Love's Silver Lining

by Julie Lessman

  Oddly enough, I do. She blinked, managing a listless wave as Blaze’s wagon rumbled down the street. It’s me I’m worried about. Because as much as she hated to admit it, her trust factor in—and attraction to—the former near-naked cowboy was disturbingly strong after spending time with him this last week.

  Expelling a sigh way too weary for this early in the morning, Maggie turned to trudge up the steps to the hospital, mood pensive at best. For pity’s sake, if Blaze Donovan could trigger these pesky feelings after so little time together, no matter how personal, what could he do living under the same roof day in and day out? Sister Fred had warned her, but with Maggie’s aversion to both rogues and marriage, she honestly hadn’t thought it would be this hard. Shoulders slumped, she mounted the hospital steps, Sister Fred’s words echoing loudly in her brain.

  “Which means I am going to take a chance on you, young lady, if you can safely avoid falling under the spell of Mr. Donovan or any rogues just like him, understood?”

  She swallowed a gulp. Oh, she understood, all right—all too well. She was going to need a mountain of prayers the size of the Sierras to battle unwanted attraction to a man with whom she was determined to be only friends. After all, the stakes were just too high—three of them as a matter of fact. The first being, she simply could not jeopardize a fledgling friendship that just might be a means of bringing a lost man back to God.

  “Of course I believe in God—I just don’t like Him a whole lot, that’s all.”

  Refortifying with a deep breath, she looked up at the impressive four-story brick structure of St. Mary Louise Hospital. Nor would she risk disappointing her superior in a job she truly loved. This was one of the most important hospitals in the country, boasting thirty-six rooms with hot and cold running water. Offering some of the best medical care in the West, it could service up to seventy patients with excellent food and top-notch medical personnel. Maggie’s chest immediately swelled with pride as she slowly moved toward the entrance. Of which she was now an integral part.

  The front door flew open when a mother ushered a herd of children out of the building with a baby in her arms. Maggie greeted them warmly, the sight of her little boy in an arm cast and a proud grin coaxing a smile to her lips. She gave the patient a wink as she held the door open, but the moment they passed, her thoughts returned to Blaze and the third thing at stake that worried her the most.

  My heart.

  “Trust me, my dear—they don’t call him ‘Blaze’ for nothing. He has a reputation for setting hearts on fire, and as the town’s confirmed bachelor, I’m afraid he leaves a lot of charred ruins in his wake.”

  Squaring her shoulders, she straightened her skirt with shaky hands, determined that the only thing that would go down in flames in this situation was her attraction to a man she had no intention of getting any closer to.

  At least, not that way.

  Chin high, she marched through the lobby to Sister Fred’s office with a wave and a smile to the front desk, determined to cut these disturbing feelings off at the pass with the only lifeline she knew.

  Prayer.

  And Sister Fred was just the one who could throw her the rope that would pull her out of the sea of temptation onto dry land. After all, she thought with a firm knock on the hospital administrator’s door, she’d already mastered one fear today, right?

  “Come in.”

  Maggie pushed the door open with purpose, her smile tamped in resolve.

  Might as well make it two.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Dear Mrs. Conway …

  Achoo! Libby’s handkerchief flew to her nose just in time. She sagged against the headboard with pen and notebook on the lap of her navy blue skirt, no longer grateful for the sniffles she’d caught on the ride home from The Gold Hill Hotel.

  I am writing this letter on behalf of the National Woman Suffrage Association—

  Sniff.

  Yes, this bug had allowed her to avoid Finn by hiding out in her room all week, but she was so ready to be done with this nasty cold. A nasty cold, compliments of Finn McShane when he’d dragged her out into the frigid night air in a thin nightgown.

  She sneezed again, causing the notebook and pen to shudder along with her, finally willing to admit she had no one to blame but herself. She knew full well that both her father and Finn were masters of control, two mules intent on pinning her beneath their thumbs. She’d never been able to fight either one of them and win, which is why her only option had been to flee. After all, she’d learned long ago she couldn’t live in the same city with them, much less the same house. She blew her nose loudly.

  Until now, apparently.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. “Aunt Libby, may I come in?”

