"Jacob!" Bridget reacted first. She ran to him and threw her arms around him.
While he held her close, Jacob's eyes followed Jessie's eager progress toward them. The girl looked fine. Happy, excited, certainly not injured in any way. When she got closer, Jacob asked, “Why did you scream?”
The little blond grabbed his knees and tossed her head back to look up at her father. Eyes suddenly serious, she said, "The frog scared me."
"Frog?”
Jessie nodded vigorously. "He jumped!" Her big blue eyes wide, she half turned to the creek and pointed. “Over there, Papa. Come see."
Bridget loosened her bold on him and hid her smile behind her hand. "Aye. It's a big frog, Jacob. You must see."
He looked down at her and quirked his lips slightly. As his little girl led him off, he glanced over his shoulder and said, "I'll be right back."
After inspecting the big frog that seemed determined to follow Jessie, Jacob left his daughter to play and went to join Bridget. He sat beside her and watched as she wrung the excess water from the freshly washed clothes. Her hands fascinated him, so small and gentle, yet so strong.
"Is it bad news, then?” she asked hesitantly.
“Hmmm?” He looked up at her and saw the worry in her eyes. Cursing himself for a clumsy fool, he said quickly, "No. Not at all. In fact, I think everything will work out all right, Bridget."
Relief flashed across her face, and as he told her all about the wires he'd sent and the answers he'd received, he watched hope blossom on her features.
But he knew he had to tell her everything. Quietly, as gently as he could, he told her about the deaths of Colleen O'Grady and Frances Cohan. He couldn't hide his surprise when she said softly, "I know."
“How?”
“Eamon Flannagan is here. In Treasure Gap."
Jacob's brows drew together, and Bridget rushed on.
"Mary Kate sent him. To warn me. She doesn't believe that the others died in accidents." Bridget met his gaze squarely. "And neither do I."
Jacob wasn't sure if he was pleased or frightened to have her opinion concur with his. The very thought of some unknown person stalking Bridget was enough to make him want to lock her away in a tower somewhere until the threat of danger was over. How would they know when she was safe? When the danger was gone? He looked out at his daughter. Was it safe for Jessie? Should he find a way to keep her separate from them?
The little girl laughed delightedly and skipped a few paces back from the poor, beleaguered frog.
No, Jacob told himself, no, they would stay together. They were a family now, and no one would be allowed to destroy that. He would think of something. First, though, he would talk to Cotton. Maybe his very capable deputy would have an idea or two.
Bridget looked up when he pushed himself to his feet.
Bending down, he touched her cheek gently and told her, "I've got to go see Cotton." He straightened up and smiled at her, hiding his own worries. “I'll see you at home for supper."
Bridget nodded and forced an answering smile. “It'll be waitin' for ya."
She watched him as he climbed back up the hill. They should have been celebrating now. Her secrets were in the open, and he loved her anyway. The three of them had become a family. Jessie was well and happy now, and there was a good chance that Bridget would no longer be thought of as a fugitive.
And yet… Bridget shivered suddenly as a bank of clouds drifted over the sun, cutting off its warmth. Suddenly the pines surrounding her looked menacing. Their shadowed depths could be hiding anyone.
Hurriedly Bridget called Jessie to her, picked up the basket of wet clothes, and raced up the hill, slipping and sliding on the uneven ground. All she could think of was to reach the safety of their cabin.
#
Cherry smothered a laugh. Shaking her head at Eamon's obvious misgivings, she watched as he gingerly tucked the barrel of his new pistol into the waistband of his pants. She'd finally convinced him to buy a handgun by pointing out the dangers that waited for heedless folk. Far beyond the threat of bandits, or even Indians, there were snakes, wolves, and any other number of creatures ready to feed on the bodies of the careless.
"Y'know," she said, deliberately keeping her features as solemn as possible, “that thing ain't gonna go off until you pull the trigger."
"Aye," he said, "I do know that. 'Tis not the first time I've held a gun." Eamon looked down at the pistol grip uncertainly, then flashed her a wicked wink. "Although it is the first time I've aimed one at somethin' I'd no desire atall to shoot. And," he added, "I've some plans for later tonight I've no wish to miss."
