by Danni Roan
“I think I would,” he said, mischief in his voice.
“Then come along, Mr. McHain,” Mel challenged. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
A moment later she led him onto the ice, gripping his hand tightly in her mittened one.
At first he teetered dangerously on the thin blades as she pulled him along, but then he found his balance, adjusting his weight so that it was evenly positioned over his feet. Soon he was gliding along beside her.
“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” Melissa asked, her smile bright with delight at how quickly he was able to keep up.
“Never a day in my life.”
Mel’s laugh was like a balm on his soul and he soaked it in. His heart quickened, watching her swirl around on the ice, and he knew he would never be over her.
“Bet you can’t catch me.” Her voice was full of laughter as she darted out ahead.
Swinging his arms Carl shot after her, his smooth, even strides gaining on her quickly.
Melissa spun on her blades only to see Carl barreling down on her, a devilish smile lighting his face. She slowed for a moment watching him as he lowered his head and reached for her.
Carl’s leading blade came into contact with Melissa’s skate, and he watched her eyes go wide as she lost her balance and started to fall. Straining to catch her, he lost his balance as his arm snaked around her and he turned, pulling her with him down onto the ice.
Melissa felt herself falling, felt the strong arm at her waist and let herself go landing on top of Carl with a muffled thud. He lay beneath her, legs sprawled, arms still clutching her waist where she pressed against him.
His bright blue eyes sparkled up at her and she smiled, her whole body filling with laughter. She could feel his chuckle even through the layers of clothing she wore and reveled in the sound.
“I’m sorry,” Carl said, his mood still light. “I didn’t mean to make you fall.”
Melissa smiled, gazing into his eyes then stilled, falling deeper into their brilliant blue.
Carl’s laughter stopped as he looked up at the young woman sprawled across him, her warm body pressing him down into the cold ice. His blood warmed as her face grew serious, the green of her eyes darkening.
Carl McHain lifted his head, his eyes fixed on Melissa’s lips, still parted from her laughter. His hands ran along her sides, feeling her woolen coat, rough beneath them, even as he pulled her close. She licked her lips, her eyes still fixed on his as he stole closer.
“Are you alright?” Niamh’s worried voice shattered the moment. “You’ve been down there a terribly long time,” she said, peering at them with concern.
Carl bit back a curse, mentally kicking himself for his moment of weakness.
“Ms. Middleton, are you alright?” he asked, avoiding her eyes and the temptation of her lips.
“Yes, you uhm, broke my fall.” She struggled to her feet, offering him her hand once she’d smoothed her skirts back into place.
“I, I think that’s enough for tonight,” Mel said, her words sounding sad, disappointed.
“Yes, it’s getting late,” Carl agreed, shrugging his heavy coat into place. “We’d better go home.” He could see the disappointment in his sister’s eyes, but she didn’t argue.
Chapter 8
Work was an anchor for Carl, keeping him grounded in the real world with its everyday problems. Dealing with numbers - simple, predictable, reliable - kept his mind from a green-eyed girl who would always be out of his grasp.
Since the ice-skating incident Mel hadn’t come to the office and it had become his hiding place. He told himself that Ms. Middleton was busy preparing for the Christmas holidays and that her conspicuous absence had nothing to do with what had happened that night. Part of him wished he’d kissed her, that he’d stolen one sweet, precious moment to hide in his heart, but he knew that if he had all would be lost.
It was late when he locked the office behind him. Night had come early and a chill wind scuttled across the empty street, plucking at his collar with icy fingers, as he headed for the barn.
“Ready to go home, old man?” Carl asked, chafing his hands as he lifted the bridle from its hook. “I hate to drag you out on a night like this, but we’ll both be wanting our supper.” His Irish lilt rose as he patted Char’s shaggy coat.
A soft rustle in the straw and an anguished whinny was the last thing he heard as something hit him hard on the back of the head and everything went black.
***
Dawn was many hours away as Melissa rose from the depths of her warm bed. She was restless and edgy and heart-sore. Dressing, she paced her room, stretching her hands out to the fire to ward off the chill that ran to her soul.
