Jacob shook his head and returned her smile before staring out at the countryside. "Good. Children are supposed to do things like that." His fingers itched to hold her, but instead, they curled around the ship's railing.
“True, true." A long silence passed, and Bridget spoke again, determined to end it. "She's becomin' quite a handful, y'know."
He grinned and she went on. "Only this mornin’ she boxed Kevin's ears for him when he took a cookie from her."
"What?" Jacob's jaw dropped. He couldn't imagine Jessica doing anything like that.
"Oh, aye. I can see you're surprised." She laughed, a soft, melodious sound that fell gently on Jacob's ears. "You should have seen Kevin's face!"
His body relaxed slightly, and he took a moment to enjoy the sound of her laughter. "Naturally," she went on, "I told her that it wasn't nice to go 'round hittin' people."
"Naturally," he interrupted.
"And she spoke right up and said if he'd stop takin' her cookies, she'd stop hittin' him."
He watched her face and noted the flash of pride that crossed her features. Before he could stop himself, he said huskily, “I know I've said this before, but… you've been good for her, Bridget. I don't know how to thank you."
"Ah, no. It's not me, Jacob. It's her. She's done it all herself."
"No." His voice firm, he reached out and caught her chin with one hand. Forcing her sea-green eyes to his, he said slowly, “It's you. I tried for months. I couldn't reach her. Couldn't help her…"
She pulled away slightly, and he thought she looked uncomfortable with his thanks. She turned and looked out at the countryside before whispering, "Any man can lose his hat in a fairy wind.”
"What?" He'd almost become accustomed to hearing strange things come out of her mouth, but this time, he was determined to ask exactly what she meant.
She tossed a glance at him, and he saw her lips quirk. "It's just something me dad used to say."
"It seems your father had plenty to say."
She laughed. "Oh, aye. Michael Du – O’Dell bad an opinion on everything and, with a pint or two in him, would be glad to share them with anyone."
Jacob's brows drew together. She was hiding something. It was the first time he could remember her not being scathingly honest. She'd actually tripped over her own father's name. He studied her carefully. Her gaze was directed resolutely at the empty land around them. She seemed intent on avoiding looking at him. He could feel her tension. He didn't need to see her teeth worrying her bottom lip to know that she was nervous. After another moment Jacob spoke again, deliberately overlooking her slip of the tongue.
"He sounds like an interesting man."
She nodded, still keeping her eyes averted.
"But what does the saying about the fairy wind mean?"
Bridget smiled and her rigidity eased slightly. "It only means that no man can do everything. When something like a fairy wind, something you have no say over, comes along, that any man could be helpless in front of it."
"Hmmm." Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he hadn't failed his daughter any more than any other man might have. "I think I would have liked your father."
Bridget laughed again. "It's not likely you'd ever have met him. A fine gentleman like yourself sharin' a mug with a brewery worker?"
The image she created was so clear, Jacob knew she was correct. In their old world, his and Bridget's paths would never have crossed, and he would never have known her. To shake off the lonely vision that thought produced, he changed the subject abruptly.
Pointing out at the rolling plains and stark, high bluffs, he asked quietly, "Beautiful, isn't it?”
"Oh, aye." She leaned her elbows on the railing, her chin in her hands. “What I can't seem to get over is how empty everything is out here. Where I come from, you can't sneeze without a neighbor callin' out a blessin'."
Jacob relaxed. She was as anxious for the change of subject as he. “That's what I like about it. The openness. The wildness." He, too, leaned over, his eyes on a level with hers. “It won't be this way for long, though."
"You think not?"
"No. There are too many people living in too little space back East. And the railroad will be stretched out across the country in not too many years. That will make the traveling easier."
"Aye, I suppose. Seems a shame, though."
“Yes.” Jacob took a deep breath and exhaled in a rush. "I've wanted to come back for years."
She turned to him, her eyes wide. "You've been here before?"
“Uh-huh. Too many years ago." His mouth softened with the memories. "Packed up and left my father's house looking for adventure."
