Maggie gripped his arm and squeezed it so hard that he grimaced. “You can, Kevin. I know you, and you’re generous and kind.”
He stared at her in desolation. “Why can’t we have a child, Mags?”
His raspy voice tore at her heart. She shook her head and pulled him close, holding him for a long moment. “I don’t know,” she whispered, when his fierce hold on her finally relented. “I wish I had a magic potion, but I don’t.” She backed away. “Am I goin’ to the Bordello for the Madam or for Aileen?”
He flushed. “Aileen. She’s distraught, but she doesn’t want anyone in the family to know, and, when you call at our house, Mum always comes with you. She needs time just with you, and Madam Nora understands.”
“Come then. We shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Maggie leaned into his side, and she walked to the Bordello, with his arm over her shoulder.
* * *
Maggie sat in sullen silence near her mother, as A.J. and her father spoke in soft voices. Although she was used to A.J. being exuberant and teasing everyone present, tonight he was more subdued. Even though she was worried about Aileen and wished she could think of some way to aid her sister-in-law, Maggie knew there was nothing she could do. Instead she turned her attention to the gentle murmuring of the voices of her father and A.J., intent on listening to their conversation, as it appeared they had little desire to be overheard.
“You had no success then?” Seamus asked, his blue eyes staring intently at A.J.
“Little. I even had my Bessie investigate, and few can dig into an issue like a librarian. But she discovered nothin’ too.” A.J. sighed and leaned closer to Seamus, although the captain still spoke in a voice loud enough for Maggie to hear. “If that man is a lawyer, it sure ain’t from a place that’s reputable, and no well-known lawyer takes credit for trainin’ him.”
Seamus sighed. “But there’s no proof the man isn’t a lawyer.” Seamus raised a brow. At A.J.’s shake of his head, he muttered a curse. “I’d hoped to be rid of the man by now.”
“What more can he do to you, Seamus?” A.J. asked. “Your boys married the two decent sisters.”
Shaking his head, Seamus sighed. “I have an uneasy feelin’ is all, A.J.” He looked up, his gaze meeting Maggie’s. “You’ve heard too much, haven’t you?”
Maggie blushed but held her head high, as she nodded. “I’ve had enough of your secrets, Da.”
Flushing, Seamus fisted his hand on top of the table, as he stared at his youngest daughter, his gaze filled with regret. “It’s never been a secret that I’m looking into Chaffee,” he said. “I’d hoped you’d have some faith in me.” He paused, seeming to falter ever-so-subtly, as Maggie stared at him in defiant disapproval.
“When Dunmore returns,” she said.
A.J. let out a long sigh at the tense silence that filled the air around him. “You make it sound like a mythical time. When he returns. When he returns,” he parroted, with a shake of his head in exasperation. “Live your life now, missy. Don’t waste your days pinin’ for a man stupid enough to leave you. If he has any sense, he’ll return to you, your father’s edict be damned.”
“A.J.,” Seamus said in a low warning voice.
Staring at his friend, A.J. shrugged unrepentantly. “You know you were a fool, sonny. No need to act righteous now.” He winked at Maggie, as she fought a smile. “There’s the missy I know. Be full of joy and wonder, and give Dunmore hell when he returns. Before givin’ him a big kiss.” He winked again, when Seamus half-sighed, half-groaned.
Maggie giggled and A.J. chuckled.
Seamus stared at Maggie with an arrested expression, as it was the first time he’d heard her laugh in too long. Soon they were swept up in conversations going on around them, but a tenuous truce had been forged between Maggie and her father. However, neither of them were foolish enough to believe there would be full harmony until Dunmore returned.
* * *
Dunmore sat watching the horses trundle along, as his thoughts remained on Maggie. He was thankful that the man beside him was alert and eager to shoot at anyone who would threaten the stage. Dunmore feared an attack could occur, and he would be dead, long before he even knew there had been a threat.