She hadn’t been to the office in nearly two weeks, couching her cowardice in the preparations leading up to Christmas, as she avoided Carl McHain altogether.
She’d almost kissed him that night when they’d tumbled to the ice in a tangle of arms and legs. He’d been so warm, so vibrant beneath her. She was sure she had seen desire in his eyes that night, seen the hunger she felt each time she looked at him reflected in their blue depths.
So why hadn’t he kissed her? Why was he so stubborn? Was it pride? She twirled on the spot and stormed across the darkened room to flop down on a small settee. She was sure Carl cared for her, she just didn’t know how to make him admit it.
A heavy pounding on the door downstairs made her jump to her feet. The pounding came again, more frantic, and Mel raced for the stairs.
Mr. Haven, their stalwart butler, pulled the door open just as she arrived at the foot of the stairs and Niamh threw herself over the threshold into Mel’s arms.
“He’s not there,” the girl wailed. “Carl, he never came home.” Sobs shook the girl’s slim shoulders.
“What do you mean, he didn’t come home?” Mel snapped, holding Niamh away from her and looking at her closely.
The girl sniffed, “I went down stairs for a glass of water and saw that the plate I’d left him was still on the stove, untouched.” She dashed at a tear that dripped from her nose. “I looked in his room and his bed hasn’t been slept in.” She sobbed, falling back in to Mel’s arms. “He must be fighting again,” she hiccupped softly, “but he promised…”
Mel pulled the girl close, patting her back reassuringly. If Carl had promised he wouldn’t fight, she was sure he would have stuck to his word. Something was terribly wrong.
The sound of running feet on the porch outside made Melissa look up. She nodded her head at Mr. Haven to open the door just as Michaels came skidding across the stoop on icy boots.
“Char!” the young man huffed out of breath from his run. “Char, miss. Char come home on his own. I heard a commotion at the stables and went down to see and he was there.” The young man, his hair standing on end, sucked in a deep breath, then continued more calmly.
“I’m sayin’ miss that old Charlie brought his self all the way back from the office all on his own.”
Mel felt a cold dread settle over her shoulders and sink to the pit of her stomach.
“What’s going on here?” Her father’s sharp bark made everyone turn as Mr. Middleton walked down the hall, stuffing his shirt in his trousers. “Why is that door hanging open, Haven? We’ll all freeze to death in our beds.”
Releasing Niamh, Mel pulled Michaels into the house and closed the door.
“Father,” her tone made him raise his head from his task. “Carl did not return home tonight and Michaels has just informed me that Char has returned without him.”
“Char?” Nathan Middleton looked confused.
“The horse, Papa, the horse Mae rescued. The one that we take to work every day.”
“Haven, ring the police.” Mr. Middleton was all business now. “Michaels get the men and do a sweep of the property, see what you find. If the young man’s injured, he may be out there somewhere.” He narrowed his eyes at Niamh. “Darlin’ come in to the dining room and sit down a minute.” H
is voice gentled as he wrapped his arm around the girl, his eyes straying to his daughter, imploring her to follow.
“Nathan, what on earth is going on?” Mrs. Middleton walked into the room, still tying her wrap around her waist. “All this shouting, I thought Armageddon had come.”
“Carl’s missing,” Mr. Middleton answered. “Get us some tea, Abby.” He kept his voice low, but his eyes were worried.
The table looked like a war zone several minutes later as Mr. Middleton pushed an empty cup away from him. “I know the boy wouldn’t take off without telling us.” He spoke to no one in particular. “He’d never leave Niamh.” He looked up at Melissa. “Has he said anything to you?” His dark eyes examined her face for an answer and she blushed with frustration and fear.
“I haven’t been to the office,” she admitted, but offered no excuse. “Niamh do you have any idea where he might go?” She turned to look at the girl, whose eyes were puffy from crying.
Niamh shook her head.
“A woman, perhaps?” Mr. Middleton asked, grasping for any clues. The sharp intake of breath from both girls put that question to rest.