  Libby glanced up from the bed where she was composing letters to potential donors, the only volunteer work she could do while holing away in the bedroom she shared with Maggie. “Of course, Maggie—come in!” Libby’s mood instantly picked up, her deep affection for Maggie infusing her words with a warm welcome. “Goodness, this is your room as well as mine, sweetheart, so you don’t have to knock.”

  Brows sloped in sympathy, Maggie quietly closed the door behind her. “Are you feeling any better?”

  Heat braised Libby’s cheeks, but not from the fever she claimed to have. Rustling her letter and notebook aside, she sank back against the headboard with a palm to her forehead. “A little, but not much, I’m afraid,” she said with a heavy sigh, grateful it wasn’t completely a lie. After all, she wasn’t feeling any better. She was still prickly as a hedgehog in a cactus patch that she had to live in this house for the next six months. Because not only had Finn resurrected feelings she’d believed to be dead and gone, but now her nieces were making inroads as well, making her care.

  A deadly situation.

  Blue blazes, she couldn’t afford to care! Her life was in New York with Harold, her students at Vassar, and the sweet girls at St. Patrick’s, along with her volunteer work for the National Woman Suffrage Association. Not on a ranch with a man who only wanted to clip her wings and tie her down, adorable nieces notwithstanding. Libby’s heart cramped. Precious nieces, for sure, who’d been doting on her for a solid week now, cheering her up with giggles and games that brought unexpected joy.

  Reflecting on the girls, she nervously smoothed the shirtwaist and skirt she’d put on this morning, so very tired of wearing a nightgown day after day. Despite Libby’s bedroom barricade, Sheridan and Shaylee brightened her days by bringing her meals, reading her books, and plying her with questions and chatter as if starved for a woman’s voice. And she supposed they were, living on a ranch surrounded by men. Her heart wrenched, feeling the pull to be that voice. A frail sigh drifted from her lips. But she knew she couldn’t be, as much as she was coming to care for them. She had long ago committed her life to being a voice for many women, not just two.

  Many? Or just one?

  The renegade thought caught Libby off-guard, depleting all moisture from her mouth as she battled her own conscience, rearing its ugly head to remind her of all she’d abandoned.

  Her city.

  Her family.

  Her marriage.

  “Oh, good, you ate your dinner!” Maggie’s face lit up when she glanced at the tray of empty dishes on the night stand. “I’ve been really worried, Aunt Libby, since you’ve barely touched any of the trays I’ve brought up this week.”

  Avoiding Maggie’s eyes, Libby reached for the extra fleece blanket Sheridan had lent her, focusing on covering her bare feet and skirt. She was far too embarrassed to tell Maggie about her three a.m. treks to the kitchen. But her father had forced her to dine with the family the second night, and the cozy revelry around the table had been too inviting for a woman who wanted to stay removed from Silver Lining Ranch. So, Libby had opted to hunker down in her room to nurse her cold the rest of the week. It had been the perfect excuse to bide her time till Maggie was allowed to drive the rig alone, finally able to drop Libby off at Mrs. Poppy’s t
o visit.

  Or “beg” might be a better word.

  Because Papa might have her over a barrel, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t hide away in that blasted barrel till she could arrange lodging elsewhere. Yes, she would stay in Virginia City the entire six months—what choice did she have? But maybe—just maybe—Mrs. Poppy would allow her and Maggie to stay with her until then. She was almost certain she could convince Papa to agree, given the hardship two extra guests posed to Finn’s household. Especially if Libby promised to visit the ranch on a regular basis.

  True, sleeping in Mrs. Poppy’s guestroom would be difficult, lying in the same bed in which she and Finn had lain that fateful night. Just the thought caused an ache in her chest, eyelids flickering closed at the memories of his tender kisses and love, intimacies that had long haunted her dreams with what might have been. But it was certainly better than lying awake in a bed down the hall from his, in a house that was once intended for her.

  “Aunt Libby?”

  Libby’s lashes flipped up, the concern in Maggie’s eyes inflicting a sharp stab of guilt. “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Are you all right?” Maggie moved toward the bed and placed a palm on Libby’s forehead. “You looked like you were going to be sick for a moment there, but you feel cool.”

