“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Maggie breathed, hardly able to believe she had landed her very first job!
“Good.” Sister toddled around the desk and gave Maggie’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “You start on Monday, Miss Mullaney, and your job will be to put those impressive skills to work on behalf of our poor wounded. And my job, my dear,” she said with an outrageous wink that took Maggie completely by surprise, “is to keep you from being one.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Whooo-eee! Who knew you had such purty legs?”
Glaring at his brother, Blaze stormed past the barn on his uncle’s Silver Lining Ranch, refusing to dignify Dash’s remark with a response.
Not that he had much dignity in a sheet.
“Hey, Boss, your tail’s a draggin’,” his best friend, Jake, called from the corral, setting off a round of laughter from the other cowhands when Blaze yanked the trailing sheet up off the ground. Blaze ignored them all, from the cowboys perched atop the fence watching a rough rider break a cow pony, to his brother and best friend who now dogged his bare heels. Jaw stiff, he thundered up the wooden steps to the covered porch of Uncle Finn’s sprawling log ranch house, stomping his feet as loudly as he could without boots.
With Jake and Dash following, Blaze strode into the two-story log house. The carved oak door—emblazoned with the ranch brand, Bar SLR—ricocheted off the wall with a loud bang, and Dash shook his head. “When you gonna learn not to tangle with Sister Fred, Blaze? Everybody knows she’s more stubborn than you.”
“Yeah?” Blaze jerked his sheet up as he took the steps of the polished log staircase two at a time. He paused on the landing that overlooked a gleaming hardwood entryway with a vibrant Navajo rug and thumped a fist to his chest, glaring down at his brother and Jake. “Well, she may run that blasted hospital, but she doesn’t run me.”
Nudging his hat back, Jake laughed, the sound rising to the vaulted ceiling along with the steam from Blaze’s ears. “Except out of town,” he said with a wide grin, pushing the door closed. “What, you couldn’t bribe no pretty lady to smuggle your clothes and holster out under Sister Fred’s nose?” An errant strand of black-brown hair tumbled over Jake’s forehead as he reseated his hat, his deep tan aided by olive skin from his Black Irish heritage. “You must’ve lost your touch.”
“Along with his clothes,” Dash said with a chuckle, leaning on the newel post as he grinned at his brother.”
Blaze grunted, the memory of one pretty lady, in particular, steeling his jaw. All this dad-burned humiliation could have been avoided if one Miss High-and-Mighty Maggie Mullaney had just done as he asked. But, no, she had to toe Sister Fred’s proverbial line, completely ignoring the charm he’d put forth to win her favor. At first, he’d thought he’d had her, the soft blush in her cheeks and a daze in those golden-brown eyes as she tipped a head of the glossiest chestnut curls he’d ever seen. But then she’d snapped into Sister Fred mode so fast, he swore they were related. His mouth compressed. Except for that red silk dress that hugged a curvy form no nun or respectable woman should have. Why, he’d even been a bit smitten himself, lavishing her with a potent smile while he called her a pretty lady, a true compliment that would make most women swoon. He grunted again. Pretty lady, indeed.
Pretty mule-headed.
His uncle, Finn McShane, suddenly appeared in the archway of his study, hand on the brass knob of the door that had been closed, indicating Blaze had disrupted his work. “What the devil are you doing home so soon?”
A railroad-man-turned-rancher who’d made it big in Nevada’s silver heyday, Finn McShane was one of the most respected men in Virginia City and Blaze’s hero. Without him, Blaze and his younger brother and two little sisters would have been orphans in Cripple Creek, Colorado, likely starving to death after their pa was killed in a mining accident and their ma died in childbirth. Finn had brought them home to his Silver Lining cattle ranch, and Blaze would do just about anything for his uncle. Except embrace his faith, he supposed, one of the few rubs in their relationship.
His uncle stared him down, hip propped to the door jamb and arms in a loose fold. “Sister Fred said those burns needed close attention for another day or two.”
Blaze hiked his sheet up several inches, along with his jaw. “She changed her mind.”
The hint of a smile edged his uncle’s mouth. “Well, it’s a good look for you, Blaze,” he said with a leisurely drawl, “especially since you’re off work detail for the next two days.”