The front door opened and closed and the sound of scuffling feet and muffled voices reached them.
Melissa raced to the hall to see Michaels and another man half dragging a hard-looking old man toward the dining room.
“We caught him watching the cottage,” Mike said. “He didn’t want to come along but we were persuasive like.”
The old man squinted, then smiled as he looked into Mel’s face. “I was hopin’ I’d see ya’s,” he croaked in a voice like old iron. “Been wonderin’ ‘bout what could keep Ca’hal from ta’ match.”
The old man straightened, brushing off the two who held him as if they were children, and tugged at his coat.
“Mr. McKenna!” Niamh’s startled voice behind Mel made everyone look. “You?” the girl asked, tears thick in her throat.
Mel watched as the old man hung his head and twisted gnarled hands. “I’m sorry, lass,” he spoke softly, “I couldn’t he’p him.”
“Bring him inside,” Melissa spoke, her voice ringing clearly in the quiet hall.
As the two men accompanying him reached for the old man, he shrugged his shoulders and walked toward the women, meekly following them into the dining room.
“Mother, a cup of tea for our guest please.” Mel tried to keep the fear out of her voice. “I’m sure he’s cold.”
“That I am, Miss,” the old man said, turning dark, almost black eyes toward the party.
“Mr. McKenna,” Niamh’s voice quivered as she spoke, “Where’s my brother? Where’s Carl?”
The old man slumped in a chair. “McGovern’s got him.”
Niahm swayed on her feet, but Micheals’ strong arms caught her and eased her into a chair where Mrs. Middleton went to her.
“Please explain,” Mel spoke before her father had a chance as she calmly poured the man a cup of strong tea.
“It’s the man Ca’hal used ta fight fer. Ca’hal was bright though, never signed his name ta nothin’, never took no money in advance. McGovern couldn’t pull one over on ‘em, ya sees.”
The old man lifted his cup in twisted hands and took a long drink before continuing.
“McGovern’s a slick, a fella what organizes fights and other entertainment. Pulls in a hearty loot fer a good fight as well. When he lost young McHain, things dropped off a bit. Ca’hal was a favorite ya see.”
Again he drank, looking from Mr. Middleton to Melissa, unsure who he should address.
“Go on,” Mel spoke, pouring more tea as if a battered old fighter in a tattered coat was common place in her dining room.
“Well, some dandy or ta’ other’s been wantin’ a real match, something special fer the holidays like. Ol’ Gov’s got a mean brute signed on now, a big man who likes ta really hurt his opponent.” Involuntarily the old man shivered.
Mel turned to her father, her heart in her throat, preventing her from speaking.
“So they took Carl to fight him?” Mr. Middleton asked.
“Yes, sir,” McKenna replied, rattling his saucer as he replaced the delicate cup. “I tol’ Gov, Ca’hal was done but he kept after me.”
Niamh’s gasp made everyone turn to her, her blue eyes were wide with anger and fright.
“No, no, lass,” McKenna shook his head, raising his bent hands as if in surrender. “He didn’t find out from me where your brother were. No, no.”
“Then why were you here?” Mel regained her voice as anger surged through her.
McKenna looked to Niamh, his sad eyes imploring. “My Sandra’s ill,” he started, running his battered and twisted hands through his hair. “I needed money for the Doc, ya sees.” His shoulders slumped. “When McGovern found out where Ca’hal was, he turned his dogs loose ta bring ‘em in.”
The old man looked around at the others in the room, his sad eyes trying to make them understand. “When he said he needed someone to watch the cottage I said I’d do it fer a price.”
“You were my brother’s friend,” Niamh said, her eyes glistening with tears.
“I still am lass,” McKenna sat a little straighter. “I been watchin’ here for two days so none of that evil man’s thugs could get near ya. McGovern’ll use you if he can to make your brother do what he says. I know the men what’s works fer Gov. Sooner or later they wouldn’t be content to just watch.”
“Where did they take him?” Mel closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm, praying they weren’t already too late.
“I don’t know, Miss,” McKenna’s voice echoed with the truth. “They move the fights so that the po-lice don’t nick ‘em.”
