by E. E. Burke
“Would you convey our best wishes to your wife?”
Trying to pretend politeness, eh? He wouldn’t play into her hands. “Come by and offer them yourself. I’m sure Mrs. O’Shea would appreciate seeing a friendly face.”
Mistress Prudence blanched. At the thought of entering a saloon, no doubt. She clutched the shawl tighter. “I would love to see her. But she moved out of the hotel, and we understood she didn’t want to be bothered.”
Either the Plain Jane was a liar, or she’d misunderstood. Patrick aimed to set things straight and tweak their noses in the process. “She didn’t leave. he was evicted; and as far as I know, she never told anybody not to come see her.”
“How can that be?” The widow demanded.
“Mrs. Fry lied to us, that’s how.” Miss Walker’s eyes flashed with indignation. “She’s the one who told us Charm decided to leave and wanted nothing more to do with us.”
Mrs. Braddock’s lips thinned. “Then we will move out. I refuse to stay somewhere one of my friends isn’t welcomed.”
Patrick found the exchange enlightening. If true, he’d be having a talk with those hotel owners. They owed his wife an apology, at the very least. He tucked the information away until he could do something about it. In the meantime, he felt he had to warn the ladies not to act too rashly. “There aren’t any other rooms in town. No place acceptable for ladies.”
“We’ll see about that.” Mrs. Braddock started for the door to the land office. “Mr. Hardt should be informed. We’ll demand that he find us other lodgings.”
Oh, that ought to please the land agent to no end.
Patrick took the cue to escape. “Sounds like a good idea. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Tell Charm we miss her...and we’ll stop in soon for a visit...” Miss Walker’s voice followed him. He didn’t imagine she would risk her reputation to come to a saloon, but he would let Charm know her friends wanted to see her.
He passed by the depot where a train waited amidst clouds of smoke and steam. Those determined ladies might detain Hardt. Seeing as he was the highest-ranking railroad official in the area, the engineer would hold the train for him.
The last passengers boarded, including a couple entering the parlor car directly behind a private railcar reserved for Hardt. A fancy gent opened the door for a petite young woman in a blue traveling suit. From the back, she resembled Charm.
She disappeared inside the railcar before Patrick could get a good look at her.
Unease rippled through him. What if it was Charm?
Ridiculous. Why would she be getting on a train with some stranger?
Unless he wasn’t a stranger...
Patrick squelched his suspicion. He wouldn’t let jealousy make him act like a fool...again. He stepped into the street, leaving the train behind.
Knowing Charm, she was probably still in bed. Wasn’t even noon yet. Maybe he’d join her... He smiled at the thought.
His little wife turned his well-ordered world upside down with her crazy sleeping habits, her untidiness, her energetic drive and big ideas. Everything about her would seem to be the opposite of what he needed. But he’d gotten stuck, and Charm had pulled him out of a rut. She’d reawakened the man he didn’t think still existed.
For years, he’d been waiting, hoping his luck would change. Time he made his own luck and went after an impossible dream, like those he had when he left Ireland and came to America. He would tell Charm that he loved her, and challenge her to face her feelings for him. They were meant for each other. Why, it couldn’t be clearer.
Inside the saloon, McLaughlin rattled around behind the bar, helping himself to a shot of whiskey.
“What the hell are you’re doing?”
The intruder gave him a sheepish grin. “Looked like you needed a barkeeper.”
“Does my wife know you’re here?”
McLaughlin drained the shot in one gulp and set the glass down. “Haven’t seen her. Just got here a few minutes ago. The door was open, but nobody answered when I called out.”
“Leave the money on the bar when you’re finished.” Patrick rushed for the stairs. She had to be in bed, asleep. She wasn’t on that train.
Her door stood ajar. He slammed it open. It struck the wall with a loud bang that reverberated through the building. “Charm?”
No petticoats piled on the unmade bed. No suitcases. The floors, he could see them. Nothing of hers remained.
His heart jerked in panic. He whirled around, didn’t bother to look in his room. He knew she wouldn’t be there. She had boarded that train, and he could guess who was with her.
