by Jody Hedlund
When they finished their dinner, Mrs. McCormick ushered them up the winding stairway, past dozens of colorful oil paintings, past the vast rooms on the second floor, to the third story. She led them down a hallway beyond the glittering ballroom to the guest rooms.
The moment Mrs. McCormick opened the door to the first guest room and waved them in, Daisy collapsed on the bed and was violently ill. Mrs. McCormick was ready with the basin she had grabbed when she had noticed Daisy’s coloring earlier. She retched until she could hardly moan.
Much to Lily’s surprise, Mrs. McCormick stayed by the girl’s side. She helped Daisy undress and slide under the covers, bathed the girl’s face with a cool cloth, and held the basin for her whenever she retched.
“How’s Daisy?” Connell’s voice startled Lily as she stepped into the dimly lit hallway and closed the guest room door behind her.
Connell pushed away from the wall, where he’d obviously been waiting.
Lily brushed a loose strand out of her face, hoping she’d left the stench of vomit behind.
Connell approached her, his brow wrinkled with concern.
“She’s got the chills and can’t stop shaking. Your mother is sending me to fetch more chamomile from the maid.”
“I’m sorry, Lily.” He lifted an arm as if to reach for her, but then stuck the tips of his fingers into his small trouser pockets. “I sent the stable hand after the doctor. Maybe he’ll have something to ease the withdrawal.”
“Do you think she’s addicted to liquor?”
“I’m fairly sure.” His expression was sober.
As much as she supported temperance, she knew it wouldn’t do any good to get upset at Daisy for imbibing. “I suppose the liquor took the edge off the horror and pain of what she went through.”
He nodded. “Many prostitutes resort to drinking in order to survive. Daisy will be miserable for several days, but she’ll get through it.”
Lily rubbed her arms, wishing she could take away all of Daisy’s pain and make it her own.
“How are you doing?”
His question was soft and it wrapped around her, warming her heart. “I’m overwhelmed by your home.”
“It’s not mine.”
She smiled. “And I’m overwhelmed by your mother. She’s amazing.”
Connell grinned. “I won’t disagree with you on that count.”
“She’s just what Daisy needs right now.”
“Then you promise you won’t run off? That you’ll stay here?”
His tone stopped her playful answer. She cocked her head. “You’re not leaving tonight, are you?”
“Tomorrow.”
“That’s so soon. Why can’t you stay for a few days?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The dark shadows that flitted through the pine green of his eyes were only the beginning of the storm that would pour down upon him once Carr learned of his involvement in the escape.
“Do you really need to go back and face Carr?” She didn’t want to think about the danger that might await him upon his return.
“Not face him? Weren’t you the one who said I needed to join in the fight against him, regardless of the cost?” He grinned but the humor didn’t make it into his eyes.
She leaned against the wall. “But maybe you did what you needed, and now maybe it’s time to get out of Harrison.”
“Get out of Harrison?”
Her fingers grazed the raised abstract pattern of the wallpaper, its coolness and smoothness a contrast to the hot bumpy pace of her pulse. “Leave Harrison for good. Leave lumbering. Find something else to do with your life. Something you want to do.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment.
“You’re so good with numbers. Maybe you can find a job that involves working with figures.”
He stretched out his arm, leaning his palm against the wall near her head. “I already have a job that involves figures.”
The nearness of his hand sent a shiver through her. “I mean a job that doesn’t involve the destruction of the forests.”
“I think you’re just going to miss me,” he said lightly. But there was a hard set to his jaw that frightened her. “That’s why you don’t want me to go. Admit it.”
She sighed. And before she could stop herself, she reached up and laid her hand against his cheek. “I admit it.”
His breath hitched. The shadows in his eyes darkened, but this time with something more like desire.
Her fingers grazed the scratchy stubble of his unshaven cheek. Her heart quivered at the texture of him against her fingertips.
He leaned closer, and the sweet tang of oranges lingered between them.
“Connell?” a voice at the entrance of the hallway made her start.
She dropped her hand.
But he didn’t move—except to stiffen.
“I was just coming to tell your mother good-night.”
She glanced past Connell, and there stood Rosemarie. She’d donned a velvet bonnet trimmed with chenille and feathers and a jacket that glittered with fanciful beads. The woman’s eyes widened as she took in Lily’s unladylike proximity to Connell.
A twinge of embarrassment prodded Lily to straighten. She didn’t want to begin her visit with the McCormicks by making a poor impression, especially when she already had a sullied reputation.
She tried to slip away from Connell, but he boxed her in with his other arm.
“Connell, please,” she whispered.
But his eyes had taken on a spark of anger, and instead of moving away from her, he dipped closer.
“I’ll be sure to tell Mam you said good-bye.” He tossed Rosemarie a slight glance, all the while brushing his cheek against Lily’s.
The scruff skimmed her sensitive skin, and the scratchy sensation sent a shiver through her.
Rosemarie didn’t say anything, but she couldn’t seem to tear her focus away from Connell. There was a painful longing in her eyes that pleaded with him.
