Deirdre stared at the older man in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
Sighing, Seamus stared at the fields of rolling grass, undisturbed by humans. “You know the story of my Mary and me. Of how we were separated by my foolishness and my inability to speak French. If I’d had the sense or the ability to ask more questions, we never would have spent almost eighteen years apart.” He took a deep breath as though to calm himself. “Mary is wise. She tells me not to mourn overmuch the time we lost. For, if I do, it means I must mourn the lads I had with Colleen, and I could never regret Niall, Oran, and Bryan.” He paused. “Just as I could never regret Mary havin’ Lucien and Henri. I love them as though they were my own.”
She stared at him with continued bafflement.
“What I’m tryin’ to tell you, lass, is that, if I had known my Mary lived, there wouldn’t have been a force on this earth that would have kept me from her. An’ I pray, none that would have kept her from me.”
Deirdre frowned as she thought through his words. “You believe Silas lies?”
“Of course. The man has the look of a schemer about him.” He paused as he saw her think through his words. “What does he have to gain by tellin’ the truth?” Seamus asked. “You’re here, in a wild town in a Territory barely established, with a town sheriff of little authority and a judge hundreds of miles away. Few here care much for laws. I’m certain that man Silas is smart enough to know that the only way he can have restitution, if that’s truly what the man is after, is by dragging you back to Saint Louis.” He watched her closely. “And your husband won’t be there waitin’ for you.”
Deirdre swallowed. “But Mary came back. After almost eighteen years.”
“Aye,” Seamus said. “An’ I give thanks for that miracle every day. But ’twas a miracle. If your husband lived, he’s been alive for over two years without a word to you. Why? Why wouldn’t he have written to you? Why wouldn’t he have come home an’ held you in his arms as you mourned your babe?”
“Maybe he was a prisoner. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to write,” she said. Her words sounded hollow and weak even as she spoke them. “Perhaps he lost his memory.”
Seamus waited a few moments for her to hear the ridiculousness of her last statement. Finally he asked, “Where is the letter from him now? If your man is truly too sick to travel here from Saint Louis, why wouldn’t he have sent a letter with his brother? Why would he continue to torture you with his silence?”
“No,” she gasped. “I won’t listen to you try to fill my head with lies. With ideas that make a mockery of the sacred vow I took with Alonzo.” Tears coursed down her cheeks. “I can’t be what Ardan needs.” She shook her head, as though in deep disappointment at Seamus. “I can’t believe you’d encourage me to be unfaithful.” She jerked away so he couldn’t grip her arms.
“Lass, think,” Seamus urged, his voice tinged with desperation. “Think of the two men. Who do you trust? Who truly cares for you?” He waited as Deirdre gasped and shook her head at him. “Please, lass,” Seamus pleaded.
“No,” she protested. “I will not allow you to make me false to my husband.” She spun on her heel, racing away from Seamus and his tempting words.
The following morning, Deirdre lugged her trunk down the stairs and ignored Buford’s glare as she dragged it behind her through the empty café. The O’Rourke women had not arrived to cook, and the kitchen was uncharacteristically quiet. When she stood on the front stoop, she shivered as the lock sounded behind her. “No turning back,” she murmured to herself.
With another deep breath, she marshaled her strength and pulled at her trunk, battling tears that no one emerged to aid her. No deep baritone to send a shiver down her spine. No voice redolent with an Irish accent. Instead horses whinnied, while men spat wads of chewing tobacco and discussed the upcoming journey. Silas stood with his back to her, talking with a slender man with narrow shoulders. She recognized the other man as Mr. Bailey, the stagecoach driver.
Pausing halfway between the café and where the stage stood, Deirdre swiped at her forehead and looked at the small town. Although she had only been here a month, it already felt like home, and she dreaded leaving. With a will borne of desperation, she ignored glancing in the direction of the O’Rourke store. Instead she looked down the boardwalk in the other direction. Rather than continue her struggle with her trunk, she paused to see a well-dressed woman walking toward her.