LaBar.
The departure whistle sounded.
Terror such as he’d never known before surged through him. God only knew what that bastard had threatened to coerce Charm into going with him. Patrick took the stairs two at a time and headed out the door. Blocking out the stabbing pain, he loped in the direction of the train.
Smoke billowed from the locomotive’s diamond stack. A conductor at the bottom of the steps leading up to the parlor car stopped him. “You have a ticket?”
Patrick fisted his hands. He restrained a mad urge to knock the obstruction out of his way. “I don’t need a ticket. My wife is in there. I’m taking her off the train.”
The conductor regarded him with a dubious frown, but then he moved to one side. “All right, but hurry...we’re leaving soon as Mr. Hardt boards.”
Patrick climbed the steps. His hip screamed in protest and his right leg felt like it was on fire. He entered the parlor car, panting from the pain. The interior smelled like oiled wood. Paneled walls, cushioned benched. LaBar traveled in styled.
In the rear, the seats faced each other. Patrick spotted the bearded man in the expensive suit at the same time the man saw him. Had to be LaBar. Couldn’t see who sat opposite, but Charm was so short she could be concealed behind the high-backed bench.
The man slipped his hand inside his coat.
Patrick cursed his negligence. He should’ve thought to retrieve his gun before he left. Keeping his hands at his sides to make it clear he was unarmed, he walked purposely to the rear of the car, betting LaBar wouldn’t shoot him and face hanging for murder.
When he reached the seats, he looked down into Charm’s chalk-white face.
“Where are you going?” he asked softly. None of this was her fault. Of that he was certain. All she had to do was trust him. Tell him she’d been threatened. He would have LaBar jailed for abducting her—after he rearranged the other man’s face.
“I-I’m leaving...you-you shouldn’t have come after me,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Patrick’s face grew hot. “Tell me why. Did he threaten you?”
Her abductor didn’t look like much of a threat. Come to think of it, ferrets didn’t look dangerous either, but they had sharp teeth. Keeping that in mind would be wise.
LaBar’s hand remained inside his coat. “Miss DuCharme has agreed to return with me and honor her contract. I suggest you let her.”
Patrick balled his fists. He’d tear LaBar’s head off if he as much as moved his arm. “Is that a threat?”
Charm tugged the bottom of his coat. “Patrick, please... Don’t cause a scene. Mr. LaBar is correct. I agreed to return to fulfill the terms of my contract. There’s nothing you can do.”
“You’re wrong about that, wife.” He had no wish to frighten her, but he wasn’t putting up with these shenanigans. Holding her eyes, he gentled his voice. “Trust me. Tell me the real reason you’re leaving...”
She looked away, clasping her hands in her lap. “That is the real reason.”
By God, he would throw her over his shoulder and haul her off this train...
“Let me handle it, Juliette.” LaBar reached over and patted her knee.
Patrick’s anger blazed. “Touch her again, and I’ll break your fingers!”
Charm cringed.
His conscience flayed him for frightening her.
..until he realized she wasn’t cringing from him. She shrank away from LaBar’s touch.
A red haze descended. Patrick grabbed the filthy coward by his lapels and dragged him out of the seat. LaBar wasn’t a short man, but he was slender. No match, even with two good legs.
Patrick braced his feet. He hauled back his arm, but before he could land a punch, LaBar pulled a pocket pistol. Charm screamed at the same time Patrick raised his arm to knock the shooter’s aim away from her.
The gun fired near his head with an earsplitting bang.
They fought for control of the gun. Patrick slammed LaBar’s hand against the back of the bench. Gripping the man’s arm, he pressed his thumb against a soft spot on the wrist, applying enough pressure to make LaBar’s fingers go numb.
The gun fell to the carpeted floor.
Patrick scooped it up, his ears still ringing from the blast. A peashooter, useless for the most part, but deadly at close range. Gamblers used them, and slimy night crawlers.
LaBar took a half step back, lost his balance and plopped onto the seat. “Shoot me, and you’ll hang,” he screeched.
It was awfully tempting.