Cherry laughed and took his arm. “Honey,” she told him with an admiring glance, “knowin' you, a little thing like a bullet wouldn't stop ya."
His eyebrows quirked, and a slow, sensuous smile curved his lips. He covered her hand with his own and murmured, "Ah, now, darlin', the Irish thrive on honeyed words of flattery."
"Yeah, and you're not too bad at handin' 'em out, either," Cherry said, trying to ignore the sudden flare of desire that swept through her. “But for now," she continued, “we'll go along and see Bridget. When we get back to my place, I'll see if I can't find you a holster for that thing."
His brows quirked again, and Cherry laughed delightedly. The man was impossible. She hadn't had this much fun in a long time.
#
“Get yourself into your pretty new dress, Jessie," Bridget called as the little girl climbed up the loft ladder. "Your papa will be comin' soon."
"Yes'm."
Bridget moved quickly between the shelves and the table, setting out plates and cups, knives and forks. She used a towel over the handle to take the boiling coffee away from the fire and set it on the table. Everything was ready now. It bad been almost two hours since she'd left the creek, and she was more anxious than ever for Jacob to be home.
She'd finally managed to convince herself that her fears were ridiculous. After all, Montana was a good long way from Kerry Patch. Besides, what could happen to her here? In her own home? With Jacob no more than a shout away?
Just then she heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the front porch. She smoothed down her flyaway hair, ripped off her apron, and turned to face the doorway, a broad smile on her face.
The oversize door swung open slowly, the late-afternoon sun silhouetting the figure who stood in the opening. Then the man stepped in, pushing the door shut behind him.
Her vision partially obscured because of the bright flash of sunlight, Bridget squinted at the man unbelievingly as he dropped the thick wooden latch into place.
"Who are you?" she cried finally. "What d'you think you're doin', man?” All she could think was that this was some drunken miner. Obviously the man was out of his head.
The big man took one step closer. Then another.
Bridget stepped back behind the table, her eyes fastened on the man whose face was still in the afternoon shadows.
"You best turn right around now and get out. The marshal will be here any minute."
He took another step closer. The sound of his ponderous footsteps seemed to echo in the suddenly too small cabin.
"Go on now," she warned again, flicking a glance behind her. "If you leave right away, I'll tell no one about this."
He chuckled and came on. He appeared to be in no hurry.
"Mama?"
Oh, God. Jessie!
Bridget watched as the man's head turned and he looked toward the loft. Then he took another step closer and moved into the light. Bridget's sudden intake of breath sounded unnaturally loud.
"Good." he said in the same deep voice she could recall with ease, “you remember."
"Yes." Oh, yes, she remembered. The prison guard Eamon and his friends had shot and robbed. The man whose money had purchased her ticket to freedom. Huh! Freedom.
"Mama?" Jessie poked her head over the edge of the loft. Her little face pale with fright, she looked from Bridget to the man and back again. "Mama!" she cri
ed a little louder.
"You shut that brat up now," Harry ordered, "and I won't hurt her."
"Jessie. Jessie love…” Bridget's voice shook. She kept her eyes on Harry Longdon but spoke quickly to the little girl. "Be very quiet now." She couldn't take the chance of this madman hurting Jessie. "Go to your bed, darlin'. Stay there."
Harry watched disinterestedly to see that the girl did as she was told, then turned his attention back to Bridget. "It took me some time, bitch," he said, smiling, "but I knew I’d find ya one day, just like the others."
Ah, Lord, Bridget thought desperately, please help me to think of somethin'. If not for me, then for Jessie.
"Colleen… Frances …” Bridget whispered as she moved around the edge of the table, maintaining a distance between them. "You killed them."
He laughed shortly. "That's right. And next is you. I'll get the last of ya when I go back downriver."
"Why?" Bridget cast her gaze wildly over the cabin, looking for something, anything, that might be used as a weapon.