  “Yes, of course. Just a twinge of something that’s on its way out, I hope.”

  Like me.

  “Well, can I get you anything—water, tea, bromide?”

  Libby massaged her temple. “No, Maggie, I’m fine. I think I’ll just finish some letters and go to bed early again. Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day.” She paused, weighting her words. “When is Blaze going to let you drive the wagon to work by yourself, do you know?”

  Chewing the edge of her lip, Maggie picked up the tray with a nervous smile. “Tomorrow, so I’m a wee bit nervous. I’m supposed to meet him in the barn now so he can teach me the basics of how to harness and hitch the cart, although he claims one of the hands will always do that.”

  A silent sigh seeped from Libby’s lips. “Would you … like some company then, on the way to town tomorrow?”

  Maggie blinked before her lips curved into a grin. “Seriously? You think you’ll be up to it? Because I would absolutely love that, Aunt Libby, but only if you’re feeling well.”

  “Something tells me I might be,” Libby said with a matched smile, “although it may be boredom whispering in my ear. But either way, I think it will do me good to get out the house.”

  Permanently.

  “Besides,” she continued, reaching for her papers and pen once again, “I’ve been longing to visit Mrs. Poppy, so I was hoping you might drop me off there on your way.”

  Maggie’s eyes flared as she stilled, tray in hand. “You mean the pastor’s wife you told me about? The one whose late husband married you and Finn?”

  “Yes,” Libby said with a soft smile, realizing how much she’d missed the dear woman. Her gaze trailed into a faraway stare. “In fact, I think she may be just the medicine I need.”

  “Oh, I’m so excited!” Maggie set the tray back down to give Libby a hug. She pulled away, two tiny ridges furrowing above her nose while she held Libby’s arms. “But only if you’re much better, all right?”

  Libby gave a crisp salute. “Yes, ma’am.” Her smile turned tender as she gently stroked Maggie’s cheek, rib cage expanding in gratitude for this young woman who’d become the daughter of her heart. “I love you Maggie,” she whispered with a glaze of tears, “and I will be leaving a piece of my heart behind when I return home.”

  “Maybe you won’t have to.” Maggie’s eyes grew misty as well. She gave Libby another squeeze. “Who knows, Aunt Libby—maybe you’ll end up liking it here and stay.”

  “Margaret Rose.” Libby’s voice tapered soft as she gently caressed Maggie’s hands. “Harold is waiting for me in New York, sweetheart, and so are my girls at St. Patrick’s. And then there’s my other commitments to the suffrage movement as well, so I have to go home, sweetheart, because that’s my journey.” She wrinkled her nose in jest, hoping to temper her response with a hint of tease. “Abruptly interrupted, I’m afraid, by this short and unsightly detour on the garden path of my life.”

  Maggie nibbled on the edge of her smile. “Not so short from where I’m standing, Aunt Libby,” she said, obviously referring to Finn given the gleam in her eyes. “And definitely not unsightly.” She rose and picked up the tray, tipping her head in a mischievous pose, but Libby didn’t miss the hope in her goddaughter’s eyes. “Finn really is a wonderful man. I really like him.”

  Libby arched a brow. “That’s because he’s not riding roughshod over your life, Margaret Rose Mullaney, reining you in on everything you want to do.”

  A giggle escaped Maggie’s lips as she made her way to the door, butting the tray on her knee while she turned the knob. She shot Libby a grin. “If Mama were here, Aunt Libby, I have a feeling she might say that perhaps you needed to be reined in every so often, so who knows? Maybe Finn’s the one for the job.”

  “Oh goodness, bite your tongue!” Libby chuckled, mention of her best friend bringing a sheen to her eyes. “Yes, your mother would most likely say that, being the maternal soul that she was.” Her chin notched up despite the smile twitching on her lips. “But she supported me nonetheless, even allowing me to take you under my suffragist wing against The Judge’s objections. Remember, darling—the name is ‘Liberty’ O’Shea, which is no accident and definitely not just a first name. It’s symbolic of what I hope to help attain for you and me and women everywhere.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Maggie said with a squirm of a smile, the wiggle of her brows confirming her playful taunt. “But don’t you mean Liberty McShane?”

