Pioneer Desire: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Two

by Ramona Flightner

  “Oh my,” Maggie whispered. She accepted his hand as he helped her out of the creek. She pushed and pulled at her skirts until they hung around her ankles again. “We should have her to supper one evening.”

  “Absolutely not,” Ardan said, any joy in their conversation evaporating. “I might enjoy sparrin’ with the woman for a few moments, but the last thing I’d want is for her to ruin one of our family meals.”

  He turned away, ignoring his sister, as he focused on ensuring the churn was dry enough to haul back to the café and to return to Mrs. Finnegan.

  “Aileen doesn’t ruin our meals,” Maggie said quietly, as she watched him with the deep cobalt eyes of their father. “Mother and Da always welcome those who come during supper.”

  “That’s not the point, Maggie. Aileen’s part of the family now, an’ Kevin loves her,” Ardan said, running a hand though his ebony hair and making it stand on end. He patted at it and let out a huff of breath. “This Mrs. Finnegan? She’s a cantankerous woman. And I fear she’d only come because she’s lookin’ for another husband. Not because she desires friendship.”

  Maggie shrugged and began the short walk back to their house. “Even if you claim you plan to go to your grave a bachelor, Declan wants to marry. Why shouldn’t he have the opportunity to get to know her?”

  “’Tisn’t a claim, Maggie. I’ve never desired a wife. That sort of responsibility.”

  She paused and faced him, confusion in her gaze as she stared at him. “Why not? You were raised by a good, decent man who never failed to show you love. Why wouldn’t you want to marry?”

  He clenched his jaw tight until the muscles ticked. “You don’t have the memory of what it was like those eighteen years you were gone.” He motioned for her to precede him and followed her the rest of the way to the house.

  At the back steps, she turned to study him with a concerned expression. “Life is full of risks, Ardan.” She left him gaping at her, as she entered the house without a backward glance at him.

  For a long moment, he stood in the backyard area, listening to the chickens cluck. Shaking his head to clear it of his momentary melancholy, he took off toward the café. He thought it better to return the churn and then not have to think about Mrs. Finnegan again for a while. He rapped on the back door, shifting from foot to foot with impatience for her to answer it. When she did, his breath caught, and he forgot his ire.

  She wore an apron; a spot of flour dotted the end of her nose, and her eyes had lost their guarded look. She appeared happy.

  “Mrs. Finnegan,” he croaked out in a husky voice, clearing his throat. “It took some time, but my sister Maggie ’n’ I were able to clean your butter churn.”

  A smile burst forth. “Oh, thank you,” she said.

  He sniffed the air and then shook his head. “I thought you’d be in the midst of baking something.” At her perplexed look, he waved at her flour-dusted attire and appearance.

  “Oh, I’m preparing everything for tomorrow. I’d forgotten how much I missed being in a kitchen.” She took a step back, allowing him to enter. “If you could set the crock back in the larder, that would be helpful.”

  Ardan did as she asked and then returned to the kitchen, noting she had one area set up for baking and another area for working with vegetables and meat. “A very organized space,” he said with approval. “Well, missus, I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.”

  She stepped in front of him and flushed. “If you could help me with one more thing?”

  “Aye?”

  “I have a trunk of belongings that I would like to bring upstairs, but it is heavy. Could you carry it up there for me?” She entered the dining room area and then pointed to the trunk pushed against a wall.

  Ardan hefted it and motioned for her to lead the way. He followed her up a narrow staircase that led from the kitchens to the upstairs. Once inside the door to the living space, a hallway led to four rooms. Three were bedrooms, and one acted as a sitting room, while no kitchen was upstairs. “Which room?”

  She peered into each room, all covered in a layer of dust, and shrugged. “I don’t believe it makes much difference.”

  “If I could suggest, I’d choose a room toward the rear. You’ll have more peace in the evenings from the street noise.” She nodded her agreement with his suggestion, and he set the trunk in a large room with two windows. He yanked open the windows, the slight breeze blowing away the stale air.