True to his name, Blaze’s temper flashed hot. “The devil I am! I already lost pert near a full week, Uncle Finn, and we still have miles of fencing to attend to on the south forty.”
Mouth compressed, Finn ambled to the burnished ponderosa-pine coat rack Blaze carved for him one Christmas, plucking his Stetson off a brass hook with his bandaged right hand. “I’m not above hiding your clothes like Sister Fred, son, so don’t tempt me.” Positioning his hat on dark sable hair barely sprinkled with silver, he peered up beneath the wide rim. Bourbon-brown eyes pinned Blaze to the landing with a smile as flat as Blaze’s mood. He nodded toward his study. “Got a mountain of paperwork in there that needs attention, more than enough to keep you busy for a few days—”
Blaze slammed a fist on the knotty pine railing. “Blame it all, Uncle Finn, I’ve been shackled to a bed for a dad-burned week now, and I need exercise—”
“And I need help, Bren,” Finn interrupted in a firm tone, the use of Blaze’s Christian name underscoring the authority of his statement. His uncle’s pointed look, laced with both affection and sympathy, held more than a little warning. “You and I both lost time this week with injuries sustained from rescuing the O’Shea’s …” He tried to flex his right hand, but the bandage was too thick and lumpy to allow much movement. His mouth quirked as he glanced back up. “And although you took the brunt of the heat, son, this blasted hand is slowing me down considerably with the books, so I sure could use some help. Especially since I’m off to see Aiden at the hospital to offer him and Maeve lodging till their home can be rebuilt.” A grin tugged as he gave Blaze a wink. “But, don’t worry—I’ll sneak your boots and clothes out when Sister Fred’s not looking.”
Lips in a twist, Blaze huffed out a healthy dose of frustration, knowing full well he would do whatever his uncle asked. “The blamed woman probably doused ’em with holy water to mend my evil ways,” he groused.
“One can only hope.” Finn chuckled as he ambled over to the base of the steps to drape an arm over Dash’s shoulder. “Foreman or no, Dash, if he steps one foot into a barn or pasture the next two days, you have my permission to hogtie him to a rocking chair on the front porch. With a quick tap of his nephew’s shoulder, he peered up to the top landing, hand on the rough-hewn newel post while he shouted for Blaze’s sister at the top of his lungs. “Sheridan Marie? Get your pretty hide down here, young lady.”
Blaze’s low groan was drowned out by the slam of a door followed by the clatter of boots in the upstairs hallway. Blaze’s seventeen-year-old sister Sheridan appeared at the top of the steps in a pair of blue jeans and a pale blue blouse the exact shade of her eyes. “Yes, Uncle Finn?” Her gaze instantly lighted on Jake with a shy smile she’d reserved for Blaze’s best friend since she’d been knee-high to a prairie dog. “Why, hello, Jake.”
Jake smiled and tipped his hat. “Half Pint.”
Sheridan stood up as straight and tall as her slight five-foot-two height would allow, the square of her shoulders confirming she didn’t appreciate Jake’s refusal to see her as a woman. But with a twelve-year age difference, Blaze was grateful the only thing Jake saw when he looked at Sheridan was that lovesick little girl who used to follow him and Blaze around.
Finn expelled a weary sigh, and Blaze knew his uncle’s concern over Sheridan’s obsession with “falling in love” was equal to his own. It had always been so easy to put off her innocent longing for romance when she was no bigger than a mite, inviting them to her doll weddings every other
week. But now that she was growing into a woman, Blaze was downright uncomfortable with the notion of any man sparkin’ his sister.
Even a best friend.
Nudging his hat up a fraction of an inch, Finn offered Sheridan a patient smile, his affection for his niece obvious from his gentle tone. “Sweetheart, I’ll need you to keep an eye on your brother so he doesn’t leave the house while I’m visiting Mr. O’Shea at the hospital, all right?”
Blaze sagged over the railing with another groan, drawing a surprised gasp from his sister, who obviously hadn’t seen him yet.
“Blaze?” She skittered down to the landing to give him a hug, voice soft with concern. “What are you doing home already? Sister Fred said it wouldn’t be till Saturday.” Her eyes grew when she finally noticed the sheet, fingers to her mouth to cover a grin. “Uh-oh … looks like Sister Fred’s missing some linens …”
“And your brother a whole lot of sense,” Finn said with a heavy sigh, “so I’ll need you to tend to his dressing if you will, applying some aloe before replacing it with clean gauze. Then I’ll ask Sister Fred for any additional supplies you might need.”