The last time he saw Maggie played over and over again in his mind. Her desolate expression. Her defeated posture. How had he allowed Seamus to convince him to separate them? With an irate huff, he wished he’d had the sense to confront the man before he left town. He wished he’d made Seamus tell Maggie the truth, so she would understand his esteem had never wavered. Instead she thought him a scoundrel, who had played with her affection.
“Maggie,” he whispered, finding solace in merely whispering her name to the wind. He hated that he had been to Fort Benton and hadn’t held her in his arms. Hadn’t shared a conversation with her. Hadn’t gazed with joy and adoration into her beautiful eyes.
The horses shied in front, and he focused on the surroundings. They were on a wagon trail carved into the side of the mountain, headed toward a distant mining town that would be little more than a vague memory in a year or two. He would normally have allowed another man to run this route, but Dunmore had heard Jacques Bergeron was there, and Dunmore wanted to ensure the man had no plans to leave.
Glancing around, he saw the steady incline of the trail in front of him, with a steep drop-off to the other side. Pine trees and shrubs clung to the mountainside, although little grew where the steep drop-offs and gullies were. Where there were meadows, stalks of flowers with lacy white orbs dotted the landscape. “Bear grass,” he muttered to himself.
Suddenly the horses whinnied and then screamed, as a horrible groaning echoed through the air. With his own scream, he yelled, “Jump! Get out of the stage now!” The man beside him sat in stiff horror, frozen in place. Dunmore pushed at him, waking him from his stupor, and the man launched himself over the edge, shrieking in fear and then howling in pain as he landed.
Casting a quick, furtive glance behind him, he saw those inside the carriage peering out the window. Unable to stop the horses, nor to separate the stage from them, Dunmore prayed for a quick death, as the road fell out from underneath them, and the stage tumbled down the mountainside, splintering apart, as though nothing more than kindling.
Chapter 4
Turning her face up to the brilliant sunlight, Maggie prayed the warmth would penetrate the icy shell surrounding her heart. Every day that passed without word from Dunmore, she felt the numbness growing. She worried that she would be incapable of feeling anything, if he didn’t return soon. With a sigh, she thought about her father and about her mounting resentment toward him.
Although he had attempted to speak with her numerous times, she had rebuffed every one of his overtures, determined to wait until Dunmore had returned to her. Their shared camaraderie from a few nights ago had evolved into a stilted tension. Maggie understood they needed someone like A.J. to help ease the friction between them. Or Dunmore needed to return. However, Dunmore had departed nearly a month ago, and she hadn’t had a word from him since.
Now that the busy season was upon them in earnest, she understood how much she had come to rely on his frequent visits. Even if he was only in town for an evening or two, he would always come by the house for a meal and to share a story about something interesting he had seen. She realized how dependent she was on his frequent visits, never having lost faith that he would return. She missed that naive certainty that she would see him again, one day soon, and that he’d gaze at her with adoration and affection as he teased her, their hands brushing each other’s as they sat side by side at her father’s table.
However, now that it was early July, she had hoped he would have returned to her by now. That he wouldn’t have been able to keep to her father’s edict. That a month away would have been as challenging for him as it was for her. Doubts she had attempted to keep at bay gained credence, as the duration of his absence grew. If he really cared, he’d return, her mind whispered. If you were mor
e than a passing fancy, he could never stay away for so long, it taunted.
She ducked her head, as she admitted to herself that she wasn’t the type of woman to inspire a lifetime’s worth of devotion. Even her step-uncle Jacques had recognized what she was—a woman no better than the Sirens at the Bordello. She shivered, as she raised a hand to her forehead, suddenly freezing in the oppressively warm day. She feared she’d never be warm again, now that Dunmore continued to show he had no true interest in her. Swiping at her cheeks, she swallowed a sob. How would her heart ever heal?
* * *
A few days later, Ardan entered the kitchen, with a glance in his mother’s direction. Ever since he had married Deirdre nearly two years ago, he had spent less time with the family and more time at the café, which he and his wife now ran. He had never imagined he could be so content, running a business with his wife, but he had found an inner peace, knowing that she was nearby in the kitchen, while he interacted with their customers.