  “I hadn’t realized this needed cleaning too,” she said, as she held a hand to her head, and her shoulders sank. For a moment, her determination appeared deflated, and it looked like she was on the verge of tears.

  “The last to live here were the Tompkins family, and they moved out over a year ago,” Ardan said. “Irene was a fabulous cook, which is why no kitchen is up here. She would have always prepared the family meals downstairs.” He swiped his dusty hands on his pants leg and turned for the stairs. “I’ll leave you, missus. Good luck.”

  She followed him downstairs, watching him as he left. “Thank you, Ardan,” she called out.

  He waved but didn’t look back.

  The following morning, Deirdre was a bundle of nerves. The café opened for breakfast at eight, and she feared no one would come. She feared too many would come. Could she fix enough food to feed everyone who arrived hungry? She had bacon and fried potatoes warming in the oven, eggs ready to scramble, and fresh baked bread ready to cut. She had determined the men could have a simple breakfast on her first morning preparing it.

  Taking a sip of tea from the pot she made for herself, she let out a deep breath. The large carafe of coffee was filled, waiting for Buford to serve the men. Hopefully there was plenty of everything, and they’d never run out. Pasting on her impersonal smile, she waited for Buford’s reaction. When he stared around the kitchen, speechless, she nodded with satisfaction.

  “I only needed two days,” she said with pride. “And now we will have satisfied customers. The coffee is there, ready for you to serve to the waiting men. There will be scrambled eggs, with bacon, fried potatoes, and fresh bread for breakfast.”

  “We usually serve more than one offering,” he grumbled, as he picked up the polished carafe and the towel next to it.

  “Not this morning.” She met his gaze. “I’m certain none will leave dissatisfied.” When he gave a grunt of frustration at being so ably managed by her, she turned away, so he wouldn’t see her smirk.

  Soon she was busy scrambling eggs, washing pans, and preparing food for the midday meal. More bread was in the oven, and a sheet cake was almost ready to be baked. She was uncertain if any had a sweet tooth but knew dessert would bring a tidy profit, as the men were reminded of home.

  At the knock on the back door, she grumbled at the interruption. “Come in,” she called out, stirring the bowl of cake batter once more before pouring it in a baking pan.

  Three women entered her kitchen.

  “I beg your pardon, but who are you?” she blurted out. “I’m not in need of staff.” She looked around. “Not yet, at least.”

  The oldest of the three smiled at her with a sparkle of mischief in her hazel eyes. “I’m Mrs. O’Rourke, but you should call me Mary. These are my daughters, Maggie and Aileen.” She pointed to a young woman who looked just like Mary, except for the startling blue eyes the young woman named Maggie shared with her brother Ardan. The other woman looked nothing like the two of them, nor like Seamus O’Rourke. She was short, plump, with plain brown hair and eyes.

  As though noting her confusion, Aileen murmured, “I married Kevin recently, and I’m part of the O’Rourke family now.”

  Deirdre paused in what she was doing, recalling that Mary O’Rourke had referred to both of them as her daughters. She shook her head, finding it difficult to imagine anyone so readily accepting outsiders into her family. “As you can see, I’m occupied and not free for a social call.”

  Mary laughed. “Oh, we’re not here to call, although I believe I’d like to swap
recipes with you some day. Your kitchen smells marvelous.” She took an appreciative sniff of the scents wafting around her. “We’re here to work.”

  Setting aside the cake pan filled with batter, Deirdre swiped at her forehead. “I fear I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Ardan mentioned your upstairs is a right mess. Dusty and filled with cobwebs after over a year’s vacancy. We’re here to give it a polish for you.” Mary motioned for Maggie and Aileen to fetch their pails and cloths.

  “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I …” She broke off at Mary’s intense stare.

  “You didn’t ask, dear. We offered.” She patted Deirdre on her arm. “You’ll have to adjust and understand ’tis our way. Now, if you would be kind enough to save us a little somethin’ for a treat later, I’m sure we’d appreciate it.” Mary followed her girls upstairs, and their footsteps, giggles, and soft voices could be heard as they worked.

