Today, however, she only felt sad and overwhelmed. How was she supposed to survive losing a second husband in one year? How could she manage to run the ranch by herself and fend off the men who wanted to take it all away from her? If they could get away with killing her husband, a strong and determined man who'd faced them alone until three weeks ago, what would happen to her?
Would this Jamey O'Donnell be able to help her stand against Cleve Moran to protect Will Rivers' head right that was now her own? His demeanor projected strength, confidence, and tolerance. He’d exhibited patience before and after she’d shot him and expected the truth. Perhaps it was time for her to trust him.
CHAPTER THREE
“Colleen?” he asked softly, staring, waiting for her to answer.
Avoiding eye contact, Angel placed their bowls into the dishpan, wiped down the drain board and then folded the dishrag. Stalling. Why was she stalling? And why did he keep calling her Colleen? Turning to face him, she leaned against the counter with her hands braced on the edge.
“Mr. O'Donnell, we haven’t been formally introduced but for some reason you seem to be under the impression that my name is Colleen and, while you say it real pretty with your Irish brogue, my given name is Angela. Most folks call me Angel.”
“Angel,” he repeated, coughed and covered a grin behind his hand. “Pleased to be under your roof.”
She should really be upset he laughed at her but seeing as how she'd shot him, she let it go.
Exhaling, she began, “The trouble started just before Will and I married last year.”
“What happened?”
“He had a run of bad luck after he returned from the cattle drive. Seems he'd borrowed money from his neighbor, Cleve Moran, and then lost what he had left in a poker game. He couldn't afford to pay his debts or his ranch hands and had to let them go.”
She pushed away from the counter and sat down at the table. “After we married, he tried to borrow money from the bank but they turned him down. Moran started badgering him for payment of his debt.”
“Aye, I imagine that was difficult. I know what this place meant to Will. He’s had this place since before the war.”
“Will had great dreams for his ranch. He wanted to turn it into a home for troubled boys. For a time as a young man before the war, he'd almost gotten in with a band of outlaws. Someone had helped him turn his life around and he wanted to return the favor. He'd already taken in a few boys when I came along. Seems he had a thing for lost causes.
“Anyway, he thought if he planted wheat and cotton and promised to make restitution after harvest, he'd be out from under Mr. Moran.”
“I take it that didn't appease the man?”
“No, it didn’t. Several sections of our fence were cut so Moran's cattle could reach water and graze. The beeves ruined everything we planted.”
“What'd the marshal have to say about it?”
“Will didn't want to involve the law, thought he could take care of matters himself.”
“I remember he was a proud man.” Resting his forearms on the table, he leaned forward. “Can ye tell me how he ended up bein' shot?”
His voice, soft with care and concern, nearly undid her. She didn't know much about the details, but she could tell him what little bit she recalled. She'd thought of nothing else since her husband had shown up late that December evening. Steeling herself against the memories, she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I don't know exactly. Will left before dawn two weeks ago to check and fix the fences. He took provisions for a week.”
“That's quite a long time to be out alone in December.”
“There's a small shack on the other side of our land where he could stay if the weather got too bad. I didn't begin to worry until a few days into the second week.”
Deep in thought, she examined the Mason jar she used as a spooner. It sat on the table holding her spoons for jellies and jams. One day she hoped to have one like the cut glass ones she'd seen at the hotel. She thought of anything to keep from dwelling how long Will had lain out there wounded with no one to help him. Finally the grief, sadness and tears refused to stay bottled up inside.
The dam broke as she sobbed into her hands. “By the time he showed up back here, he was too far gone. I couldn’t save him.”
* * *
Jamey stood and knelt by her side, slipping his arm around her shoulders.
“There, there, Col—” He stopped in the middle of his usual endearment. Not wanting to contribute to her distress, he used her own name. “Angel, let it out.”
Without hesitation, she turned into his arms, crying on his shoulder. Finally, she pushed herself away from him, took a deep breath, and wiped her cheeks and nose with a towel lying on the table.