"Did you find it?"
"More than I wanted." He glanced at her. "That Indian fight the other day was far from my first."
Bridget shuddered.
He chuckled softly. "Yes. It was an adventure." His voice became wistful as though he was choking on the memories. "And, Lord, how I loved it."
“Then why," Bridget ventured, "did you go back East?"
Jacob's brows drew together, and a frown twisted his features, but he would only say, "Family business." Abruptly he looked back out at the plains and pointed toward a cloud of dust on the far horizon. "Look. The dust blowing. You see it?"
"Only just." Her eyes narrowed as she squinted in the direction he indicated. "What is it, do y'suppose?”
His hand dropped and his gaze shifted to her. "Indians, maybe, but more than likely, buffalo."
Bridget's eyes widened. She stared harder at the filmy cloud. “Those great shaggy beasts, like in the stories?”
Jacob fought down the overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and kiss her. She was such a bewitching combination of qualities. In a heartbeat she changed from stubborn and hardheaded to passionate, to wise woman, to childlike enthusiasm.
And she was still waiting for a response from him. “Yes, just like in the books. You'll probably see a lot of them once we reach Montana."
At mention of their destination, Bridget's gaze dropped. She studied her clasped hands for a long minute before asking, "And when we get to Montana, Jacob? What then? What are you and Jessica goin' to do?"
He straightened up and put his hat on. He didn't want to think about leaving the ship. Or her. "We'll get some supplies in Fort Benton… then we'll travel on to a place called Treasure Gap."
Bridget pushed herself up and away from the railing. "Odd name."
"Uh-huh." His gaze swept over every inch of her. "It’s a gold camp. Probably not much to it." He took a deep breath. "And you, Bridget? Have you thought about what I said the other night?"
"No. No, I haven't."
Jacob envisioned her, wandering down streets crowded with drunken miners, shoved and jostled – or worse. How could she be so unconcerned? Hadn't he made it plain enough what dangers lay ahead of her? Hadn't she heard a word he'd said?
"Bridget," he said, forcing a casualness he didn't feel into his voice, "you have to think about it now. While there's still time."
"Don't, Jacob." She moved away a step.
"Dammit, I have to say it. And keep on saying it until you listen." He took a deep breath and hurried on. "There's likely to be more men in Montana right at this moment than you've ever seen before in your life!"
She brushed his concern aside. "I've been dealin' with men, drunk and sober, for more years than I can count."
He felt his anger build and was helpless against it. He had to make her see, make her understand. “Yes, I'm sure you have. But that was in St. Louis. And they were most likely men who've known you since you were a child and wouldn't think to raise a hand to you."
"Well, not all…"
"But a good many of them, right?" He waited until she nodded before continuing. "Most of the men you'll find in a gold town are good, honest men, working to make better lives for their families. But gold also attracts the other sort of man. They come crawling out from under every rock and bush for hundreds of miles around. And they'r
e not interested in working for their gold. Not when it's so much easier to let others dig it out and then simply take it from them."
"But the law won't –“
“There isn't that much law. Marshals are few and far between out here. The only law most camps have is a kangaroo court and the end of a rope."
She paled, but he went on.
"Bridget, don't you see, you won't be safe alone."
Her teeth pulled at her lip again, and Jacob watched her worriedly. He hoped he'd made her see reason. He hoped she wouldn't want to leave him when they reached Fort Benton.
Finally she raised her gaze to his. The sadness reflected in her eyes pulled at him. As he watched, tears gathered and spilled over, running down her cheeks. He called himself every kind of a bastard for making her cry, and then she spoke, and he knew her tears had nothing to do with his angry warnings.
"Don't you see…" She sniffed and rubbed at her nose. "No matter the things you say, no matter what waits ahead, safe or not, Jacob" – she sniffed – “I am alone, and I'd best get used to it."