“You better get home to Tierney.” His voice was hard. “I’m sure he’s waiting for you.”
Lily didn’t know what was going on between Rosemarie and Connell, but she was certain there was something. She knew she ought to break free from Connell and give the two some privacy, but the touch of his cheek against hers and the warmth of his breath held her prisoner.
“Besides, I’m saying good-bye to Lily.” With that he seemed to dismiss Rosemarie. He leaned into Lily’s ear. The rasp of his breath there captured her with a strength that left her powerless, weakened her muscles, and made her dizzy.
The heat of his breath bathed the skin of her neck. And when he pressed a kiss into the hollow of her ear, she found herself clinging to him to keep from falling.
Only Rosemarie’s gasp brought her out of the drowning swirl of his nearness.
Lily tilted her head away from him, breaking the contact. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Rosemarie spin away and retreat toward the stairway, the sharp click of her heels growing more distant.
Lily pushed against Connell’s arms, but he didn’t move.
He dragged in a ragged breath.
The curling warmth in her stomach stretched tighter. And as embarrassed as she was that Rosemarie had witnessed their intimacy, she didn’t want to pull away from him. Would he kiss her again, a real kiss like the one they’d shared in the stairwell of the Northern?
But, as he had the last time, he tore himself away from her and stumbled to the other side of the hallway. With a groan, he rubbed his hand across his eyes. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
The regret in his tone sent a chill through Lily.
He put both hands over his face. “What was I thinking?”
“That you wanted to say good-bye?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lily.”
The cold chill rippled over her skin, and she folded her arms across her chest trying to fight it off. “Who is she to you, Connell?”
He didn’t respond
for a long moment. Then finally he straightened and looked directly at her. “She was my fiancée.”
The words blew into her blood like the north wind.
“But now she’s married to Tierney.”
“Why?” She forced the question out, even though she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know. “What happened?”
“Two months before the wedding, I caught them together, down in the library.” The dimness of the hallway shadowed his face, but nothing could hide the pain in his voice.
“Were they kissing?”
“They were doing a whole lot more than kissing.”
At his insinuation, she sucked in a startled breath. “Not Rosemarie. She seems like such a lady.”
“Apparently it wasn’t the first time they’d been together.”
“I don’t understand why she would give you up for your brother.”
“Tierney has a way about him that women like. And I guess he was more persuasive than I was.”
“You mean he’s a lying, cheating double-crosser who uses women, and you’re a gentleman, trying your hardest to be honorable?” Connell had always treated her with the utmost respect. She had no doubt he’d done the same with Rosemarie.
“For all my efforts to treat her honorably, I lost her anyway.”
“Then it was her loss.”
“When I see her with the baby and the house across the street, it’s hard not to think about how much I lost too.”
The honesty of his words pierced her. She didn’t want him to long for Rosemarie and the life he could have had with her. She didn’t want him to think about anyone else.
She wanted him to love her.
The truth spun through her aching heart. For the first time in her life, she’d met a man she desired, a man whose love she craved.
Was it possible she was falling in love with him?
“Did you love her?”
With the tip of his boot, he dug into the plush rug that ran the length of the hallway. “Dad had arranged my marriage to her. And as the daughter of one of his wealthy friends, it was a good match for both our families.”
“Then you didn’t really love her?” She held her breath. From the guest room, she could faintly hear Daisy’s agonized retching again.
“I’ve known her all my life and always thought she was a sweet girl. When my dad told me of the plans, I was more than willing to do what was best for me and our family. Especially with Rosemarie. She was easy to love.”
Lily pushed away from the wall and stepped toward him. Her body was tense with the need to know how he felt about Rosemarie, about her, about everything. “Do you still love her, Connell?”
She looked deep into his eyes, unwilling to let him hide from her. Her heart demanded the truth.
“Maybe I was in love with the idea of being married, of having a family, of settling down. And if we’d gotten married, I would have done my best to devote my life to her and to love her.”
The ache in her heart swelled. He was such a good man. He would have made Rosemarie a very fine husband. Had the woman guessed how much she’d lost when she’d given up Connell for Tierney?
“But how do you feel about her now?”
Connell finally grinned. “You’re sure nosy tonight.”
“Just tell me. Do you love her or not?”
“Do I detect jealousy?” His grin inched higher.
She was terribly jealous. It was pouring through every vein in her body, tightening every muscle, making her want to pound her fists into his chest and demand his answer. “I just want to know whether she stole all of your love. Or if you still have some left that eventually you might be able to give to another woman.”
“Rosemarie doesn’t have my love—not anymore.” The green of his eyes lightened to the shade of meadow grass. “I think whatever she stole has finally been recovered.”
The warmth in his eyes spread through Lily, and she allowed herself to breathe again.
His smile seemed made just for her. “In fact,” he said, his voice turning to a whisper, “I’m beginning to wonder if maybe someone else is stealing my affection.”
Hope unfurled in her middle like a wild flower.
