Banner O'Brien

by Linda Lael Miller

  “Two of Jeff’s teeth were loose for a week afterward,” reflected Keith. “And I may not be able to father children.”

  Katherine looked horrified for a moment, and then chuckled. “Speaking of children, Melissa tells me that I’m about to have that grandchild I’ve been aspiring to for so long.” Her smile faded away. “If Adam doesn’t drive Banner away before it’s born, that is.”

  “So. My brother is his usual impossible, domineering self it seems. I suppose he wants Banner to forget her practice until the child is old enough to vote?”

  Katherine blanched at the word; the defeat of suffrage had been a blow to her, and Keith was sorry for bringing the subject up, even inadvertently.

  “I think that’s part of it,” his mother responded. “But I suspect that Adam just wants to keep Banner under this roof as much as possible, not because he wants to thwart her, but because he hopes she’ll be safe here.”

  “Safe?”

  “From Sean Malloy, her first husband.” Katherine went on to tell an amazing story, culminating in the disappearance of Banner’s divorce papers, her arrest, and the vicious gossip that had arisen from it all.

  “Where is Malloy now?”

  Again, Katherine arched a brow. “I suspect that he’s with Jeff—an unwilling passenger on the Sea Mistress, if you will.”

  “Jeff crimped him?”

  “I think so. He was very pleased with himself, it seemed to me, the night he sailed. And Mr. Malloy hasn’t been seen since.”

  “Good—good heavens. Has Jeff lost his mind? He could be imprisoned for that!”

  Katherine’s shoulders rose in a weary shrug. “Tell your brother that. Good Lord, Keith, I wish your father were alive. He’d know how to straighten all this out.”

  Keith grinned gently. “What’s this? You’re admitting that Papa—a mere man, if you please—could manage a situation where you couldn’t?”

  “I’m not big enough to get Jeff and Adam by the hair and knock their heads together,” said Katherine crisply. “Believe me, I’d like to.”

  “It wouldn’t help, you know. They have rock skulls—both of them.”

  “And rock fists,” said Adam, from the base of the back stairway, “so watch what you say, little brother.”

  Keith returned his brother’s weary grin. “Join us,” he said smoothly. “We were just talking about you.”

  Adam went to the stove, helped himself to coffee. “So I heard. What brings you over the mountains, pastor?”

  “Divine guidance, it would seem. From what I’ve seen, you could use a little help.”

  Adam lifted his cup. “You’re right. I could.”

  Katherine stood up, slipped quietly out of the room, by way of the same stairs her son had just descended. Adam took her chair.

  “No,” he said flatly, in tones made of grit and weariness.

  “No what?” Keith retorted.

  “No, I’m not going to tell you why I go up the mountain every three weeks.”

  “Who asked?”

  “You would have, at Mama’s urging. Believe me, Keith—you’re better off not knowing.”

  “Is Banner?”

  Adam’s jaw took on a familiar, formidable angle. “This has nothing to do with my wife.”

  “It does if you’re betraying her, Adam. She has a right to expect fidelity from you.”

  “I quite agree.”

  “Do you want to lose her, Adam? Is that it? Can’t you stand being happy?”

  “I don’t want to lose her—I won’t lose her.”

  “You could. She’s a proud woman. A doctor. How much of this do you think she’ll take?”

  “I expect Banner to trust me.”

  “On what basis, Adam? Your word?”

  “That should be enough, don’t you think?”

  “In most cases, yes. But not this one. And Mama tells me you’re planning to force Banner to give up her practice. Are you?”

  Adam’s spoon rattled in his cup. “Maybe. I want my child to have a mother—not a crusader who passes through on occasion, between victories and defeats.”

  Keith sat back, folded his arms. “We’re not talking about Banner now, are we? We’re talking about Mama.”

  Adam shrugged, but made no verbal response.

  “We’re grown now,” Keith reminded him. “All of us. Why should Mama hover around, waiting for one of us to need her? She was here when it mattered, Adam, and so was Papa.”

  All the familiar walls were locking into place; Adam’s expression was closed, unreadable. What in hell was he hiding, behind all that hostility and rock-jawed silence?