Niamh began crying again as Mrs. Middleton gently stroked her hair.
A vision of an old warehouse, its windows staring like empty eyes, came to Mel. Clearly she pictured a battered lamp post and heard the swish of the ocean as it swayed fishing boats and skiffs. The acrid smell of the wharf district came back to her and she knew: in her heart she knew where Carl was.
“I know where he is,” Mel spoke, her words falling crisp and cold in the room. “Father, you’ll have to bring the police when they arrive.” She turned back to McKenna. “Mr. McKenna you will come with me?” Her green eyes glowed with fire.
“Michaels, gather the stable crew and our fastest buggy. We have no time to lose.”
“Melissa,” Mr. Middleton stood to his full height. “You can’t go on your own.”
“I won’t be alone, Father,” Mel spoke, laying her hand reassuringly on his arm. “and you’ll be right behind me.”
“Nathan?” Mrs. Middleton cried as Mel moved toward the door where Haven stood ready, holding her heavy coat and a stout stick.
“Miss,” he said calmly, handing her the heavy piece of wood with a nod.
Chapter 9
The cold earth bit into Carl’s feet, and he shook his head to clear it. The back of his head throbbed and his eyes didn’t want to focus. He could feel a wall at his back and used it to push himself to his feet.
He swayed as dizziness and nausea rolled over him. He must have hit his head. Slowly, as the world stopped spinning, the room came into view. The dim space seemed familiar, it’s rough plank walls bare and the earthen floor packed hard.
Someone had taken his coat, shirt and shoes and he stood bare-chested, the cold seeping into him. Lifting his chin, he filled his lungs with the brisk air, breathing in and out slowly as his mind and body grew still.
The sound of a key in the door caught his attention and he tensed, tucking in his elbows and raising his fists.
“Ah, yer awake,” an all-too-familiar voice called as Kevin McGovern stepped through the door flanked by two thugs carrying clubs.
“Why am I here?” Carl growled. “I have nothing to do with you, McGovern.”
“Now that, my boy, is where yer wrong.” McGovern slipped his thumbs into the armholes of his fancy vest and puffed up his chest. “Ya see I have me a pat
ron ‘ose willin’ ta pay dear for a good fight and as usual I aim to please.”
The man’s beady eyes glinted in the light that filtered through the walls of the room, his thick middle and short stature doing nothing to disguise his strength. McGovern had come up through his own business, a scrapper who had no qualms about fighting dirty.
“I won’t fight for ye.” Carl forced his anger deep inside.
“Ye won’t,won’t ye?” McGovern’s smile was malicious. “Well me boy, yer welcome ta stick to yer morals and all if it makes ye happy but yer little sister now…”
Carl lunged with a snarl, his fists already swinging for the other man’s face. McGovern stepped back a pace as something cold and hard bit into Carl’s leg with a rattle and clank, pulling him to and abrupt stop inches from the odious man.
“I see you have some thinking to do, lad,” McGovern chortled as Carl danced on one leg, fighting the pain in the other.
“Yer on in half an hour, my boy, so you’d best be in the right mind by then.” The two thugs behind him tapped their clubs into their palms menacingly as they back out behind their boss.
Carl slumped to the ground, drawing his leg into his arms and rocking to stave off the pain. His breath came in heavy pants as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on something besides his injury.
Slowly, as he forced his conscious mind to still, he looked down at his ankle where the cold iron had bitten into his skin. Taking deep calming breaths, he gingerly touched the wound. Nothing was broken other than the skin where crimson drops of blood pooled, then trickled down his foot.
Using his uninjured leg, Carl pushed himself to his feet, carefully easing his weight onto the tethered leg. It took his weight with only slight protest and soon he’d found his balance again.
“Niamh,” he whispered into the cold. He didn’t know if they had her already, didn’t know what they might have done to her, but he knew that McGovern would pay for this dearly.
With great effort, Carl began his warm up routine as old McKenna had taught him years before. He’d be ready - ready to fight, ready to strike, ready to escape and find his sister.