“Ha! Like a length of rope to tie him down.” Dash shot Sheridan a wink that earned him a giggle.
“Or to string him up if I hear he’s stepped foot out of this house,” Finn said with a thin-lipped smile while he sauntered toward the door.
“Uncle Finn—do you think Mr. and Mrs. O’Shea will accept your offer to move in with us?” Sheridan asked, eyes round with excitement over the prospect of another female in a house that harbored two brothers, an uncle, a male border collie, and one very crusty chuck-wagon cowboy named Angus who served as housekeeper and cook.
Blaze’s heart cramped at the sound of hope in his sister’s voice, well aware that both Sheridan and their thirteen-year-old sister Shaylee needed a woman’s touch in their lives. Sheridan had been only four years old and Shaylee a newborn when their mother passed, so both had whooped out loud when Uncle Finn suggested inviting the O’Sheas to stay a while.
Uncle Finn huffed out a heavy blast of air. “Don’t know, darlin’. Aiden’s given me the cold shoulder for a long time now, and he was unconscious when I pulled him from the fire in his study, so I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet.” A thin smile crooked the edge of his mouth. “And Sister Fred about tarred and feathered me when I tried to visit, and we all know there’s no arguing with her.”
Blaze grunted. “At least you left with your clothes on.”
Grinning, Uncle Finn continued, his eyes softening as he gazed up at his niece. “But I’m hoping that saving his life will give me some favor with him, darlin’, so we’ll see.”
“Good luck on that,” Blaze said with a huff. “Sure didn’t work for me with Sister Fred.”
Boom! The front door flew open, missing Uncle Finn by mere inches when Blaze’s thirteen-year-old tomboy sister Shaylee shot through. She skidded right into her uncle, who grabbed her by the scruff of her dusty plaid shirt. Freckled face smudged with dirt and boots and jeans splattered with mud, she sprang back in surprise, blue eyes spanning wide. “Holy Cats, what’s going on here?”
“Cats are not holy, young lady,” Uncle Finn said with an off-center smile, “and Angus’s language won’t be either if he sees you tracking mud across his clean floor.” He led her back towards the door. “You know the rules, Doodlebug,” he said, using the nickname he’d given her when she was small and loved to play with bugs, “around back and clean up first.”
“So, who’d you whup this time, Doodle?” Dash asked with a lopsided grin, pride shining in his eyes for the little sister who could take on half the boys in the county and win.
“Horse-faced Milton Boyle,” she said with a puff of her spindly chest, tossing an auburn braid over her shoulder.
Uncle Finn tweaked the back of Shaylee’s neck. “We do not call people names, Shaylee Ann, no matter how obnoxious they may be.”
“Except for Sister Fred,” Blaze muttered under his breath.
“That’s what I told Milton.” Shaylee gave a pert lift of her chin. “Right after I whopped him for calling Dash a horse’s behind.”
“Me? Why?” Dash’s dark brows tented in a show of hurt that made him look closer to Shaylee’s age than twenty-seven.
“Excuse me, but all horse body parts aside …” Uncle Finn prodded Shaylee through the door with a firm hand to her back, eyeing her tracked mud with a wary look. “You need to clean up both yourself and this mess, young lady, and then go put on some clean clothes.”
“And Blaze just needs to put on clothes,” Jake said with a chuckle, shooting Blaze a grin as he and Dash moseyed toward the door.
Shaylee spun around, mouth and eyes gaping as she finally saw her brother still draped in a sheet on the landing. “Gee whiz, Blaze, you’re home already? And, flyin’ batfish, you look like Lazarus in that sermon Pastor Tuttle gave last week.”