Hiccoughing softly, she said, “Thank you, I needed that.”
“Aye that ye did. Sometimes there's nothin' better than a good cry.”
“That's true, but how do you know that?”
“I've been surrounded by women all my life. I've learned a thing or two.” He thought her name suited her. She looked like an Angel. Her pale blue eyes stood out against creamy skin that remarkably showed no traces of her recent crying. His sister, Matelyn, and cousin, Katie, cursed their Irish heritage for they always had blotchy skin and swollen eyes when they shed tears.
Her smile, however, was anything but angelic. Her mouth, while certainly kissable, sent his thoughts down a devilish path.
Standing, he chastised himself. She was just widowed and her husband had been a friend. He had to clear his mind and take control of the situation. One of his first priorities should be to stop calling her by her given name, Angel.
He took a closer look at his surroundings. The cabin, as a whole, was sparsely furnished. A few jars of canned vegetables sat on the counter next to the stove. Meat was in question, but being a pretty fair shot, he could hunt. The room had taken on a chill as the fire had died down and he only saw a few small logs beside the fireplace.
She'd seemed to have gathered herself, so he asked, “Mrs. Rivers, do ye have a stack of wood stored outside?”
“There's enough for tonight and part of tomorrow in the lean-to beside the cabin. I've just about gone through what Will had chopped before he left.”
“What about food? Do ye have any meat to go with those canned vegetables?”
“The last of the chicken's in the pot and there's a small amount of venison in the smoke house.”
“Good.”
“Mr. O'Donnell, shouldn't we bury Will soon?”
“Depends. The ground may be too hard to dig right now, and we have to tell the authorities,” he said, trying to be honest. When her eyes filled with fresh tears, he quickly added, “But, one way or another, we'll do our best to lay him to rest as soon as possible.”
“Thank you.” Going to the door, she pulled on her boots and her husband's coat.
“Where're ye headed?”
“Out to get the wood we'll need for the night.”
“Take those off. I'll get it when I go out to check on Rusty and the other animals.”
“I'm not afraid of work or the cold,” she stated, angling her chin to meet his gaze, her eyes intense.
“I can see that.” Hands on his hips, he shook his head. “I can also see that ye're a might stubborn.”
“You know nothing about me, Mr. O'Donnell,” she sputtered. “I nev—”
“Now, I didn't mean to ruffle yer feathers.” He raised his hands in a staying motion. “I thought ye'd be better at gatherin' more blankets so we can both sleep close to the fire tonight. I'll bring in my bedroll from the barn.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped and her eyes closed as if all the starch had gone out of her. “I'm sorry, it's just that I want to do my share.”
“’Tis all right. We'll not be worryin' about that tonight.”
As he headed out to the barn, questions about her life before and since her recent marriage popped into his mind. Why
did she need to push her independence so? Why had Will Rivers been shot and killed? Was it because as she feared, Will owed the wrong man money? Aside from her being alone on the ranch, what other dangers did she face? Should he ride on out of her life as soon as he buried her husband? Could he?
The cold wind blew down the collar of his coat, reminding him to keep moving or he'd likely freeze solid. He made up his mind to stay at least long enough to get answers to his questions and help her through the next couple of days. After that, only the saints knew the direction he'd be taking.
* * *
Angel took her time removing her heavy coat and outer boots after he closed the door. Anything to delay the task before her. The quilts she needed for extra bedding were stored in the room where Will's body lay awaiting burial. The sadness she felt and the degree to which she'd failed him threatened to engulf her. But through her faults, she gained strength.
She exited the bedroom seconds before Mr. O'Donnell came back inside. Having taken the time to relieve herself and gather a few personal items, she then set about making the second pallet. She acknowledged his return with a nod as he dropped the logs to the floor near the fireplace.
“Is everything all right?”