#
St. Louis
Stupid bitch! Harry shivered as he pulled off his sodden clothing. Who would have thought a timid little thing like that would fight so hard against dying? It should have been a simple thing to just hold her under water till she quit struggling. But no, she had to soak him in the process. If he didn't get warm soon, he could catch his death.
Quickly Harry grabbed at a towel and began to rub it vigorously over his thick, muscled body. At least the night wasn't completely wasted. He'd gotten rid of another of the bitches who'd caused him so much trouble… and he knew where to find the third.
He chuckled softly. What a stroke of luck that was! Imagine hearing the little mouse asking her protector for paper and pencil so she could write a note to Bridget Dugan telling her about poor Colleen. What was the name the girl was using now? A lazy grin crossed his beard-stubbled face. Yes. O'Dell. That was it. Bridget O'Dell in Fort Benton, Montana Territory. This could get right interesting. He'd heard the stories about the gold discoveries. Harry glanced at the mirror and winked at his reflection. This must be a sign. He'd go after O'Dell next. Maybe latch on to some real money while he was there, and come back in fine style to take care of the last one.
Chapter Nine
Fort Benton was awash in a sea of mud.
Early-morning sunlight poked hesitant fingers through banks of ominous-looking slate-gray clouds. Small patches of dirty brown snow still lay on the shady sections of earth near the levee, while the land on higher ground, away from the teeming crowds and in the changeable sunlight, was covered with lush green grass and peppered with bright wildflowers.
Bridget's spirits plummeted as her gaze moved over the jam-packed landing. Barrels, boxes, and crates were stacked haphazardly along the riverfront. It looked as though the men who had unloaded the steamships had just dropped their cargo anywhere the minute they were ashore.
She sighed heavily in disappointment and watched as a heavyset man tried to cross the "street.” by leaping from one island of higher, drier ground to the next. He made it halfway before he lost his footing. Then, despite his wildly flailing arms, he toppled over, face first into the thick, dark mire. The bearded, dirty men who'd witnessed the fall shouted with laughter that grew even louder as the hapless man tried to free himself from the clinging muck.
What she could see of the town, past the five other steamships docked at the levee, was as disheartening as the main street. A long row of wooden buildings snaked unevenly along the muddy thoroughfare. The plank sidewalks rose and fell at random spots, creating what looked like a very hazardous walkway.
And the people! Bridget's fingers laced together, then curled over the handle of her already packed carpetbag. Jacob had been right, she thought. She'd never seen so many men grouped together in one place at one time before. Her gaze darted from one group of dirty, ragged, bearded miners to the next. Close to the dock she saw two men, each armed with a wicked-looking blade, circling each other slowly. Occasionally one of them, encouraged by the shouting, jostling crowd surrounding them, took a short stab at the other. She mumbled a quick prayer for the foolish and looked away.
Catcalls and whistles sounded out from the other direction, and Bridget turned in time to see a huge bear of a man toss a scantily clad woman over his shoulder. When the big man turned, laughing, Bridget gasped and clapped one hand over her mouth. The woman dangling so precariously from the miner's shoulder hadn't a stitch on under her scandalous gown. Her creamy white backside was exposed to the cheering audience. While Bridget stared openmouthed, the big man smacked his palm down onto the woman's behind, leaving a bright red stain on her naked flesh. Unbelievably, the woman laughed heartily, pushed herself up and kissed her dirty captor. With a quick, light step belying his size, the miner carried his prize off toward the nearest saloon.
"Holy Mother," Bridget muttered and turned away. What in the name of heaven had she gotten herself into? She tugged her shawl tighter around her and turned into the cold wind. Already, most of the men who'd occupied the lower deck of the River Belle had gone ashore. They'd blended in with the crowd below and disappeared.
They belonged here.
She didn't. Bridget squeezed the handle of her bag uneasily. It would take all of her nerve to walk down that bloody gangplank and into the throng of men.
"Well, missy" – Tom slipped up behind her – “you all set?"
"I'm not sure." Bridget turned and gave the older man a wistful smile.