"Why?" he roared, his eyes suddenly wide and staring. “You bitches ruined everything for me! You stole from me! That no-good, puny little warden fired me! Me – Harry Longdon! All because of four Irish whores! Well, you ain't gonna get away with that. None of ya!"
Bridget's gaze finally fell on the coffeepot at the edge of the table.
Harry lunged across the table, his arms wide, his fingers spread and curled like talons. Bridget grabbed up the coffeepot. She didn't even notice the intense heat. In one motion she lifted the lid and tossed the full pot of boiling hot liquid into Harry's face.
He screamed in pain and clawed at his eyes. Quickly Bridget darted around the hulking man to the kitchen shelves. She grabbed the first thing that came to band and turned on him, swinging the iron skillet like a war lance.
Jacob's first instinct was to break the door down. He had to force himself to think. He couldn't afford to crash into the room. He didn't know if the man had a gun. If he did, Bridget would be dead the instant Jacob broke in. And he didn't know where Jessie was. He couldn't do this alone, but there was no time to go for Cotton.
He looked up then and saw Cherry Tuttle walking toward him with a man he didn't know. Jacob crouched down beneath the window and moved quickly to meet them. Somehow, he wasn't surprised to find that the stranger was Eamon Flannagan. It seemed right somehow that the man who was involved in the beginning of all this would be part of the ending. Swiftly he told them the situation. Jacob planned to go around to the back door, and he wanted Eamon to go through the bedroom window and enter the main room from there.
Jacob looked at Cherry desperately. "I need your help too, Cherry."
"What do I do?”
He gave her a quick, grateful smile and told her, "I want you to go up and knock real loud on the front door. When you do that, Eamon and I will count to three, then go in."
"All right," she said and started moving.
“Cherry –“ Jacob felt he had to warn her. "The man may have a gun. I don't know."
She nodded and went on. Waiting just long enough for both men to reach their positions, Cherry lifted her fist. There was a long, hideous scream from inside as she started pounding on the door, calling Bridget's name.
Bridget looked up from the man on the floor. She'd hit him a couple of times, but she didn't know if he was unconscious. Then she heard Cherry's voice shouting to her and pounding on the door. Bridget took a step and fell as Harry's hand gripped her ankle.
The big man leapt nimbly to his feet and stood over her, smiling his victory. At that moment the world crashed into the room, exploding into sound and flashes of bright light. She saw Harry stagger, lean over her, and fall limply to the floor.
His massive body lay atop her, and she struggled with the weight, holding back the screams that she knew would never end once she let them get started. All at once the weight was gone, and she was being lifted into Jacob’s arms.
He held her tightly, and she felt the pounding of his heart, keeping time with her own. Vaguely she realized that Cherry was still on the porch, only now her shouts were frantic.
Then, as if they both remembered at once, Jacob and Bridget broke apart and moved for the loft ladder. Bridget flew up the few steps. Crouching low, she hurried to the bed where Jessie lay curled in a tight ball, her doll clutched to her chest.
Gently Bridget pulled the girl close, murmuring soft reassurances all the while. Finally Jessie opened her eyes and stared blankly for a moment. Bridget forced a shaky smile and said, "Jessie, darlin'. Everything's all right now."
For what seemed an eternity, Jacob and Bridget waited for a response, each of them dreading that the girl would once again retreat into the silent world she'd left behind weeks ago. Bridget cupped Jessie's face and wiped a single tear away. "It's all right, love. Your papa and me. We're fine."
Jessie's eyes moved from Bridget to her father, and slowly a tiny smile blossomed on her face. The little girl reached up and rubbed her nose, then held her arms out to Bridget.
As she embraced her child, Bridget leaned against Jacob and listened gratefully to the reassuring sound of his heart beneath her cheek.
Downstairs, Eamon opened the door for Cherry. The woman burst into the cabin and stopped short at the sight of Harry Longdon's body.
“Did he –?”
Eamon shook his head. "She's fine. The three of 'em are upstairs."