Patrick glanced at two other men in the car, both of whom had seen the altercation. Witnesses to murder, if he did what he itched to do.
The men jumped up and left the railcar in a hurry.
“You see? They’re going after the sheriff.”
Charm came to her feet. She grabbed Patrick’s arm, her features stark with fear. “Don’t do this. It’s not worth it. He’s not worth your life.”
Patrick tucked the gun beneath his coat into the waistband of his trousers. He slipped his arm around his wife’s waist and drew her next to him. Regret crept in on the heels of anger. He should’ve held his temper in check until he’d talked Charm into leaving with him. If soldiers showed up to arrest him, would Charm defend him? Or would she side with LaBar? He wasn’t so sure anymore. That didn’t mean he would give her up. No matter what power LaBar had over her, she couldn’t leave. If she did, he knew without a doubt he would never see her again.
“No, he’s not worth my life. But you are.”
Chapter 10
Charm dropped the hold she had on Patrick’s vest. Her hands quivered from the shock of hearing that gun go off, thinking he’d been killed, and then fearing he’d put a bullet between Simon’s eyes and she would have to watch her beloved swing by his neck at the end of a rope. He’d give her heart failure if he didn’t cease being heroic.
He couldn’t save her. Not without sacrificing himself.
“Get out of here!” She pushed him.
He didn’t budge, immovable as a boulder.
“Let him stay,” Simon taunted. “When the authorities arrive, we can tell them he attacked me.”
“You pulled a gun on him, you idiot!” Regardless, she knew Simon was right. There were two witnesses who could say Patrick had started the altercation. If her husband left now and the train pulled away, he could avoid being arrested.
She turned to him, begging. “Please, go.”
He tightened his hold around her waist. “I’ll leave if you come with me.”
“Patrick, I’ve already told you, I’m going back to Chicago. You met with Mr. Hardt. He knows you’re married. You don’t need me anymore.”
Her husband’s jaw firmed. “You’re wrong about that. I do need you...and not just to prove my claim.”
“This is all very touching, but she’s told you repeatedly to leave—”
Charm twisted, glaring at her tormenter. “Shut up Simon! You’ve already caused enough trouble.”
Simon folded his arms, looking belligerent. “Not nearly as much as I’m going to cause.”
Fear ricocheted inside her chest. She had to get Patrick out of harm’s way. She was doing the right thing. “If I finish out this contract, he’ll have nothing more to hold over my head. I’ll be free.”
Her husband’s expression remained resolute. “You can be free now. There’s no reason to go back.”
Her heart shrank into a painful knot. Patrick had given her no choice but to be cruel. In hurting him she would wound herself, and the torment would be endless. The words stuck in her throat. Patrick had lived with pain for so long, he’d learned to endure it. She would, too. This was a part she had to play for his sake, not hers.
She gazed at him through a sneering mask. “Will you shackle me, then, and drag me off the train? Or will you let me go, like you promised.”
Pain flared in his eyes...and exploded in her heart. He removed his arm from around her waist.
Burning with shame, she sat down. She couldn’t bear the hurt shining in his eyes, so she stared at Simon and let him see her hatred. That was all he would ever get from her.
Patrick placed his fingers on her shoulder, a light touch, yet it made her flinch “If freedom is what you want, I won’t force you to stay with me. But I’m not letting you leave with this snake.”
Simon reached inside his coat.
Patrick went for the gun.
Before Charm could scream stop, Simon was waving a piece a paper. “This is an order from a judge that requires your wife to return with me to work out her contract. If she doesn’t, she will be required to pay the sum of five thousand dollars.”
Charm ventured a furtive look through her lashes to gauge her husband’s reaction. Patrick’s stunned expression told her what she already knew. Might as well be a million dollars. He couldn’t come up with that much money. Not without selling everything he owned.
“Now you see why you must allow me to return.”
“I’ll pay it,” Patrick shot back.
“The full amount, payable immediately.” Simon’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. He was enjoying Patrick’s ruination.
Worse, the sacrifice wouldn’t change anything. Simon would find some new way to torment her, and as long as Patrick stood in the way, her husband would never have any peace.