He took a deep breath and moved toward Maggie, who stood staring out the kitchen window. “Maggie?” he murmured, his voice redolent of their native Ireland. He was the eldest O’Rourke sibling and looked the most like their father—tall, broad shouldered, with piercing blue eyes. His black hair was longer than Seamus ever wore his. However, his beard was trimmed neatly, like his da’s, and he always acted with compassion and understanding, like his da. “Maggie, I must speak with you.”
Their mum frowned, silently asking if she should remain. When he nodded, she set aside the bowl for brown bread and focused on her son too.
“What’s the matter, Ardan?” Maggie asked, belatedly noticing her brother had entered the kitchen. “Is Deirdre ailing? Do you need my help?” She took a hasty step toward the inner kitchen doorway, as though to race for her healing supplies.
Gripping her arm and shaking his head, Ardan stilled her dash from the room. “Come, lass. Sit.” He waited until she had sat beside him, before he clasped her hands, giving them a supportive squeeze. “I have news. I don’t want you to hear it from one of the town busybodies.”
Maggie frowned. “What could you have heard about town that affects me?”
Ardan closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening. “I take no pleasure in this, Maggie,” he whispered. He opened his eyes and met her guarded gaze. “There’s been an accident. Dunmore’s missing.”
“Missing?” Maggie gasped, yanking on her hands, as she attempted to wrench them from his hold. However, her brother kept a firm grip on her. Her breath ratcheted from her, as she paled and then flushed, her eyes filling with tears. “How can you say he’s missing?”
“He was driving a stage to a small town he rarely visits, and the road washed away underneath his horses and the coach, plummeting them into a ravine.” He took a deep breath. “Everyone but Dunmore was found.”
“Alive?” Maggie asked in a hopeful voice.
Ardan paused, gazing deeply into her devastated blue eyes, so like his own. “No, only one lived. The man who’d been sitting beside Dunmore. He said Dunmore pushed him off the stage, just before they fell off the mountainside. Dun yelled for everyone to jump overboard, but no one heeded him.”
Maggie crouched forward, her head bobbing, as she gazed at nothing. “A hero to the end,” Maggie whispered, her voice broken. “Why wouldn’t he save himself?”
Mary wrapped her arms around her daughter, sheltering her from behind, as Maggie lost her battle with her dawning grief, and a keening wail echoed around the room. “You know the type of man Dunmore is,” Mary whispered. “His passengers were his responsibility. He’d never shrink from doing what he deemed right.”
Maggie’s shoulders shook, but no other wail emerged. “How could this happen?” she whispered. “He only went to the big towns.” She looked at Ardan in an accusatory manner. “How?”
Ardan now caressed her hands in a soothing manner, his expression one of deep torment for having caused his sister such distress. “He had heard news of Jacques. He wanted to investigate.” He waited, as she shook her head in confusion. “He visited me before he left the last time. I didn’t understand the … tension between him and Da, but I was happy to speak with him about any plan that would help us determine where Jacques is.”
A tear trickled down her cheek. “Even at the end, he was working to keep me safe,” Maggie whispered. “He was thinking about me.”
Mary squeezed her from behind. “My darlin’ girl, you know the man he is. You know he would never have wanted to be separated from you, had your da not extracted that promise.” She paused as Maggie spun to her, Maggie’s gaze filled with an unholy fury.
“If Da hadn’t acted as he had, Dunmore wouldn’t have left! He wouldn’t have made that trip! I’d still have him! I’ll never forgive Da now. Never!” She rose, running from the room, her footsteps clomping up the stairs, as she headed to her bedroom.
Ardan rubbed at his forehead. “Jaysus,” he muttered. “I never meant to make things worse.” He looked up to meet his mum’s worried gaze, when she stroked a hand over his head.
“You haven’t, my dear boy,” she said, with pride and love glinting in her gaze. “You spared her from hearin’ the news from the likes of Janet Davies.” Mary paused, as though considering the town’s worst gossip, who reveled in provoking pain as she imparted distressing news. “Maggie needs time.” She grimaced. “Warn your da. He needs to know what’s happened, before he comes home tonight.”