She smiled in return and reveled in the beauty of his words. And she ignored the doubts that buzzed in and out among the flowers—the nagging thoughts that told her no matter how much he cared for her, their differences were too great and love could never fully blossom between them.
For now, she wanted to believe anything was possible.
Chapter
21
Connell was trapped. With Dad at one end of the dining-room table and Tierney at the other, he couldn’t escape.
Dad took a puff of his cigar and blew out a thick cloud of spicy smoke. It swirled in a haze around the angry lines grooved through his forehead. “Ye better start thinking with yer head instead of yer pants.”
“I have been using my head,” Connell retorted, hating that he felt like a twelve-year-old boy instead of a twenty-six-year-old man.
Tierney took a slurp of coffee. His eyes were bloodshot, his shirt wrinkled, his cravat askew—as if he’d spent the night at the tavern instead of home in bed with his wife.
The ticking of the silver clock on the mantel echoed through Connell’s mind. He’d been sitting listening to Dad and Tierney cuss him out for the past fifty-two minutes for stealing one of Carr’s prostitutes and bringing her to their home. Not only did Connell want to avoid arguing with them, he needed to get back to Harrison.
In the early hours of dawn, he’d meant to sneak down to say good-bye to Mam. But somehow in the process, she’d convinced him to have a cup of coffee and fresh buttermilk pancakes and bacon and bread with jam. And then of course, he’d wanted to tell her about Lily and all that had happened so she would believe his innocence. The last thing he wanted to earn was her disappointment.
Then Dad had joined them, almost as if he’d anticipated Connell’s early morning escape. Not long after, Tierney had shown up.
Of course Dad had nodded for Mam to leave the room, taking away any hope of support.
Dad dug into the pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a crisp stack of hundred dollar bills and slid it across the polished table toward Connell. “Deliver this to Carr and tell him I’m compensating him for his losses.”
Connell’s gut twisted. Part of him wanted to take the money and pay Carr for peace. But another part of him wanted to stand up to him once and for all. Why did they have to bow to a man like Carr?
“Tell him ye won’t interfere again.” Dad sat back in his chair and took another puff of his cigar.
“Can’t we get along without having to grovel at Carr’s feet?”
“Are ye daft?” Dad shoved away from the table and rose to his feet. With his broad shoulders and thick arms, he was an intimidating man—just like he’d always been. It didn’t matter that his once dark hair was now completely gray. He was still as strong as a team of oxen. “We rely on men like Carr. They feed our camps. The saloons and illicit houses are a necessity.”
“But he’s crossed the line this time. He’s forcing girls into prostitution.”
“I don’t care what he’s doing.” Dad slammed his hands onto the table, rattling the dainty cups and saucers. “As long as he keeps our men happy, that’s all that matters.”
“He shouldn’t prevent his girls from leaving.” Connell slapped his hands against the table. If Dad could rattle the china serving, why couldn’t he? “If they want to get out, they should be free to come and go.”
Dad took a step toward him and clenched his fist. “Where are ye coming up with this? Since when do ye care about what happens in the illicit houses?”
Tierney snorted. “Since he got himself a whore of his own.”
Anger exploded in Connell. The burst propelled him out of his seat to his feet. “She’s not a whore. And I don’t want to hear you call her that ever again.”
“Or what?” Tierney’s grin taunted him.
“I don’t want to know what ye do in your personal life. Keep it to yerself.” Dad shoved him. “But don’t go messing things up in me business. Do ye hear?”
Connell braced himself. He knew what was coming. A punch in the gut followed by the usual lecture.
Sure enough, Dad swung his fist into his stomach.
The impact would have doubled him over in years past. But all the months working in the camps had hardened his muscles. He let the fist bounce off his solid abdomen and forced himself not to flinch.
“Ye know how hard I’ve worked to get what I’ve got?” Dad grabbed Connell’s chin and pinched it like he had when he was a boy.
Connell yanked away. The trouble was, he wasn’t a boy anymore. “I realize you’ve worked hard—”
“I didn’t have a penny in me pocket when I stepped off the ship.” Dad continued as if Connell hadn’t spoken. “And I was so hungry, I could count every bone in me body.”
He’d heard Dad’s stories a thousand times. And when Dad let go of his chin and returned to his chair, Connell eyed the clock and then the door, wishing he could make a getaway.
“Sit down,” Dad barked. “I’m not done with ye yet.”
“I don’t have time to listen to any more.”
Dad hit the table again. “Sit down.”
Connell’s muscles tightened. Did he dare defy Dad and leave? Could he?
“I had to sweat for every single cent I’ve ever earned.”
“I know, Dad.” Slowly he lowered himself to the edge of his chair.
“I’ve never asked either of me sons to work harder than I work. I only expect of ye what I demand from meself.”
Connell could recite Dad’s words in his sleep. Yet for once he wanted to interrupt Dad’s tirade and ask him if all his success had made him happy. Was he satisfied with life?
Even more than that, didn’t he have the least remorse for the ruthlessness with which they operated? How could they live with themselves if they continued to overlook crime and injustice and evil, just so they could heap up more wealth they didn’t need?