  “Adam.”

  He bounded out of his chair, this eldest brother, and turned away, flinging the remains of his coffee into the sink, setting aside the cup. “I have patients to look after,” he muttered, and then he was rousing Maggie from her position on the other side of the door and striding into a day that would probably be only slightly less hellish than the one that had gone before.

  * * *

  Banner hardly had time to notice that her stomach was rounding in the days and weeks to come—there was simply too much work to do. The ward was full, but enough patients had recovered that the family was able to return to their own beds.

  Eventually, Keith returned to his orchards, Katherine went back to her political pursuits in Olympia, and Melissa took up her college courses again. Francelle, in the meantime, had taken a train back East, where she intended to enroll in finishing school.

  Although Banner’s divorce papers had mysteriously reappeared in her medical bag and there was no more mention of putting her back in jail, there was much talk, she knew, about the questionable morals of Adam Corbin’s redheaded wife. On the rare occasions when Banner went into the shops of Port Hastings, women ignored her and drew aside their skirts when she passed.

  Though she would not have admitted it for anything, Banner was deeply wounded by this communal rejection.

  And if that wasn’t bad enough, Adam continued to make his regular trips up the mountain. He didn’t offer to take Banner with him again, and she didn’t ask—something in his manner precluded that.

  There was little she could do, it seemed, but abide. If the days were difficult, the nights were heavenly—preoccupied and uncommunicative as he was, Adam had not permitted her to leave his bed again. And she had not wanted to. Shamelessly, stupidly perhaps, she clung to the one thing in her life that seemed to work.

  And in April, when the trees were awakening and the grass was peeking out from under the snow, the wire came. Banner knew only that it had originated from Portland, Oregon—she dared not open it.

  Adam was on the mountain, and when he returned, late that night, he looked so tired that Banner didn’t have the heart to harangue him about Lulani or recite the rather dull events of the day. She forgot all about the telegraph message lying in the middle of his desk.

  In the morning, however, she remembered, and she was alarmed to see the yellow envelope where she’d left it the day before. Somehow, in his hurry to be off on his endless rounds, Adam had failed to see it.

  Banner took the missive up, turned it in her hands, set it down again. Why did it disturb her so? Probably, this was only a greeting from a friend.

  The name scrawled on the front was Adam’s, not her own. Banner turned away and went on about her business.

  * * *

  There was a rock-hard, aching knot on the side of Jeff Corbin’s head, and it smarted like hell. So did his pride, for that matter.

  Blast, what a fool he’d been to turn his back on Malloy, even for a second.

  Hands in his pockets, Jeff walked steadily toward the Silver Shadow. He’d warned Adam; that was the important thing. And the idea of going home and explaining how he’d come to on the floor of his cabin on the Sea Mistress was singularly unappealing.

  Right now, he wanted half a dozen drinks and maybe that many women, and he didn’t want to think about how Malloy had gotten the jump on him. Tonigh
t, at least, the Silver Shadow was definitely the place for Jeff.

  * * *

  Adam hadn’t wanted to go out; he would have preferred to remain in bed with O’Brien, sated by her singular witchery, sleeping. Only Maggie had rapped at his door and said he was needed on Water Street—there had been another brawl, no doubt—so there he was, walking out, approaching the buggy someone had been thoughtful enough to hitch for him.

  Strange, though, that it was at the end of the front walk, instead of at the surgery door, as usual. And there was, it seemed to Adam, an odd slant to the way it sat on the spindly-looking wheels.

  He yawned and shook his head, trying to clear the sleep from his brain. He would drive to Water Street, finish up there as soon as he could, and when he got back, he would awaken O’Brien and have her well.

  Adam grinned, tossed his bag onto the seat of the rig, and stepped up onto the foot rail. He had several favorite methods, when it came to waking up O’Brien, and considering them was pleasant indeed. Maybe he would—

  But then there was a sudden, explosive pain in his head. He went tunneling backward, through a star-speckled, tubular universe.

  * * *

  Jeff saw the buggy and frowned. “Adam?”