Cherry glanced around the usually neat room and noted the back door banging from its hinges, the toppled table, the spilled coffee, and even a skillet lying beside the dead man.
"Well," she finally said softly, "looks like the marshal did a fine piece of work here."
Eamon glanced up at her, then turned his gaze back to the big man at his feet. "No," he said quietly, "Jacob's shot was low. He came through the door and fired. I took my time." Eamon glanced at his new pistol before shoving it once again into his waistband. Looking at Cherry, he sighed and explained, “That much, at least, I owed to Colleen."
EPILOGUE
Two years later
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" Bridget pushed the stumbling man ahead of her into the jailhouse. She paid no attention to his mumbled apologies. She doubted that he had any idea of what he was saying anyway. She'd never seen a man so drunk! “Mother of Saint Patrick!"
Jacob came out from the cells, holding his six-month-old son against his shoulder, patting the baby's back gently. At the sight of his wife, Jacob smiled. "What is it now, Bridget?”
"It's this one'" She pointed at the swaying man again, and the man lowered his head abjectly.
"H'lo, Papa," Jessie called as she skipped into the office.
"Hello, Jessie," he answered before saying, "What did he do, Bridget?"
"Do?" She tapped her foot angrily against the floor and crossed her arms in front of her. "Just take a whiff of him, Jacob. He smells as though he's drunk every saloon in town dry."
"Getting drunk is not against the law, Bridget," her husband offered gently.
"As well I know." She took a step closer to the man and frowned severely at him. "But this great fool of a man not only got himself drunk, but then had the nerve to fall asleep right across the front pew of the church!"
The man moved back a pace.
"A few of us ladies went to the church this mornin’ ," she explained to her husband, "to get the place ready for our first services tomorrow. And what do we find? His nibs here, snorin' like a bear!"
Cotton, sitting behind the desk, chuckled and tried to cover it with a cough. It didn't work.
Bridget glared at him before turning to her prisoner. "It's like me father always said," she said, ignoring Jacob's and Cotton's groans, and went on, "'Drink is the curse of the land. It makes you fight with your neighbor, it makes you shoot at your landlord – and it makes you miss him.' "
The beaten man nodded, then stopped and squinted at her.
"So, Jacob, if you don't mind, it would be better, I think,
for him to take his nap in a cell." She looked to Jacob for agreement.
He nodded and jerked his head at the man. "Go on back and sleep it off."
As the man moved slowly away, Bridget smiled in satisfaction. When he was out of earshot, she whispered, "I don't want you to keep him locked away, you understand… just until he's sober."
Jacob grinned. "I know, Bridget. Don't worry." He couldn't really blame her for an aversion to jails, could he? Although, since his friend Judge Silver had had the charges against her dismissed, she'd become the champion of anyone she thought to be unjustly accused.
Watching as his smiling wife hurried around the office, straightening and rearranging the perfectly organized room, Jacob gave thanks again for the new life he'd been handed. The loneliness and indifference that had so marked his early years were all but forgotten in the warmth of Bridget's love.
His tiny son raised a small fist and smacked Jacob's cheek. He swiftly caught the little hand and kissed the baby's fingers. Jessie stepped up to him and held out her arms. Tenderly Jacob handed the baby to his big sister, who completely adored him.
Bridget stepped up beside Jacob and smiled down at her children before saying. “Well, we'll be off now. There's so much to do, Jacob." Idly she brushed at the wet spot marking Jacob's shoulder. Since the baby had begun teething, none of them owned a dry shirt.
"Are you taking little Michael with you?" Jacob asked.
"Aye." Bridget rested her hand on the back of Jessie's head and glanced quickly at her son. "Cherry and Eamon have been wantin' to have a visit with him. So, I thought we'd ask them to watch him for us while we finish up at the church."
Jacob chuckled and nodded. "I'll see you at home later, then."
She reached up and gave him a quick kiss, then ushered the children out the door.
Jacob stood in the open doorway and watched their progress. Vaguely he heard the prisoner in the back call out, "Did I hear her right? She's goin' to let Cherry Tuttle watch her child?"
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