met her gaze, a near-helpless look on his face. “So am I, lass. So am I.”

  * * *

  Finn made it through dinner without having to explain himself to his father. It was easy for things to happen while preparing fresh graves – in this case, Finn hoped and prayed he hadn’t just prepared his own.

  He’d marched across the street to the man on the other side, a man who’d stared at him with cold indifference. “Mistah Mullaney,” he’d drawled as Finn approached.

  So, the man knew who he was. He probably knew what he wanted. Of course, right now he wanted to kick himself for his own stupidity. “What do ye want?” he spat as he reached the boardwalk.

  “Mah mah, ahn’t you a hot-tempahed thang? That kind o’ attitude will get you killed, boy.”

  “You sent the note, didn’t ye?”

  “What note?”

  “I’ll not ask again. What do ye want?”

  The man continued to lean against the post and look Finn up and down. “All this because Ah simply called you by yaw name? That is yaw name, isn’t it – Mullllllllaney?”

  Finn was about to jump onto the boardwalk, but stopped short. He fought the urge to roll his eyes in contempt, but would it be at the man staring down at him or himself? Had he just misjudged him? “Yes, I’m Finn Mullaney.”

  “Ah thought so. Ya look a lot lahk yaw fathah.”

  Oh no … “Ye know my da?”

  “Ah’ve seen him a tahme or two ‘round town.”

  Finn took a deep breath. “What can I do for ye, sir?”

  “Nothin’. Just wanted to bid ya a friendly greetin’, but then you had to go and bahte mah head off.”

  Finn swallowed hard. “My apologies – I’ve had a trying day.”

  “Mmmm, ya look it. Puhhaps a drink would make you feel bettah,” he offered.

  “I’m not a drinking man.”

  “Coffee, puhhaps?”

  Finn studied him. His clothes were well-made and impeccably clean. He had to be the man who’d delivered the note! “Aye, why not?”

  The man gave him an oily smile. “Let us to Rosie’s, then, shall we? I heah the coffee theah is supehb.”

  His swampy Southern accent rankled, and Finn felt a pinch of warning in his gut. “Lead the way.”

  The man bowed. “Don’t mind if Ah do.” But when they passed an alley on the way to Rosie’s, a shovel came out of nowhere and struck him in the face. It happened so fast he didn’t have time to react. He went down faster than a brick, and lay stunned for a moment before the southern gent helped him to his feet. “Great Scott, suh! Ah you all raht?”

  Finn fought his way to a sitting position and stared blankly at him. “What was that … who …?”

  The stranger peered down the alley. “Ah can’t say as Ah know! That lunatic struck ya and took off!” He helped Finn stagger to his feet.

  “Makes no sense to hit a man and run away like that. Ye think he meant to rob us?”

  “Puhhaps, and he thought bettah of it ‘cause theah ah two of us. Ah you gonna be all raht?”

  Finn shook his head. It hurt. “I think so.”

  “Maybe ya ought to go home, suh. Ah think you’ve taken quahte a blow.”

&nb
sp; “I think yer right,” Finn said, and lurched to one side as he shook his head again to clear it.

  “Allow me to help you,” the man told him and supported him by an elbow. “I’m suah yaw wahfe’ll be worried sick when she sees ya.”

  “Wife? I haven’t got a wife …”

  “Ya mean a fahne gentleman such as yawself hasn’t got a wahfe?”

  “No, but I plan on one.”

  “Ah see. Yaw mothah, then – she’ll be sick at what happened. Tell me ya won’t worry huh when ya get home.”

  Finn eyed him. “What do ye care if my maither worries or not?”

  “Oh, you know how women ah, ‘specially the, um … moah delicate ones.”

  “Sir, then ye don’t know my maither …” The man watched him with interest, and Finn had to wonder why he was being so attentive. “I’m fine – let me go.”

  He released him. “Ah pray you’ll recovah. Ah’ll go to the Sheriff’s office raht away and repawt this.”

  “You do that,” Finn replied and began to make his way across the street to home. What was all that about? That had to be him! He stopped and spun on his heel, intending to put a stop to this nonsense once and for all. But the man was gone.

