The Bluebird

by Kristy McCaffrey

  Bridget Lannigan.

  * * *

  Shadows bobbed on the walls of the tunnel from the lantern Jake held. When he reached the end of the shaft, the area opened up, and he lifted the light higher to scan the walls and crevices.

  Robert stepped from behind him and pointed. “Look, over there.”

  Jake stepped closer and squatted.

  “It’s gotta be samples,” Ivan said from beside him.

  Two burlap sacks held ore pieces.

  “You think Nine Toes hid these in here?” Robert asked.

  “Maybe.” Jake grabbed the bags. “Let’s ask him.”

  Jake followed Robert out of the tunnel. The opening beyond revealed the last vestiges of daylight. As Robert crossed the entrance boundary, a shot rang out and he fell.

  Jake dropped the bags and pulled his gun, halting just before the threshold. “Robert? Are you hurt?”

  “Yep.” He lay on his side, faced away. “He got me in the thigh.”

  “Can you scoot back? I’ll cover you.”

  Ivan stood across from Jake, his weapon drawn as well. When Ivan gave a nod, both he and Jake released a volley of shots directed at a clump of sagebrush, the most likely position of the shooter.

  Once Robert crawled back into the protection of the passageway, Jake and Ivan stopped and reloaded.

  “I’m going out there,” Jake said and left before either man could stop him. Ducking low, he jumped from the ledge, since taking the rope ladder would’ve put his back to the assailant. He winced from the jolt of pain as his feet hit the ground then rolled forward, losing his hat. Standing, he pulled a second gun and hugged the mountainside as he moved closer to whomever was trying to dump lead in them.

  Motion in the bushes caught his eye. He released several rounds and ducked to hide against a rocky face. Return shots sprayed dirt a few feet from him.

  He fired back and noticed a shadow beyond.

  Maybe he hit the perpetrator.

  For several long moments, Jake waited, listening.

  He left his hiding place, estimating the location of the sniper, and ran toward it. Broken branches, smashed bushes, and a distinct boot print caught his eye, along with spent casings littering the ground. Whoever was here had fled.

  Jake spied something. He knelt and picked up a round tobacco canister, small enough to fit into his palm. Only one man he knew used it—James Winston.

  * * *

  Molly closed her gaping mouth. “What are you doing here, Bridget?”

  “Can I come in?”

  Pearl placed her shotgun against the wall and gently nudged Molly aside. “Of course you can.”

  Bridget stepped inside but stopped short when Grom bristled and growled. Bridget removed her riding gloves and held a hand out to the dog. “Well, aren’t you a nice fella,” she crooned.

  Grom was having none of it and took two steps back.

  Bridget straightened, her gaze darting from Molly to Pearl. She wore no hat or bonnet, and her hair was loose and frayed from her ride. Dirt smudged her white blouse, and dust coated her dark cotton skirt. “I’ve come looking for Robert.”

  “What makes you think he’s here?” Molly asked, unwilling to confirm his presence. Maybe he’d been trying to get away from her.

  Bridget hesitated. “I followed him, but he got farther ahead of me. Has he come here?”

  “He did,” Pearl answered. “He’ll return in a bit with Ivan and Jake.”

  Bridget nodded then her eyes flicked to the bed. “Is that man ill?”

  “He’s been shot.” Pearl waved her to the table. “Come on. I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.” She chuckled as she turned away. “I don’t think we’ve ever had so many visitors.”

  Molly replaced the slat on the door while Pearl set mugs on the table and filled them.

  As they all sat, Bridget said, “I didn’t know you were here, Molly. When you left the ranch, Robert said he took you back to your hotel.”

  “He did.”

  “Did Robert tell you to come here?”

  “No.” Molly couldn’t think of a good reason to lie. “I came with Jake McKenna.”

  “So Archie was right,” Bridget proclaimed. “He said you’d run off with McKenna, but I didn’t believe it. I thought you were smarter than that.”

  Molly bit back a retort.

  Bridget continued, seemingly oblivious to her rudeness. “Is there some reason you’re barricaded in here? My horse is at the hitching post. I should tend to him.” She paused, then glanced at the welt on Pearl’s forehead. “Did someone strike you, Mrs. Krupin?”

  “It’s a long story,” Pearl replied, then stood. “I’ll see to the horse.”

  “I should go with you,” Molly said.

  Pearl shook her head. “I’ll be fine.” She patted Molly’s arm. “I’ll be quick.”

  “Leave the door open,” Molly said as Pearl went outside. At least this way, they would hear if she needed anything, or if she called for help.

  Molly shifted her attention back to Bridget. “There’s been a murder.”

  “What?”

  “A man named Pedro Elizondo. Did you know him?”

  “No. Do you think the man who did it is still out there?”

  “Maybe.”

  Bridget quieted and Molly sipped her coffee. “Why are you here? Did your father send you?”

  Tears filled Bridget’s eyes. “I can see why you might think that, but no, I’m not here on behalf of my father. I’m here because I need to talk to Robert. I’m here because I love him, and he doesn’t believe me.” Her voice caught on a sob. “And I need him to know that.”