“Appears to be. What isn't already frozen, though, soon will be.” He added logs to the fire, adjusted his hat and turned to face her. "If you'll allow me to use one of those blankets, I'll pump some more water then wrap the pump head to keep it from freezing.”
“Of course.” She handed him the oldest and least favorite, then said, “There are other buckets in the barn.”
“I found them, thank ye.” He headed back to the door. “I'll be back in a few minutes.”
“Here.” She grabbed a heavy woolen scarf off the hook by the door. “Put this on.”
“Thanks.” Wrapping the material around his neck, he left.
The fire snapped and popped, filling the room with much needed warmth. In spite of the warming fire, shivers of despair and dread traveled down her back and sapped her strength. Her knees turned to jelly and she collapsed to the floor. The memory of trying to thaw out Will’s frozen body filled her mind and devastated her.
Angel thought of all the tests she'd been through the last few weeks and wondered what lay ahead. Whatever it was, she prayed for the strength to get through it and gave thanks for the stranger, Jamey O'Donnell.
CHAPTER FOUR
Late the next afternoon, Jamey said a silent prayer over Will Rivers' body. It had taken both of them to move him down to the root cellar at the back of the house. Assured the temperature would be below freezing for quite a while to come, this was the best he could do for his friend until the authorities could be notified of his death.
He glanced at the woman standing beside him. Bundled in that same coat he'd first seen her in only yesterday, she stared dry eyed at a spot on the wall above her husband’s body. While her relationship with Will was none of his business, he wondered at her lack of tears. People married for a number of reasons, not the least of which was survival. Had she cried herself out or had she despised him and was glad he was gone?
They'd barely spoken this morning before they’d set about their task of moving her husband out of the house. When he'd come in to tell her his temporary plan, she'd already dressed for the day in a wash-worn blue calico. With her corn silk hair and eyes the same shade as her dress, she looked like a porcelain doll he'd once seen in a Sanger Brothers store window in Dallas. Fragile on the outside, Angel carried an inner strength he'd already witnessed.
Jamey cleared his throat to get her attention. “Are ye ready to go back in the cabin?”
“Not quite yet.” Leaning slightly, she straightened the handmade woolen shirt on her husband’s body and then covered the body with a worn felt blanket. In a voice just above a whisper, she said, “Thank you, Will, for everything you did for me. You were a good man and I'm real sorry I couldn't love you.”
Her statement, while handing him a hint as to her relationship with her husband, made him aware his presence was an intrusion on her privacy. He gingerly replaced his hat, tipped the brim with his thumb and forefinger, and headed for the house to stoke the fire and get ready to chop more fire wood.
As he reached the porch, the sound of horses' hooves drew his attention. A black buggy flanked on three sides by six men on horseback drove straight toward the side of the house, ice crunching beneath hooves and wheels. Angel rounded the corner, but before he could get to her, the lead rider dismounted and grabbed her by the arm.
While he didn't know who drove the buggy, his gut told him it wasn't good. And his gut never betrayed him. Instinctively, though, he knew this must be the neighbor, Cleve Moran and his henchmen, as she'd referred to them. As he neared Angel and the group surrounding her, the man he assumed to be Moran jumped off his horse and grabbed her. His raised voice shattered the quiet.
“I’ve come to collect what’s due me.”
“Please, Mr. Moran, if you’ll just give me time,” Angel cried out trying unsuccessfully to wrench her arm from his grasp. “I promise to pay you the money.”
“It's past time for discussion.” He jerked her toward the buggy then stopped and bellowed, “Get out, preacher. It's time for you to go to work.”
Jamey had to think quickly. He owed it to Will Rivers to protect his widow. Without preamble, he walked up to the circle of men, opened his coat, and rested his hand on the butt of his holstered Colt. His eyes honed in on Moran's murderous stare at the interruption.
“Who the hell are you?”
“The name's Jamey O'Donnell. Now why don't we all take a step back and talk a bit. I'm bettin’ there's an agreeable outcome everyone can live with.”