She unleashed her frustration on him. “I don’t want you to come to my rescue, and I don’t want your money. Can’t you get that through your thick head?”
Patrick blinked, stunned. Her barrage had caught him by surprise.
He would leave now. Dear God, he had to leave before the soldiers showed up.
He put his hand on the arm of the bench and knelt, his movements so slow and awkward it hurt to watch. Reaching across her lap, he grasped her hand as a drowning man might clutch a rope. “You’re my wife,” he said roughly. “I would do anything...pay any amount...go anywhere to be with you. I love you, Charm. I should’ve told you that before. If I had, maybe you would trust me.”
Her heart shrank into a painful knot. Oh God. She couldn’t keep up the pretense of not caring, couldn’t act like he didn’t matter. He mattered more than anything in the world.
“You can’t afford to pay my debt, Patrick. You’ll lose the saloon. Lose everything...” Her voice cracked. “I can’t let you do that and live with myself.”
He twined his fingers through hers. A loose grip, but one that was stronger than the thickest rope. “I’m willing to lose everything. Except you.”
Love rose as fast as floodwaters. Nothing could hold it back. Not self-doubt. Not fear. Not even regret. She tenderly stroked his hair. “I’d give up everything for you, Patrick. Don’t you see? That’s why I left.”
Simon shifted forward, his nostrils flaring, as if he smelled his prey escaping. “You have to come back, or I can have you jailed.” He started to reach out. Perhaps he intended to take hold of her skirt or her hand, or maybe wring her neck.
Patrick came over the bench with an animalistic growl. He grabbed Simon’s forefinger and gave it a violent twist.
Simon’s shriek echoed off the wood-paneled walls. He jerked his hand from Patrick’s grip and hugged it to his chest. “You sonofabitch! You broke my finger!”
The veins on Patrick’s neck bulged as he hovered over Simon with his hands fisted. “I’ll break your neck the next time you
dare to touch my wife.”
Simon’s face turned ashen, sweat sheened his forehead. Now he knew what pain felt like. “By God, you’ll pay for this! I’ll see to it that you both rot in jail.”
“What’s the problem here?” The deep voice came from behind.
Mr. Hardt. Someone had sent for the railroad agent, or he heard the gunshot when he boarded. Maybe that’s why the train hadn’t left the station. He rested his hand on the back of the bench, looking down at her quizzically. “Mrs. O’Shea? Can I be of assistance?”
“That oaf broke my finger,” Simon shouted. “And he tried to kill me.”
“After you provoked him and shot at him.” Charm pinned a hard look on the sweaty, pale-faced bully sitting across from her. He could threaten her, try to intimidate her, sue her or even see her put in jail. But he could no longer hurt her, because he couldn’t touch her heart.
Old fears fell away, the chains broken. Love hadn’t bound her...it had set her free.
Patrick rested his hand on her shoulder. Without saying anything, he let her know he was there, and would always be there.
“This is Mr. LaBar,” she said to the railroad agent. “He came to town to tell me that if I didn’t return and fulfill my contract, he would have me jailed and sue my husband for the money I owe him. But I don’t owe him anything. He stole my inheritance, and then he made sure I never saw a cent of my earnings. He’s a bully and a cheat.”
“I have a judge’s order,” Simon shot back. He hunched over his hand, tucked protectively against him like a broken wing.
Mr. Hardt’s face remained expressionless. “May I see this order?” He extended his hand.
Simon hesitated. “Who are you?”
“Ross Hardt, land agent for the Gulf Railroad.”
Simon fumbled inside his coat and produced the paper. He leveled a murderous look at Charm as he handed it over.
Hardt perused the document. “Judge Kirkpatrick... Yes, I’ve heard of him. He’s a state judge in Illinois. He has no jurisdiction in Kansas.”
“How would you know?” Simon snapped.
“My business is to know the law.”
A flicker of hope reignited. Mr. Hardt’s knowledge appeared to be superior to Simon’s. Even more surprising, he seemed inclined to believe her.