  There was no answer, no sound, but for the shifting of the patient horse and the spring songs of the crickets and frogs.

  Jeff shrugged, staggered a little, and opened the front gate. If the rig was still out front, Adam wasn’t in bed yet. Maybe they could talk for a little while and he could get something for his blasted headache—

  The ward and the offices beyond were dark, and so were the parlor and the kitchen.

  Jeff was about to go upstairs when someone pounded at the back door. He lit a lamp, opened the door.

  Jenny was there, looking wide-eyed and anxious. “Where’s Adam?” she demanded. “I knocked at the surgery door—his buggy is out front—”

  Jeff stiffened, whirled to bolt through the darkened house at a dead run. Jesus, how could he have been so stupid? How?

  “Adam!” he bellowed, leaping off the porch, racing across the lawn. He nearly landed on his brother when he vaulted over the stone fence. “Oh, God. Adam.”

  Adam stirred on the ground, groaned.

  Jeff was kneeling beside him, trying to assess the damage in the thin moonlight. “Adam?” he breathed.

  Adam’s right eye was swollen shut, his lip was slit, and blood was pouring from a gash in his right temple. “Yo,” he managed, after a painful struggle.

  “Lie still, will you?” Jeff pleaded. “I’ll get Banner.”

  “No—don’t get—O’Brien—don’t—”

  Jeff turned to look at a stricken, shivering Jenny. “Go upstairs and find my sister-in-law. I’ll try to get Adam inside. Jenny, move!”

  The girl started and then stumbled back toward the house, already shouting for Banner.

  “Damn you,” Adam groaned, writhing on the ground.

  Jeff swallowed the emotions that were grinding in his throat and scalding behind his eyes. “Is there a circus in town or what?” he bantered, in his desperation and his pain. “You look like you just went ten rounds with the trained ape, big brother.”

  Adam tried to sit up, fell back down. “Christ,” he breathed. “It—hurts—”

  “I know. D-Do you think it’s all right if I lift you?”

  Despite everything, Adam gave an agonized chuckle. “Not unless—you want to—see my ribs come—through my shirt.”

  “What shall I do, then?”

  “Get something—hard—flat—a door or something. P-Put me on that.”

  Banner was scrambling across the lawn now, her hair flying free, like fire in the night, her finely sculpted face in shadow. She sprang over the fence in much the same manner as Jeff had, though he hadn’t, of course, been hampered by a nightgown and a wrapper.

  “Adam!” she mourned, in a small, strangled voice, sinking to her knees in the muddy April grass, touching his face, moving deft and knowledgeable hands over his rib cage.

  “O’Brien—go to bed—I’m—”

  “Don’t you dare tell me that you’re all right!” hissed Banner, “I’ve got eyes in my head! Jeff, bring me—”

  Jeff was on his feet instantly, relieved and scared and ready to do whatever Banner told him to do. “I know—a door,” he answered, and as he ran to rip the first one he could find from its hinges, he heard his sister-in-law scream into the darkness.

  “I’ll kill you for this, Sean Malloy!”

  * * *

  They carried Adam inside on the door of the downstairs coat closet, Jeff and Jenny and one of the men who had come from the stables to investigate the disturbance.

  Adam’s injuries seemed infinitely worse in the light, and Banner despaired even as she tended him.

  He was strong, Adam was—so strong. But he could barely lie still on the examining room table long enough for an injection of morphine. “The ribs, O’Brien—”

  “Hush,” she said, withdrawing the needle from the inside of his forearm. “I’m a doctor, too, remember?”

  “Ummm, O’Brien, it hurts. It hurts—”

  Banner spared a moment to kiss his bloodied forehead. “I know, darling. But I’m here and I’ll help you. Please, just lie still.”

  He laughed, but the sound was a raw gurgle. “Would you really—kill for me—O’Brien?”

  “Gladly,” she replied, in all truth, as she cut away his shirt with scissors taken from a drawer in the table. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “S-someone—inside the buggy—”

  “Did you see him?”

  “D-Do I look like I s-saw him, O’Brien?”