This woman walked with a slow, purposeful gait, aware of but ignoring the appreciative glances of every man she passed. Her focus was on Deirdre. Frozen in place, Deirdre was uncertain why this woman would pay attention solely to her. As she neared, Deirdre noted the fine cut of her royal-blue silk gown, her shiny brown hair pulled back in a bun, and the determination in her brown eyes.
When the woman came to a stop in front of her, they were nearly the same height, although Deirdre felt overpowered and outmatched by the confident well-dressed woman. Deirdre glanced at her own dowdy cotton indigo dress, battling uncertainty. “Hello,” Deirdre murmured.
The woman nodded and smiled. “Mrs. Finnegan,” she murmured. “I have heard a lot about you.” She looked at the scene over Deirdre’s shoulder, and any delight in her gaze dimmed. “I had hoped you were more sensible than to be taken in by a charlatan.”
Stiffening her shoulders and lifting her chin, Deirdre’s cognac-colored eyes flashed with anger. “I’m certain you have no right to judge anything I do.”
The woman laughed. “And I’m certain most would agree that a woman who runs the Bordello should never dare to speak with a respectable woman of this town.” She shrugged. “However, I’ve never agreed to live by such limitations. And I fear, if I did so now, you’d make a grave mistake.”
“I don’t understand what you are saying,” Deirdre said, although her gaze had widened upon realizing she spoke with Madam Nora, the famed owner of the most successful brothel in town.
Madam Nora smiled. “Yes, you know who I am. And, as such, you must know I hear the best gossip. Men are at their most indiscrete when they are … content.” Her wry smile caused Deirdre to fight a giggle. “What I don’t understand is why you are not heeding the counsel of the O’Rourkes.”
Shaking her head, Deirdre said, “They are good people, but they are biased. They want me to choose Ardan, and I fear they will say what they must so that I will please them.” Deirdre stiffened as Silas bellowed her name.
Madam Nora gripped her arm, preventing her from spinning away from her. “You need to think, Deirdre. Think hard before you make an irrevocable error. Who has always told you the truth? Who has supported you?” She paused as Deirdre seemed unconvinced by her arguments. “Why would that man come back for you now? Why would you believe what he has to say now?”
Deirdre gaped at her a long moment as doubts seeped in, but then Silas grabbed her arm and towed her away. “Thank you!” she called back to Madam Nora, as she stumbled along beside Silas. She tripped on a rut in the road and fell to her knees, crying out in pain as he yanked on her arm to get her to stand again.
Hands roughly picked her up, stuffing her in the stagecoach, and Silas crawled in after her. Four other men scrambled inside, and she pushed herself against the side of the coach to escape touching Silas. Belatedly she reached for the handle. “My trunk!”
Silas tugged the door shut, just as the stage rolled into motion, forcing them backward in their seats. “It’s tied on the back.” He clasped her arm so hard that he gouged bruises into her soft flesh. “Stop making a scene. You chose this.”
Deirdre closed her eyes, willing him to stop touching her. When she failed to respond to his comment, he released her and sat back with a huff. Curling into the corner, she focused on everything but her reality. Images of the past month flooded back. Maggie and Mary laughing and teasing her as they worked with her in the kitchen. Talking with Niamh as though she were a sister. Seamus winking at her. Ardan kissing her temple. Running a soothing hand down her back. Massaging a
kink out of her shoulders. Holding her as she cried.
She sighed as her every thought was of him. Although she tried to think of his family, she couldn’t. Ardan filled her mind. And her heart. Clutching a hand to her chest, she relived each smile, each soft word, each caress. How would she survive without them?
Ignoring the chaos around her of men snoring, belching, and telling tall tales, she listened to the thunder of hooves as the stage rocketed down the road. Keeping her eyes closed, she contemplated what she knew to be true. Ardan’s touch had always been filled with reverence, unlike Silas’s. Ardan had never lied to her. Had never misled her. But Silas? … Silas was a snake. He’d always wanted her. She shivered as she remembered the angry visit from him after she had married Alonzo. His attempt to seduce her. To make her false to her husband. She shuddered as buried memories flickered through her mind, and she swallowed a moan of distress as she fought shame and anger at Silas’s repeated attempts to sully her marriage.