  A chill rippled Libby’s spine that felt far warmer than it should. She swiftly countered with a firm shake of her head and a purse of a smile sealed with sass. “No, you little stinker, I don’t. Not even a little.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Personally, I think tomorrow’s too soon for you to ride by yourself,” Blaze said to Maggie, giving her that half-lidded scowl that told her he was teasing. Almost. He looped the driving halter over the bridle on a Shetland who looked like it was asleep.

  “But I don’t have a choice,” he continued. A bolt of lightning struck a blasted fence post on the south forty, and I need every able-bodied man including Angus down there tomorrow to help round up the cattle.”

  “Gee whiz, Mr. Donovan, can we stay and help too? Please, please?” “Pee-wee” Randall Portell stared up at Blaze with brown eyes as big as the Shetland’s, the twelve-year-old orphan’s small stature earning him his nickname from the cowhands of the Silver Lining Ranch. Maggie couldn’t help but smile, hard-pressed to say what glowed more in the boy’s hopeful gaze—excitement or adoration.

  Blaze tightened the girth to ensure it was snug before turning to address the boy’s question, the wide-eyed expectancy of the other two orphans with him just as pleading. Giving a teasing tug to the brim of the cowboy hat Pee-wee had won in a horseback drill, Blaze perched hands low on his hips. “Sorry, guys, but Sister Fred would have my head if I didn’t deliver you back to the orphanage tonight.”

  A chorus of moans rose as Pee-wee screwed his eyes shut, head slung back in theatrics Maggie suspected were calculated to make Blaze feel badly. She bit back a smile.

  They worked.

  “Come on, fellas, have a heart,” Blaze said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You guys should be plum worn out from all the riding and roping we did today.”

  “But we’re not!” Willie Turner begged, his demeanor as urgent as Pee-wee’s. He lifted his hands in prayer mode, and it was all Maggie could do to keep a straight face. “We can bunk with the hands, Mr. Donovan, and be ready to go in the morning.”

  Blaze rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah, Sister Fred would just love that.”

  “She won’t care,” Pee-wee argued, the three boys circling Blaze’s resistance like vulture
s, ready to take him down. “She loves you, Mr. Donovan. All the nuns do.”

  It was Maggie’s turn to roll her eyes, thinking Blaze Donovan was a bit too charming for his own good. Except the day we met, that is. A smile tickled her lips as she recalled his reaction to her denial to retrieve his clothes, madder than a wet hen. She bit her lip to keep a grin at bay.

  In a wet sheet.

  Blaze bent down to look each boy in the eyes, jaw sculpted tight. “Look, guys, I can’t let you stay at the ranch tonight because Sister Fred would string me up.” He paused, as if weighing his words. “But—”

  The boys whooped and shouted so loud, Maggie winced along with Blaze, shaking her head when the little scamps jumped and punched their fists in the air.

  Straightening, he glanced at Maggie and grinned, and sweet mother of mercy, her stomach instantly flopped along with the boys.

  “But what, Mr. Donovan?” Jimmy Baxter asked, the other boys punctuating the question with more jumps and shrieks.

  “But …” He gave Maggie a wink, wreaking more havoc in her middle. “Miss Mullaney let it slip that she’s never been fishing before, so I was planning on teaching her how after we took you back to town—”

  “You were?” Maggie blinked, a slow smile of surprise curving on her lips as the boy’s shrieks turned to groans.

  “But I suppose we can wet a line on the way …,” Blaze said in a rush, and the boys went wild with Pee-wee tossing his hat in the air while Willie gave the Shetland a kiss. Blaze aimed a stiff finger at all three boys, his tone stern despite the twitch of a smile. “But just for a while, then no complaints when we head home, understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” All three boys shouted in unison.

  Blaze tousled Pee-wee’s hair before hitching a thumb towards the back of the wagon. “So, get in the wagon bed till we’re ready to go, butts down all the way. After I help Miss Mullaney hitch up Snowflake, I’ll get some more rods. But … no touching rods or tackle till I say so and no standing or hanging out of the bed, got it?”