  * * *

  They retired to the parlor for pie and coffee, and Eva was relieved to see Finn jesting with his father about some slingshots he’d brought home. She liked his smile and enjoyed the sound of his laughter, and tried to imagine what it would be like if they had their own little house. Would they laugh together in the evenings after dinner, in front of a fire? Or would they be more pensive – she taking up the mending, he a book, and there they’d sit; each with their own thoughts and each other’s company. She sighed at the peaceful picture.

  “Ye find something amusing, lass?” asked Finn.

  Eva jumped in her chair. She’d been so lost in her daydream that she hadn’t noticed him approach her. “Oh,” she yelped. “No, I was just … thinking about some things.”

  “What kinds of things?” he asked as he took the chair next to her.

  She watched as his parents settled on the sofa, and smiled. “I … I was just wondering what it would be like to …” She bit her lower lip. “… to do this every evening.” There, she’d said it.

  He glanced at his parents. “I’ve wondered the same thing from time to time.”

  She turned in her chair to better face him. “Have you?”

  “Aye, what man doesn’t? Eventually. But now …”

  She smiled, hoping to encourage him. “Now?”

  “Now it looks like it’s about to happen.” He gazed into her eyes and smiled again. “I just wonder, though, if … we should wait.”

  “Wait?!” his mother cried from across the room. “Ye’ll do no such thing! The two of ye are to be married at the end of the week. It will take at least that long to get things organized.”

  Eva watched as Finn closed his eyes in resignation. “Maither, there’s no need to turn it into a great affair. A few witnesses and Rev. Franklin will be enough.”

  “But its Eva’s wedding too, son. And a bride likes to make it a great affair if she can. It only happens once, ye know.”

  He looked at her, his eyes pleading. She hadn’t thought about making their wedding into much of anything. As he’d said, she expected to stand before a preacher, say their vows, and that would be that. But the way his mother was talking, you’d think she was planning to …

  “There’s the Brodys to invite, and the Daltons, and the Browns, and …”

  “Lord, woman!” Mr. Mullaney cried. “Are ye planning to invite the whole town?”

  Mrs. Mullaney glared at him. “It wouldn’t be a proper wedding without the proper number of guests.”

  Mr. Mullaney groaned, picked up a book and began to read. “Lord help us all,” he muttered.

  “Maither, isn’t this something Eva and I should be allowed to decide? It is our wedding, after all.”

  She sat back against the sofa, and picked up her embroidery. “Suit yerselves,” she replied huffily. “But ye still should at least invite the Brodys and a few of the neighbors.”

  Eva bit her lip again. Finn looked fit to be tied, yet remained patient. “Eva and I will discuss it.” He looked at her with something she couldn’t identify – worry? “We’ll have a lot to discuss, but we’ll do it later. I have … things to tend to first.”

  Yes, he did look worried about something. But what? She hoped he wasn’t having second thoughts about marrying her. But then … that sort of thing could happen. No, not now, she thought to herself, not when I’m starting to have true feelings for him ...

  She forced a smile. Until she knew what was going on, she’d have to guard her heart with everything she had. For in that moment, she realized it would be far too easy to fall in love with the likes of Finn Mullaney.

  Twelve

  “Was that him?”

  “No, Ah don't think so.” Thaddeus Slade slugged down another drink. “Accordin’ to Lawd Brennan, if he was, you'd be dead.”

  The man he'd hired to ambush Finn Mullaney with the shovel blanched. “Dead? Whaddaya mean I'd be dead?”

  “He didn't react the way Brennan said he would, and it did as much damage to him as it would you aw me,” He stroked his chin. “Naw, that couldn’t be him. But Ah bet he knows wheah Lawcan Brody is keepin’ himself.”

  “I'm still gonna get paid, ain’t I?”

  Thaddeus glared at him. “Do Ah look like a man who don't keep his wuhd?”

  “Well, if’n you don't mind my sayin’ so, Mr. Slade, ya did hire me to hit someone in the head with a shovel ...”

  Thaddeus smiled. “You do have a point, deah suh.” He pulled a leather pouch out of the pocket of his waistcoat and extracted a few coins. “Heah you ah, as peh ah agreement.”