  As Bridget crumbled, Molly’s anger cooled to ambivalence. She ought to comfort the woman, but did Bridget really love Robert? Would he one day marry her? If that came to pass, then Molly would be forced to interact with her for a lifetime. Perhaps it was time to show a little warmth and acceptance toward her.

  “I guess you can wait and talk to Robert, if he wants to speak with you.”

  Bridget wiped at her nose and the tears now streaming down her face. “Thank you,” she choked out.

  * * *

  Under the cloak of darkness, Jake and Ivan shouldered Robert between them and brought him back to the cabin. As they approached, the door flung open. To Jake’s surprise, Molly and Bridget Lannigan crowded the entryway. They both rushed forward.

  “Robert, what’s happened?” Molly demanded.

  “Good Lord!” Bridget exclaimed. “Your leg is bleeding.”

  Robert’s gaze landed on Bridget. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I needed to see you.” Bridget stared at the blood stain on his trousers. “I couldn’t leave things the way they were after our fight.” She raised her eyes to his. “Believe it or not, Robert, you’re important to me.”

  Ivan and Jake heaved Robert onto the porch. Once inside the cabin, they settled him onto a chair.

  Pearl abandoned cutting potatoes at the table and stood. “What on earth has happened?”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks.” Robert shook his head and grimaced. “You shouldn’t have come here, Bridget.”

  Bridget appeared distraught, a look Jake had never before seen on a Lannigan.

  Pearl wiped her hands on her apron then waved everyone off. “You all had better git so I can tend to him.”

  “No,” Bridget cut in. “I’m staying.”

  Molly shifted her attention to Jake. “You’re not injured too, are you?”

  “No.” He left the far-too-crowded cabin and stepped onto the porch. Molly trailed after him as he took the steps and headed to the back of the house.

  “How did Robert get shot?”

  “We had a visitor.”

  “Who?”

  He entered the shed, struck a lucifer, and lit the lamp hanging near the entrance. “If I had to guess? Winston.”

  “Why would he shoot at you?”

  Jake returned to the corral. “Hell if I know. We found two bags of ore sa
mples in the tunnel. Maybe Nine Toes was leaving them there for Winston. Or maybe Pedro left them.” He led Fernando and Cinnamon into the shed.

  “So Nine Toes thought that Pearl was going to find them? Is that why he struck her?” Molly transferred fresh hay to each stall as Jake filled the water troughs.

  “Maybe. When he wakes up, I plan to ask him.”

  “Do you think the shooter is still out there?”

  Jake started brushing Fernando. “I doubt it. I think we scared him off. But stay alert.”

  They stopped talking, and Molly watched Jake’s steady motions as he tended to his horse, worry gnawing in her belly. Pedro had already been killed, and now Robert had been shot.

  “Maybe we should all just leave,” she said.

  Jake set the brush aside and faced her. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “But what about you? And Robert?”

  He stepped close and wound a wayward strand of her hair around his finger. “Why do you think Bridget is here?”

  “She came to see Robert.”

  “She hasn’t tried to pry information out of you, has she?”

  Molly appeared taken aback. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I haven’t told her anything.”

  Jake nodded. “You do know that Winston has his eye on her.”

  Concern crossed her very lovely face. “Is that why you think he shot Robert?”

  “Could be.” They’d do well to get out of the hills and back to town, but he doubted Robert could leave tonight.

  “I think she really loves him,” Molly said. “She was very upset when she arrived and was beside herself to find Robert and talk some sense into him.”

  Jake felt a shiver run through Molly, so he shed his coat and draped it onto her shoulders. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and smiled. “Thanks.”

  Jake sighed. “I haven’t the first notion where everyone is gonna bed down.” Although nothing would make him happier than to have Molly by his side.

  Not for the first time did the romantic situation nag his conscience. What were his intentions with Molly? Was he playing where he shouldn’t?

  He hadn’t given much thought to where this might all lead. He enjoyed Molly’s company, enjoyed the uncanny pull she exerted on him, enjoyed how much he anticipated seeing her.

  But didn’t she deserve the truth?

  While he didn’t completely stomach the subterfuge over his intention to file the new claims only under his name, he set it aside. The search for the Bluebird had taken a dark turn, and Jake would be damned if he lost Molly—or Robert—over it. But that didn’t mean he wanted the claim to end up in someone else’s hands—greedy, unethical ones like Shep Lannigan or James Winston. As far as Jake was concerned, he would take whatever he could from both men.

  But his dishonesty about the mining claims—which was for Molly’s own protection now that Pedro had ended up dead—didn’t mean he should mislead her about their potential love affair.

  “I’m beginning to think I’m doing you a disservice,” he said, “and I would never want to do that.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  He spoke a truth that had always been a part of his agenda. “I’m not a man who’s seeking to settle down, and that can be the only direction with a woman like you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Says who? You?”

  “Molly—”

  “How can you possibly know what’s best for me?” Her quiet voice did little to hide her cutting tone. “Did Robert say something?”

  Jake gave a slight shake of his head, frowning as his grasp on the situation slipped away like a fish that was too wily to catch. He was suddenly agitated, and he didn’t like it.