With a deep breath, she forced herself to face the truth. Her husband was dead. Her beloved Alonzo, who had loved her so well and so devotedly, was dead. Silas was tricking her back to Saint Louis or Baltimore or Philadelphia for his own purposes. Alonzo would never have left her for years with no word. He had been a kind, good, loyal man.
A smile burst forth as she silently acknowledged she would return to Ardan. She belonged with him. Her smile dimmed at the prospect of being stranded at Cow Island, 120 miles from Fort Benton, with no means to return to him. Refusing to believe Mr. Bailey wouldn’t take her back, she envisioned her reunion with Ardan. The joy in his gaze. The hunger and relief in his kiss. As she sighed with relief that her choice had been made, a horse squealed, the carriage flew through the air, and her last thought was one of regret.
She’d never told Ardan she loved him.
Chapter 8
Ardan worked moving crates from one side of the warehouse to the other, anything to take his mind off the fact that Deirdre had left without seeking him out. Without saying goodbye. “Feck,” he swore, as he picked up a heavy box to lug across the room. He relished the hard work, as he had no desire to contemplate the heartache that would be his constant companion for months to come. He fought the inclination to travel with Declan to Saint Louis. He had no desire to look like a lovesick fool, but he feared he would appear as such, as he knew the temptation would prove too great.
He closed his eyes, after setting the box down, imagining her boarding the stagecoach. Talking with her brother-in-law. Him helping her inside. Ardan’s hands fisted at the thought of such a vile man touching her, and he forced himself to relax, as he acknowledged that he had no rights where Deirdre was concerned. She had made that abundantly clear. She did not want him, nor would she ever want him.
“No,” he whispered. His heart rebelled at his mind’s imaginings. He knew she cared for him, but fear, hope, and lies had confused her to the point that she didn’t know what to believe or what to do. He only wished she’d put her faith in him.
The warehouse door clattered open, and he spun to face the man who stood with heaving breaths. “Dunmore?” he asked. “What’s the matter?”
“Stage accident,” he said. “Bailey rode one of his horses back to inform us that his stage crashed a few hours outside of town.”
Ardan strode to him, his gaze wide and wild. “Are there any casualties? Injured?”
Dunmore shook his head and shrugged. “There are injured, and there will most likely be casualties. I don’t know who. Bailey, the coward, leaped off the top of his stage at the first indication of trouble, saving his hide and causing the crash to worsen, as no one was at the helm.” He clamped his jaw shut with rage. “They’re readying my horses. I have cloth, water, and other supplies. Get your brothers and come with me.”
Ardan slapped him on his shoulder, bellowing for Declan and Kevin, praying he hadn’t lost his love.
Ardan sat beside Dunmore on the front seat of his stage. The horses barreled down the deeply rutted road, but Ardan ignored the jarring ride. His one focus was on his prayer to find her well. To hold her again in his arms. To hear her soft voice as she whispered his name. He swallowed back tears as he prayed his dreams were not in vain.
As they turned a corner, Dunmore pulled up hard on his reins, coming across the crash, causing Ardan to grip the seat so as not to fall off. “Whoa,” Dunmore called out to the horses, easing them to the side and away from the wreckage of Bailey’s stagecoach. Crying and wailing carried on the wind, while the subtle scent of blood tinged the air.
Ardan launched off the top seat and raced for the carriage, resting on its side. He clambered up one of the wheels and wrenched open the door. The inside was empty, and he spun, staring at a dead horse attached to the reins. The other horses were tied to nearby bushes. He jumped from the carriage and followed the sounds of distress, moving toward the banks of the river. “Deirdre!” he called out.
After pushing through tall grass, he stopped to find three men laying on their backs with serious injuries, while four others sat on fallen trees, their arms looped through improvised slings or with bandages wrapped around their heads. A trunk had been dragged to them, and shirts and pants were strewn in an untidy mess.
“Deirdre!” he called again. “Deirdre,” he breathed, when he saw her walking up from the riverbank, carrying a leaky bucket of water. When she shook her head, he stilled his instinctive desire to race toward her, and she hurried to the side of one of the injured men laying on his back.