Uncle Finn’s mouth crooked as he ushered Shaylee out. “And just as dead if he steps foot out of this house today.” He winked at Sheridan while he held the door for Dash and Jake to file through. “Sheridan sweetheart, you ride herd on that boy till I get back, you hear? And, Bren?” He nodded toward the study. “Get dressed and get busy with numbers, son,” he said with a wicked grin, his laughter echoing in the foyer while he pulled the door closed. “Or I just might bring Sister Fred home for dinner to dress you down right.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Mama, please—I’m begging you—won’t you and Papa consider staying with Aunt Marie and me in New York? Just until your house is rebuilt?” Stomach churning, thirty-nine-year-old Liberty O’Shea felt all of sixteen again as she pleaded with her mother across the dinner table in the dining room of The Gold Hill Hotel. Her heart ached with the need to provide love and support for Mama and Papa during this tragic time. But the moment she’d stepped foot in Virginia City, that familiar shroud of heaviness descended as usual, reducing her to that terrified, thirteen-year-old little girl.
The one her parents knew nothing about.
Swallowing hard to purge the nausea that always tainted her tongue when she visited her hometown, Libby stiffened her jaw. No, I will not let the fear win! For heaven’s sakes, she was a grown woman and an accomplished teacher at Vassar as well as an integral part of New York’s suffrage movement. Not a child reduced to panic every time she visited the city that had damaged her—both by the horror she’d experienced at age thirteen and then the heartbreak at age twenty-two, when she’d fled over seventeen years ago. Mama and Papa needed her right now, and she was determined to be there for them!
No matter the memories.
Maeve O’Shea glanced up from her dinner, a crinkle in her brow. “Darling, there’s nothing I’d rather do than stay with you and Marie, you know that. But there’s no way Papa will ever agree, and I can’t leave him alone after his heart attack.”
Expelling a silent sigh, Libby’s hopes sank along with her shoulders. She shot a glance at the concerned faces of her goddaughter, Maggie, and Mama’s housekeeper, Gert, grateful for their support at a difficult time like this. She turned back to Mama and instantly felt a cramp in her chest over all her mother had gone through in the last week. For the first time, Libby noticed just how much Mama had aged in the last few years. In addition to snow-white hair that had once been as flame red as Libby’s own, there was now an abundance of new wrinkles in a once creamy complexion.
“What does Papa plan to do?” Libby said quietly, knowing full well Papa would have his way as always, exercising the same iron-fisted control over the situation that he’d wielded over Libby her entire life.
Or tried to.
“Why, we’re going to stay here at The Gold Hill until we can move back home, darling,” Maeve O’Shea said, calmly sawing a piece of fried chicken with her knife. “Or perhaps Mrs. Cleary’s boardinghouse would be homier.” She directed a smile at Libby’s goddaughter before taking a bite of her chicken. “Bertha Cleary is a bit of a goss
ip, Maggie, but she keeps a clean house, so I think we’ll all be most comfortable there.” A slight furrow notched above her nose. “If she has room, that is.”
Libby blinked. “Goodness, Mama, that could take six months or more!” she said, hardly able to believe her parents would consent to stay in a cramped hotel room after living in a sprawling ranch house for over twenty-five years. And the cost! She battled a sting of tears as she reached to graze her mother’s hand, determined to be a tower of strength for this woman who had always been such a champion for her. “Mama, please—come back to New York with me. You can tell Papa it’s just for a visit,” she whispered, suddenly homesick for the closeness she and her mother had once shared. A closeness painfully interrupted when Papa sent Libby away so many years ago to heal her heartache. “I’ll even stay with you at Aunt Marie’s instead of my room at Vassar. Then I can take care of you both.”
Her mother patted Libby’s hand. “Papa and I are perfectly able to take care of ourselves for the time being, darling, and besides, this is our home.” Her mother’s green eyes softened while a sad smile lined her lips. “Yours as well, at one time, if you recall.”
Yes. Libby’s lashes weighted closed as she slumped back in her chair. And Finn’s too. Her appetite for the meat loaf on her plate was suddenly as diminished as her desire to stay in Virginia City. A former home that posed a triple threat to her state of mind: Finn’s betrayal, Papa’s dominance, and a painful memory she couldn’t share. Which is exactly why this was the one place she’d avoided most of her life, visiting briefly only for Thanksgiving in the last seventeen years. In and out so fast, it had made her dizzy.
Better my head than my heart.
“Libby,” her mother said softly, “think about it. You don’t want to be saddled with an old grouch like your father, even for a short time. Heavens, it’s bad enough I’m stuck with the man, darling, without adding to your grief too.”
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