Moran grimaced and seethed and tightened his grip on Angel. “Not likely.”
“Ye see?” Jamey smiled and winked at Angel. “That's where ye're wrong.”
“You're not from around here.”
“Aye, 'tis true. I'm from—”
“Never mind,” Moran barked. “Come on, preacher, let's get this wedding over with. We're burning daylight, and you have a train to catch!”
Jamey stepped forward. He had no idea why she or her predicament mattered to him, but he wasn't about to let this corrupt man marry Angel, steal Will’s land and collect her along with the ranch as property.
“Mr. Moran, I have an offer for ye.”
“What is it?”
“I'm goin’ to take a wild guess and assume that what ye're really interested in here, is gettin’ yer money. Am I right?”
“That's the top item on my list, yes.”
“Then why're ye takin’ on a wife that's only goin’ to cause ye grief and misery?” Against his better judgment, he stole a glance at Angel. Her blue eyes threatened hellfire and damnation. “Ye know what I'm talkin’ about. She'll start small – a demand here, a complaint there – and before ye know it, ye'll never have a minute's peace.”
Moran glared in response, as several of his men snickered.
“If I agree, how do you suggest I get my money? Who's going to pay me? You?”
“Against my better judgement, yes. As it turns out, I'm lookin' to buy a small ranch for myself.” Not making any sudden moves, Jamey eased his way around the horse attached to the preacher's buggy. He scratched the horse between his ears and when he stood facing Moran, he said, “I'm willin’ to take on Will Rivers' debt. I'll pay you the balance of what he owes and marry his widow, therefore takin’ care of all obligations.”
“How dare you,” Angel spat out. “I won't—”
“Quiet woman!” Moran demanded. “How soon can I have my money?”
“I'm willin’ to sign a note and meet ye at the bank tomorrow or a time of yer choosin’.” He had a letter of credit from the bank in Dallas, so getting the money shouldn't be a problem.
After giving the proposal some thought, Moran put out his hand and said, “We have a deal.”
Jamey shook the man's hand to seal their agreement.
One problem solved. The only issue left stemmed from what he now had to do. In order to protect her reputation, he had no other choice than to marry the Widow Rivers.
He caught her when Moran shoved her in his direction. She landed face first against his chest.
Cleve Moran laughed. “You want her, you got her, O'Donnell. Come on, preacher, let's get these lovebirds hitched.”
She pushed away from Jamey and ran toward the house.
He caught up with her before she reached the porch. “Mrs. Rivers, wait.”
“You can't make me marry you.” Hands on her hips, she stomped her foot in protest. “Why are you doing this?”
“To save ye and yer reputation. And I'd like to take on Will's cause for troubled boys.”
“I intend to do that by myself. I don't need you!”
“In case ye missed it," he stated, mirroring her stance. “I just paid off yer husband's debt.”
“Yes, thank you. So?”
“So I now own the Double R.”
“Yes, so?”
“So, ye have no money and, I'm assumin’, no place to go. We can't live here together without settin' tongues to waggin'." He nodded toward the men standing out by a copse of trees.
“Look, I know marryin' a stranger isn't what ye had planned. Saddlin' myself with a wife wasn't on my list of things to do this week either.” Why couldn't she see he was doing her a favor? “By becomin' my wife, ye won't be threatened by Cleve Moran or any other thief lookin' to take advantage of ye.”
“It's not that I don't appreciate your sacrifices, Mr. O'Donnell.” She glared daggers at him, lamenting, “It's just that it's all so unfair.”
He spoke softly so the others wouldn't hear. “I will delay my trip to Colorado for a time. I'll work to get ye back on yer feet and to bring the Double R back into shape. If ye wish, our marriage will be strictly a business agreement.”
The look she shot him said she thought that statement was a load of horse manure. He grabbed for her hand when she would've turned away.
Angel and the Texan From County Cork (The Brides of Texas Code Series Book 3) Page 2