"Ah, now. Don't you let them yahoos down there scare you none."
“But, there's so many of them…"
"Yeah, but most of 'em's harmless enough."
“Most?” Bridget looked down on the swarming crowd of men and felt what little courage she had left shrink.
"Sure." He spit a dark stream of tobacco juice over the rail. "'Course, there's a fair amount of no-good skunks down there, too, but most is just danged fools lookin' for easy money."
She nodded but was still unconvinced.
Tom read the apprehension on her face. Somehow, he knew that sympathy wouldn't help. Instead, tugging at his mustache, he asked, "What happened to your backbone, girl?"
Bridget's gaze flashed up to his.
He nodded. "You heard me right. Backbone. You sure as hell had plenty of it to get on this durned boat all on your lonesome." The older man's eyes twinkled slightly. "And I seen you go toe to toe with that Major Fallon more times'n I can count."
A reluctant smile crossed her lips.
"Hell, girl" – Tom laughed shortly – “if you can take that man on, what's a few hunnerd more?"
"All right, Tom." Bridget straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. He was right. Besides, she had no choice. Even if she had the money for a return ticket, she couldn't go back to St. Louis. At least, not yet. Maybe in a few years, she promised herself silently, when all the bluster over her troubles had died down some.
She glanced quickly at the main staircase. Empty. Good. She wanted to be off the ship and gone before Jacob and Jessica came down. It was hard enough to part from them. She couldn't bear to go through a long good-bye as well. Perhaps it was a cowardly thing to do, slipping away like this, but it was for the best – for all of them. Her gaze shifted to Tom, still tugging at his mustache thoughtfully.
She took his arm, smiled, and said boldly, "Let's be off, then."
Tom grinned and laid his gnarled hand over hers. "Atta girl. No Irisher worth his salt ever walked away from a fight."
From the shadows of the upper deck, Jacob watched Bridget and Tom walk down the short gangplank. His worried gaze followed their progress as they moved through the crowd, across the muddy street toward the Overland Hotel. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep from charging down the ramp after them. After her.
His teeth ground together helplessly when he saw Bridget pull away from a too-eager miner. He couldn't hear what was said as Tom shouted at
the man, but Jacob was pleased to note that the men gave the couple a wide berth after the brief encounter.
He stared until they disappeared into the hotel, then he turned away and once more mentally listed his reasons for not helping Bridget leave the ship.
Jacob had had a feeling that she would simply leave without a word of good-bye. He'd seen it in her face the night before, when the other passengers were excitedly making their plans for disembarking. He knew she didn't want to leave. Her reluctance was plain, but then so was her determination. He'd never known such a stubborn woman.
And Jacob also realized that he'd failed to convince her of the dangers she faced.
He pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. This had seemed like a good idea when it had first come to him in the middle of a sleepless last night on board ship. All he had to do, he'd told himself, was leave her alone. Let her go about the business of trying to find a job in a town crammed full of men looking for gold or work. Let her find out for herself what it would be like to be completely on her own in a town growing on crazed dreams of instant riches. It had made perfect sense.
Leaning on the railing, Jacob turned his gaze back on the swarming crowd below. What had looked like a brilliant plan had turned on him. Why hadn't he stopped to consider what it would do to him, watching her walk unprotected into a throng of women-starved men? Why hadn’t he realized that his belly would be tied in knots or that his tired brain would continually conjure up disastrous visions just to torture him?
Why hadn't he steered clear of Bridget O'Dell the first time he’d laid eyes on her?
#
St. Louis
"Mary Kate! What the bloody bell are you doin' here?" Eamon stepped to the middle of the gangplank to meet her. "For God's sake, woman. We're about to pull out!"
"If you'll just be quiet for a breath, I'll tell you why I'm here and be gone from this foul-smellin' dock." Mary Kate McDonough pulled her shawl tighter around her head and shoulders and glanced uneasily to the bottom of the ramp, reassuring herself that Dermot still waited for her in the early-morning dusk.
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