  The man snatched up the coins, tossed back his drink and stood. “Pleasure doin’ business with ya, Mr. Slade. I hope ya find yer man, and pray ya don't run across the other one.” With a laugh, he turned and left the saloon.

  Thaddeus sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers together in front of him. Brennan had warned him he might be followed during his task. But unfortunately, Thaddeus couldn't remember if he was to watch for a Scotsman, or an Irishman. As the Irishman would be sporting a black eye on the morrow, it had to be a Scotsman he should be wary of. “Ah really do need to pay maw attention to the details,” he mumbled to himself.

  He looked at the whiskey bottle on the table, deciding if he should have another drink. It was because of whiskey, not to mention Eugena Ridgley, that he'd been drunk when he received his instructions from Lord Brennan to hunt down and kill Lorcan Brody. Why the Englishman wanted this fellow dead, he had no idea, but in such a line of work it didn’t pay to ask too many questions of one’s employer.

  Come to think of it, he couldn't figure out why Brennan had hired him to do the job. He wasn't an assassin by trade, nor a professional tracker, just an ex-whoremonger with a score or two to settle. But Brennan paid well, probably more than an expensive assassin would require, so who was he to quibble? He'd been given enough gold to provide him with a comfortable life. He wouldn’t be the richest man he knew, but he wouldn't have to worry about being poor again either.

  He stretched and eyed a saloon girl talking with several gentlemen at the bar. Hmmm. She was pretty, but he could tell by the way she flirted with the men that she was untrained. He used to like training up his girls … but that was now in the past. Lord Brennan had not only lined his pockets with gold, but he'd also purchased his several businesses. And all because he wanted a blind man dead?

  Thaddeus was about to puzzle further over Brennan's motives when the sound of jangling spurs caught his attention. “Mind if I join ya, mister?” a man asked as he pulled out a chair and sat.

  “As you've already done so, why ah you askin’?” drawled Thaddeus.

  The man smiled. “Have y’ever been rejected by a woman ‘fore y’even had her?” the man slurred.

/>   Thaddeus studied him. He was obviously drunk. “No, Ah cain't say as Ah have.”

  “Well, I have,” said the man as he jabbed his thumb at his chest. “And it's drivin’ me plumb loco.”

  “Ah'm sorry, but yeh romantic problems ah no concehn of mahne.”

  “Sorry,” the man grumbled. “But if’n that Finnnnsess Mullarky were sittin’ here, I'd shoot’m.”

  That got Thaddeus’s attention. “What did you say?”

  “I said if that Finnyass Mylady was sittin’ there … where yer at … I'd shoot’m dead!”

  Thaddeus grinned ear to ear. “And maht Ah ask, deah suh, why?”

  The man stared at him. “Yer not from ‘round here, are ya?”

  “No, indeed Ah'm not. Now would you answah mah question?”

  “Ahhh, he went’n got hisself a maaaail-order bride. Purty thing too, ‘n the fool don't even wanner! He's jus’ marryin’ her to spite me!”

  “Spahte you?” Thaddeus asked with genuine interest. “Whatevah faw?”

  “Mebbe ‘cause he knows I'm more’f a man than he is, and can show her what-fer!”

  At this point, Thaddeus beamed with interest. This was getting juicier by the second! “So, if Ah heah you raht, suh, the Irishman …”

  “Irishman,” the drunk snarled.

  “… the Irishman who owns the funeral pahluh got a mail-ordah brahde, but didn't want her. You, bein’ a gentleman, offahed to take her off his hands, but now he says he's gonna marry her. Is that it?”

  “Jus’ toldja that, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, suh, you did.”

  The man held out his hand. Thaddeus studied it as if checking it for open sores. “Deputy Braxton Blanchard. I’m th’law ‘round here, and no man should be allowed t’take a woman from me!”

  “Yaw quahte raht, deputy. Can Ah bah you anothah drink?”

  Deputy Blanchard grinned and held out his glass. Thaddeus was all too happy to fill it. If he played his cards right, he could easily get the information he needed from Finn Mullaney. “So, deputy, tell me maw …”

  * * *

  Finn and Eva sat in the parlor, only a small round table between their chairs. “I'm sorry about my maither,” Finn said.