“Tear that shirt into strips, Ardan,” she said, as she dampened her skirt in the water and rubbed it over the man’s face, murmuring soft words to the injured man. She held her hand out to Ardan, accepting with a silent nod of thanks the clean cloth he placed into her palm. She pressed the cloth to the man’s leg, whispering her apology as the man whimpered in pain.
Ardan stared at the man, belatedly realizing a tourniquet circled his leg, but blood continued to spurt from his wound, saturating the previously pristine white cloth. He ripped more of the shirt apart and continued to hand cloth to Deirdre, although he knew their efforts would be futile. However, he refused to leave Deirdre here alone to nurse these men.
With an impotent glare of fury, Ardan watched Dunmore, Declan, and Kevin approach. Soon they too had begun to tend the injured men, although none were doctors. When the man Deirdre tended gasped his last breath, Ardan rested a hand on her quivering back.
“You did what you could, love,” he whispered.
“It’s never enough,” she rasped through her tears. “Never enough.” She rubbed at her cheeks with her arm, her hands coated in blood. After a moment, where she bowed her head and appeared to say a silent prayer to the recently deceased man, she rose and stumbled to the next man who needed tending.
“Deirdre, let us care for them,” Ardan urged, resting a hand on her arm.
“No!” she said, as she poured water over her hands to clean them off a little. “I must help. I must.” She pulled free of his touch and knelt beside Dunmore and then Declan, but each of the three most severely injured men soon died from their wounds.
Dunmore rose and pushed his hat back on his head, as he stared at the remaining passengers, sitting in shock nearby. “I should take the wounded back to Fort Benton.” He looked at the sky and shook his head. “Doubtful I’ll make it there in time to return here for you.”
Ardan nodded. “Come for us early in the morning,” he murmured, shaking the man’s hand.
“I’ll leave at first light,” Dunmore said.
Ardan focused on Deirdre. “Where are you goin’, love?” he murmured, as she stood with her back to him.
“I need to wash up, and I need a little time alone,” she whispered. “I’ll stay here. I won’t stray.” She looked at him over her shoulder, her expression shattered. “I promise.” She backed away from him when he would have embraced her.
With a nod, he watched as Deirdre scurried away to return to the riverbank. After a moment, Ardan
watched as Kevin and Declan helped Dunmore shepherd the injured men to the waiting stagecoach. One of them was her brother-in-law, Silas. He had a bandage wrapped around his head with a bloody spot in the middle of it, and he’d lost his peg leg. Declan and Kevin carried him to the carriage, and Ardan followed.
When he realized he had a moment alone with Silas, Ardan leaned forward and met the man’s gaze. “I know Da would say I shouldn’t speak with you now. That you’re injured and should be given time to heal.” He shook his head. “But I don’t care.”
Silas groaned and held a hand to his head.
Ardan paused and then said in a low voice, “In case your head is hurting you, I’ll speak softly. Your attempt to force Deirdre to depart with you has failed. She now knows better than to ever leave with you again.”
“You’d keep her away from her husband?” Silas opened one eye to stare at him with a hate-filled glower.
“No, I’d keep her away from you. If she wants to leave to search for Alonzo, one of my brothers or I will travel with her. But I’ll ensure she’s never at your mercy again.” He stepped away when Dunmore returned with the last injured man. He ignored Silas’s attempt to gain his attention and turned to face his friend. “We’ll see you in the morning, Dunmore.”
“Tell our family what’s happened and why we are delayed,” Kevin said.
“Aye, I’ll be sure to tell Seamus. And your bride,” Dunmore said with a teasing smile to Kevin, as he shook their hands before climbing to the high seat on the coach. He ably turned the coach around and was out of sight a moment later, leaving only a cloud of dust behind him.
Ardan nodded at his brothers when they handed him a shovel, and followed them to an area away from the riverbed. Soon each brother was busy digging a grave. They worked in a fluid synchronicity, and, after a short period of time, had three graves dug. Gasping slightly, Ardan wiped at his forehead. “Should we dig a bigger hole for the horse?”
Pioneer Desire: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Two Page 14