  Deirdre stood another moment in shocked silence before forcing herself to return to her tasks.

  Ardan watched his mother, Maggie, and Aileen that evening at supper, as they chattered together about their successful day and all they had accomplished. “What did you do?” he asked.

  “We cleaned Mrs. Finnegan’s house,” Maggie said with an impish smile when he gaped at her.

  “I didn’t tell you about it so you’d bother her,” he said, his appetite disappearing at the thought of his family bursting into Deirdre’s space on her first day cooking at the café. He closed his eyes, as he forced himself to think of her as Mrs. Finnegan. “She has enough work with her new job without worryin’ about the lot of you.”

  His mother stared at him with blatant disappointment in her gaze. “Ardan Malcolm O’Rourke, never is there a bad time in life to show another charity.” She nodded as he flushed and ducked his head. “I believe she will be pleased with all we accomplished.”

  Ardan looked toward his mother but saw her attention focused on his father, who had gripped her hand. Maggie and Aileen ignored him too, and he felt at sea amid his family.

  “What did you three do for the lass, Mary?” Seamus asked, as he sent a warning glance in his eldest son’s direction.

  “We swept, dusted, polished, and cleaned her rooms from top to bottom. I’m certain she will feel much more at home now,” Mary said with pride.

  “We hung curtains from almost every window,” Aileen interjected, giggling at something Kevin whispered in her ear.

  “An’ we made sure she’ll sleep on fresh sheets tonight,” Maggie said. “She’ll be very comfortable in her new home. Although I’d imagine she’s quite lonely up there, with so much space.”

  Seamus chuckled at his youngest daughter. “Well, Maggie darlin’, ’twas built for a family, not for a woman livin’ alone. And, from what I heard today from the men eatin’ at the café, she won’t be a widow for long. She’ll be a newly married woman.”

  Ardan watched as his father eyed Declan, and Ardan’s focus turned to his brother. At age twenty-five, Declan had made known his desire to wed and to start a family. Although he had the O’Rourke black hair and blue eyes, he had a riotous mass of long hair and a bushy untrimmed beard. He appeared more like a backwoodsman than a business associate and son of Seamus O’Rourke. Tonight, Declan’s hair was pulled back, and his beard appeared to have been trimmed. Ardan wondered at his brother’s attempt to tame the wildness of his appearance.

  “Are you interested in her, Dec?” he asked his brother in a low voice. Declan sat across from him and beside a chattering Eamon and Finn.

  “She can cook, and I hear she’s fine to look at,” Declan said with a casual shrug. “I might as well make her acquaintance. There’ll be no disappointment if nothing comes of it, as she’s not promised to me.”

  “You know you’re not still angry at Kevin.” Ardan’s voice held a tinge of warning.

  “I know,” Declan said, as he glanced at his brother chatting with his wife. “It’s more the disappointment of still being alone.”

  Ardan ate more of his dinner and then murmured, “Someday you’ll meet someone who fills your mind and spirit to the point where you can’t remember a time when you didn’t know her. And your conversations now about being satisfied by a pretty smile or a good cook will seem ludicrous.” He saw Declan stare at him like he was mad, and then he shook his head as he focused on his meal.

  Ardan feared he had already met the woman he had just described to Declan. The difference was, he had no desire to marry and no wish to have his life turned upside down by a woman who would only end up breaking his heart.

  Deirdre trudged upstairs, holding a cup of tea. The last customer had left a little after 8:00 p.m., and she had finished cleaning the kitchen by nine. She rubbed at her sore back and knew she’d have to speak with Buford about hiring help. She couldn’t keep up this pace.

  Thinking fondly of her café in Baltimore, she sat with a groan on one of the stuffed chairs in her living space. She’d had two cooks and a dishwasher, while she had spent her energy cooking pastries. She took a sip of her tea, opening her eyes to look for a low table to set it on.