  “I’ve never indicated any interest in marriage.” Molly’s reddened face undercut her defensive posture, revealing her embarrassment, and Jake was instantly sorry he’d brought it up.

  “If that concern is hanging over you,” she continued, “then you can alleviate yourself of it. I have more important things to consider.”

  Impatience pricked him like an annoying mosquito. “Like what?”

  “I plan to travel the world. I’m well aware that I can’t leave a husband and children behind to pursue it. To be honest, a husband would simply drag me down at this point.”

  Jake had met women during his travels—self-reliant, entrepreneurial, and clearly of no mind to be controlled by a man—and in places where the rules governing females were far stricter than in the States. And while he’d admired them, and had even been somewhat fascinated by such females, he’d never troubled himself with their welfare. They were free to live their life how they desired, or at least to navigate the rules of society how they wanted.

  But this slip of a girl stirred emotions in him he’d rather not have—inspiring him to covet a future filled with hope and wonderment. The growing uneasiness spilled through him like hot molasses, heating him from head to toe, and filling him with fear that if she was in this world, and he wasn’t beside her, then some important piece of the puzzle of his life would be missing. Starkly, an ache of loneliness that he’d not acknowledged since his days in the orphanage spread in his chest, piercing a place in his heart that—extraordinary as it seemed—could only be filled by her.

  Stunned by the depth of his reaction to her simple statement of not wanting a husband, all he could manage in response to her words was to stare at her, dumbfounded.

  When she yanked on the shed’s door and fled, he wanted to call her back. He wanted to kiss her to drown out the maelstrom of emotions rushing through him, to hold her close and inhale the scent of her skin and revel in the feel of her pressed against him. He wanted to lose himself in her. More and more, with each passing day, that’s all he’d wanted to do.

  Reeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach, he braced a hand on a wooden post to steady himself.

  You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.

  Hell of a time for the teachings of Rumi to finally begin making sense.

  * * *

  Molly rounded the cabin and skidded to a stop at the sight of Robert and Bridget sitting on the porch steps, locked in a steamy embrace. While she was glad to see his leg wound was apparently minor, indignation and desperate envy gouged her at witnessing the two of them entwined in such ardent passion.

  She nearly made a childlike sound of disgust, but she wasn’t ten years old anymore. Her brother was a man, and he had wants and desires just like any other male of the species. Hence the resentment.

  She wanted Jake to be that wild about her.

  And apparently he wasn’t.

  Unsure what to do—the lip-locked pair blocked her path into the cabin, and the dark night didn’t encourage wandering around in the woods—she hesitated. Her only option was to return to Jake, but pride held her back. As her indecision dragged on, she clenched her fists and wondered if there was anything nearby she could punch.

  That was the only explanation for why she did just that when Jake’s hand came from behind and wrapped around her arm.

  She landed a solid blow.

  “Ow.” He staggered back, his hand covering his eye, his hat lying on the ground.

  “Jake, I’m sorry.” She shook her hand to relieve the pain coursing through her knuckles. “But why are you sneaking up on me like that?”

  “I wanted to apologize.”

  He removed his hand from his face, and she saw a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

  “For what?” She stood her ground. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  With panther-like reflexes, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into the shadows, away from the light emanating from the windows at the front of the cabin. Surely Robert and Bridget had heard them bickering. Any moment Molly expected them to appear.

  Jake brought her up against the cabin wall, and his lips found hers. This was no tame kiss—it was a steal-the-air-from-the-lungs overture, a heated and frantic act filled with longing and need and
the urges of the body.

  His mouth slanted fully over hers, and his tongue swept her mouth, accelerating her arousal in a flash. Her arms snaked around his neck, and he enfolded the full length of her against his body, sending a tremor from her breasts down to her abdomen. He pressed against her, his craving palpable and sharply focused upon her. Despite a frisson of fear surfacing, she arched her back, seeking to increase the contact with him.

  She buried her fingers into his hair and hungrily consumed his mouth, tasting his salt-flavored skin and inhaling the earth and the wind and the sun that had taken residence in him.

  His hands slid beneath the jacket she wore as his lips kissed her neck; his fingers skimming her ribcage then dropping lower to squeeze her hips. His mouth came to a breast—still covered in clothing—and lavished it with attention.

  She could hardly breathe.

  If it was like this with material blocking their flesh, what would it be like without anything between them?

  She wanted this—she wanted him—but worry began to whisper in her ear. If she did this, if they did this, there would be no turning back. Jake wouldn’t marry her. He’d just said as such, and she’d entirely agreed with him. But there was something else, an acknowledgement she’d refused to consider until this moment. It wasn’t the ruination of her reputation that gripped her with pandemonium, it was the possible shattering of her heart that gave her pause.

  What if I can’t let Jake go? What would become of me then?

  A sound in the cabin interrupted the carnal trance enveloping them.

  Jake buried his face against her neck and wrapped his arms around her. Molly held him tightly, her heart pounding with uncertainty.

  Moving his lips to her temple, he said quietly, “This is a problem I have no answer for.”

  Her mouth sought his.

  Jake cupped her head with both of his hands and leaned his forehead against hers. “Are you a virgin, Molly?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “And you should remain one for your husband.”