  While Jenny and Jeff looked on, Banner assessed the cut on Adam’s lip and the wound beneath his hairline, trying to decide whether to tend these before she bound his ribs. “Is the morphine working yet?”

  “No,” Adam said, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and closed.

  “Is he dead?” gasped Jeff.

  “No,” replied Banner crisply, even though inside she felt as though she shared Adam’s injuries. “He’s asleep, and that’s fortunate. Find me a clean sheet, Jeff. Jenny, I need alcohol and some cotton.”

  It was only after she had stitched and bound her shattered husband back together that Banner Corbin allowed herself to lower her forehead to his and weep for him.

  When her weeping was through, she took a firm hold of herself again and accepted the brandy-laced coffee Jeff had brought.

  “What now?” asked Adam’s brother.

  “Now we wait. We hope.” Banner lifted her eyes to the darkened window and silently cursed Sean Malloy to burn in hell. Had it not been for that, she would have added, “We pray.”

  Jeff swore. “I sent the wire,” he seethed. “Damn it, didn’t he get the wire?”

  Banner had not forgotten the unopened yellow envelope lying on Adam’s desk; it had been engraved into her brain for all time. “It came.”

  “Then—”

  “Adam didn’t see it. Jenny?”

  The girl came forward; her brown eyes were wide and there were tear streaks on her face.

  Banner reached out to touch her friend’s shoulder. “You came here to get help, didn’t you?”

  Jenny nodded. “M-My mother—she told me there is smallpox in the village. They will use the steam hut and Adam told me—told me—”

  “That you must come to him if that happened,” Banner finished for her. She turned to look at her tall, very pale brother-in-law. “Jeff, can you look after Adam? Make sure that Sean doesn’t get in here and—”

  “No,” Jeff spat, in a bellowlike whisper. “If you think I’m going to let you go traipsing off to the Klallum camp, in the middle of the night, with that madman prowling around—”

  Banner squared her shoulders. “Stop talking like a husband, Jeffrey Corbin. Adam would want me to go.”

  “The hell he would! He’d never forgive me if anything happened to you, and I can’t
say I’d blame him. So here is the plan, Mrs. Corbin. Sit down and listen.”

  Knowing that an argument would be fruitless at this point, Banner found a stool, drew it close to Adam, and sat down.

  Chapter Thirteen

  SEAN RESTED HIS FOREHEAD AGAINST THE rough-barked trunk of a fir tree, breathing deeply. Banner’s threat pulsed in his mind and his soul, echoing. Aching. I’ll kill you for this, Sean Malloy.

  After a time, he looked up. From where he stood, he could see the lights of that massive, fancy house. His breath evened out a bit, and he smiled.

  Corbin was bigger than he’d thought. If he hadn’t hidden in the buggy the way he had and caught that bleeding rounder in the face with the side of his boot, it might have been himself lying on the ground.

  A sudden and intense ache stiffened Sean’s shoulders and knotted his gut. He’d have killed the bastard, that he would, if it hadn’t been for the captain coming along when he did. It would have been a mistake, killing Adam Corbin, considering the plans he had for him and for Banner.

  So Banner would kill him, would she? Sean laughed as he started back down the hill, toward Water Street, keeping to the darkest parts of the road and even slipping through the occasional back garden. She’d killed him already, putting him into that stinking prison the way she had, taking money for his freedom, denying him for that fancy man and his bed.

  On Water Street, it was said that Adam Corbin kept a mistress and visited her regularly. And still, the story went, he could have Banner whenever and wherever he wanted, her yowling for more like an alley cat.

  Rage shifted, cold and raw, within Sean’s tormented spirit. Why was it that she’d willingly give herself to the rich man, even knowing about his woman, as she surely must? When he himself had strayed, she’d refused him her bed.

  Sean smiled. Her refusals hadn’t mattered much to him, had they? He’d had her anyway, and roughly, and he would have her again.

  After all, she was his wife.

  He found Royce in the appointed place, behind one of the boxhouses on Water Street.

  “Well?” drawled the captain of the Jonathan Lee, his features hidden in shadow until he struck a match to light a cheroot.