Ardan nodded, leaning forward to kiss his mum on her forehead, before he rose and strode from the room.
* * *
Maggie laid curled on her bed, staring vacantly into space, as even tears wouldn’t fall. Although she had cried upon initially hearing the news from Ardan, she couldn’t believe Dunmore was dead. That he would never smile at her again. Whisper in her ear. Tease her about her cooking or encourage her as she struggled to improve as a healer.
She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, as she recalled their last embrace. The way his hands pulled her close and his fingers dug into her backside, as though wanting to imprint the feel of him on her. His kisses, deep and passionate—and never enough.
When she heard the soft tap-tap on her door, signaling her mum was about to enter, she flipped over to her other side, so she wouldn’t have to face her. “I’m fine,” she croaked out in a defiant voice. When her mum stroked a hand down her back, Maggie shivered. “Don’t,” she pleaded. “You’ll make me cry.”
“Aye,” Mary murmured. “’Tis better to cry an’ wail an’ rave against fate than to cling to the anger, as I know you’re trying to do.” She continued to whisper soft, soothing sounds, as Maggie remained defiantly turned away from her. “Come, love.”
Around a gasp, Maggie stuttered out, “I won’t forgive him. I won’t.”
“Shh, love,” Mary said, as she kissed the back of her daughter’s head. “You will.”
Maggie rolled over, knocking into her mother with her hip and knees, as she struggled against her long skirts. She leaned on her arm, her elbow bent, as she stared at her mother through her tears. “Why don’t you believe me? He forced away my love.” Her voice broke.
Mary brushed her hand over Maggie’s head, urging her to lay back down, as she sobbed once more. “Nay, love. He wanted you to wait a year before you acted on your love. He never meant for Dunmore to push you away as he did.” She leaned over, kissing Maggie’s forehead. “’Twas a terrible stagecoach accident, and you can’t blame your da for it.”
“I wish I’d never met him,” Maggie said in a dull voice. “I wish we’d left the day after we were freed from Jacques, and I never had to know him.”
“Maggie,” Seamus rasped from her doorway, ashen and gaping at her, while gripping the doorjamb as though gut shot. “Please, my wee love.”
Maggie stared at him with a dull, pain-laden gaze. Tears continued to leak out and to soak her pillow, but she didn’t retract her words. She didn’t respond to his sorrow.
“I�
�ll make it up to you. I promise,” Seamus vowed, his blue eyes shining with misery.
“How?” Maggie asked, her voice stuttering around her sobs. “Dunmore’s missing.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Many believe he’s dead. Can you commune with the spirits and bring him back?” She glared at her father, her gaze filled with an impotent rage. “You have no more power over this than I do. Your shame is that you caused this. You hurt me.”
Seamus entered the room, stilling when Maggie backed away to the farthest part of her bed to avoid being anywhere near him. “Maggie, darlin’,” he entreated. “Please.”
“Get out,” Maggie whispered, curling into herself. “I want nothing to do with you, until I hold Dunmore in my arms again.”
She waited until she heard the door shut, before she let loose a sob. Only then did she examine her words, realizing she’d never stipulated that she wanted to hold a Dunmore who was alive in her arms. She shivered at the thought of weeping over his corpse.
* * *
Maggie stood, staring into the stream two days later. She wore the darkest dress she had, a deep indigo, wishing she were shrouded in black. However, this would have to suffice, as she attempted to find a way to display to the world the depths of her mourning. She had no more tears to cry, and she had no desire to share her immeasurable grief with the avid gossips of the town.
She had believed that standing by the stream would bring her a measure of peace, as it always had in the past. However, comfort and serenity remained ever elusive, as she battled her fear that Dunmore was lost to her forever. That all she had dreamed about would forever be nothing more than a dream. That she would never know what it meant to be loved by a man like Dunmore. She closed her eyes, remembering Dunmore’s intense gaze, as he looked at her as though she were precious. She yearned to feel his strong arms around her again. To feel cherished and safe again, merely because he was in the same room as her.
Pioneer Devotion: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Six Page 5