  Gaping at the spotless room, she set her tea on a lace doily by a small table placed by her chair. She racked her memory, but she was certain that table had not been here this morning. Every surface in her living area had been polished and cleaned, and a fresh lemony scent permeated the room. One window was ajar, and the curtain fluttered in the breeze. Curtain? She shook her head in confusion. She’d had no curtains on any of the windows this morning.

  Heaving herself to her feet, she checked each spotless room, coming to a stop when she reached her bedroom. Her trunk, which she had left overflowing and ajar this morning, was closed and against one wall with a colorful cloth over it. The maple bureau shone after its polishing, and a vase with dried flowers was set on top of the pale-blue cloth. She moved toward it, her fingers rubbing over the fine linen.

  In the mirror, she saw her bed with fluffed-up pillows and a new quilt on top. She sat down, hugging a pillow to her chest, as tears coursed down her cheeks. Never could she recall receiving such a wondrous act of friendship. Especially not from women she did not know.

  “How will I ever thank them?” she whispered to herself.

  Yawning, she kicked off her shoes and rose, closing the new curtains that hung over her windows. She changed into her nightgown and slipped under the sheets. Sniffing at them, she realized they were freshly washed, as the hint of sun and lilac soap clung to them. With gratefulness filling her, she fell into sleep.

  Three days later in her midmorning lull, Deirdre knocked on the back door of the O’Rourke house. She had tried the front door, but no one answered. Desperate, and with only a few more minutes of free time, she decided to try the back door. She waited, but no one came to the door. With stooped shoulders, she returned to the café, intent on providing another delicious meal for the men who walked through the door.

  She stopped short upon entering her kitchen to find Ardan sitting on one of the stools, staring at an oatmeal cookie in a glass cookie jar, as though it were one of life’s greatest temptations. “You may have it, if you like,” she murmured. She giggled as he jumped at her voice. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for sending your mother and sisters over to help me.”

  Ardan didn’t reach for the cookie and flushed with guilt. “I can’t take any credit, Mrs. Finnegan. I told them of the state of your rooms, and they decided on their own to offer aid.”

  She smiled. “Still, you told them. Thank you.” She motioned for him to stand in a corner as she donned an apron and began walking around the kitchen. “I was looking for your mother and sisters, but they weren’t home.”

  “Why?” Ardan asked, his arms crossed over his chest, as he watched her graceful movements.

  “I wanted to see if Maggie would like to help me in the kitchen and if one of your younger brothers would work here washing dishes.” She began to mix the batter she had dumped together and raise
d an eyebrow. “Could you ask them?”

  “I fear if you ask one brother, you’ll end up with two or three. They run in packs.” His voice was filled with fond affection.

  “Two would be a tremendous help,” she said. “I’m exhausted, and I can’t keep up this pace. In my café, I never had to do it all alone. It’s not possible to feed this many men and do all the prep and cleaning.”

  Ardan frowned and nodded. It appeared he would march out the door to find one of his siblings. Instead he approached the sink and began to scrub the pots and pans piled up within.

  “No, Mr. O’Rourke,” she sputtered. At his dark glower over his shoulder, she said, “Ardan, please. I never meant for you to do such work.”

  “If it’s good for one of us, it’s good for all of us. That’s what my da used to always say when we complained about our chores.” He set aside a pot and began on another.

  “What else did your father always say?” she asked.

  Ardan smiled at her and faced the sink to focus on scrubbing the pan clean. “That none of us were more important than the other. That we were all precious and deserving of respect.” He smiled. “Da was an evicted Irishman. Lost his land during the famine.” He paused. “Our land,” Ardan whispered. “He never believed—because we were Catholic, poor, and Irish—that we were inferior to others. He’s always had a tremendous pride in who he is.”

  “And he’s given that pride and sense of self to you,” Deirdre said. “You’re fortunate.”

  “Aye,” Ardan said with a smile, as he reached for a cloth to wipe dry the small mound of pots and pans, so those could be put away, and he could then start on the pile of dishes. “Did you not have that?”

  Deirdre shrugged. “No.” Her clipped response brooked no invitation to inquire further into her past. However, her reluctance to reveal anything only fueled his curiosity.