Birdie Peregrine was busy fussing with the wine-colored fabric they’d just hung on the curtain scaffolding her husband had built for the stage.
Seamus had secured the musicians from camp to provide musical entertainment, grateful he’d been able to talk them into a visit to the barber for a bath and shave. The group currently sat in the corner rehearsing a few songs near the old wood-burning stove that Zeke had donated to the saloon when he and Genevieve had moved from their cabin.
Seamus scanned the room, seeing the vision in his head coming to life. The group practiced several tunes including a few that tugged the cockles of his heart, making him homesick for the old country. A large pot of stew made with venison donated by Zeke was cooking in the kitchen, its aroma wafting through the saloon. He’d even taken down the pictures of the scantily clad women hanging on the walls to accommodate the inclusion of men and women at the celebration. He sighed, pleased to feel the warmth of hospitality, the music to lighten the heart, for proper food and drink for a true Irish celebration.
It was all perfect, indeed. Except that he hadn’t seen his lovely wife since last night.
“Where do you want these benches?” Woody asked as he and Culver carried them into the saloon. Gus Peregrine tottered in behind them.
Seamus pointed to the space that had been cleared in front of the stage. “Line them up like church, boys,” he ordered with a smile and then turned to Gus.
“Mr. Pere—I mean, Grandpa Gus. Top o’ the morning to ye this fine day,” Seamus said shaking the man’s hand. “The celebration begins at noon.”
The old man’s bushy red brows knit. “I know, so I’ll git right to it. I hear rumors that you n’ yer missus ain’t faring so well. Came to see if I might help with that.”
Seamus drew the older man aside, not wanting the entire room to be privy to his marital problems. “Thank you, sir. But we’re working things out.”
Gus eyed him. “You need to cut right to the heart of things, son. There’s a sure-fire way to know one way or another. It’s a tradition I once heard about when I was young. Carried over from Ireland, if my sketchy memory serves.” He pulled from behind his back a tweed cap, much like the tattered one he wore.
“A cap?” Seamus took the hat, puzzled where Gus was going with this gesture. “It’s a grand hat, sir.”
“It’s yours ‘n if you’re wanting to know if yer lady is still interested in you, you need to march up those stairs ‘n toss the cap in her room.”
Seamus suddenly remembered the nearly obscure gesture he’d only heard about, but never witnessed back in Ireland. “Aye.” He cleared his throat and nodded, appeasing Gus’s kindness, regardless of how misguided it might be. “If she tosses it back out at me, then she’d not interested. But if it stays in side…”
Gus winked and grinned. “Then perhaps she’ll welcome you inside.”
Seamus rolled the hat between his fingers. “It’s a lovely thought. Thank ye.”
“Well, well, well. Look at this place.” Reverend Hammond had come downstairs and leaned against the bar. “Gus,” he said with a nod. “Seamus, this is just what this town needed. I suspect you’ll have a full house once folks get a whiff of that stew.”
“Aye, Reverend, can I get you a cup of coffee? Just brewed some. Grandpa Gus? How about you?” Seamus offered to both men.
“Aw, got to get back to Peregrines’ Post. Jack wants to—” Gus scratched his bearded chin. “Can’t remember what exactly but it sounded important ’n I remember him sayin’ we gotta be finished before noon so we can close fer yer celebration. I’m guessing everyone in town may do the same. It’s been a while since we had a little revelry in this town.” He chuckled. “Frankly, Agatha ’n I might have to show you young folks what real dancin’ looks like.” With a wave of his hand, he ambled out the door.
“Reverend? Coffee?” Seamus rounded the bar and sat the hat on the counter.
“Nice hat,” the reverend commented. “Uh, no thanks. I’m just waiting for the missus. We’re meeting Deacon Campbell and his daughter for breakfast.”
“Reverend.” Zeke slapped the pastor on the shoulder. “Top o’ the morning to you.”
Reverend Hammond grinned. “I guess what they say is true, everyone is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day.” He shook Zeke’s hand.
“I wanted to thank you for taking our houseguests to breakfast this morning. Woody and I had to start early hauling up the benches that Jack and I made for extra seating. And my poor wife, waking again nauseated. All I can say is while we’re both looking forward to the baby getting here, I feel sure she’s not going to miss the morning sickness.”
“Happy to help. I understand Deacon Campbell plans to head back to Denver on tomorrow’s stagecoach?” Reverend Hammond said.
“That’s my understanding. But Libby has offered to stay on and help Genevieve through the pregnancy. She’s still thinking of starting up a school here in Noelle if the town feels it’s needed.”
“Oh, certainly we’ll need one, just as much as we need a proper church. Say….” The reverend glanced over Zeke’s shoulder. “Those would make mighty nice benches for the new church, fellas, don’t you think?”
Reverend Hammonds charming smile caused Seamus to smile.
“Aye, sure they would, Reverend.” Seamus felt the tides indeed were shifting. He pulled out the special bottle he kept in the locked cabinet and poured three small glasses. He pushed them across the bar to the two friends. “To St. Patrick.” He held up his glass.
“To a new church in Noelle.” Reverend Hammond held up his glass.
“To new beginnings,” Zeke offered, holding up his glass.
“Aye,” he said and the three tipped their glasses back in unison.
Feeling the slow burn down his throat, Seamus eyed them both. “Either of you seen Mrs. Malone this fine morning?”
Zeke licked his lips and looked at his empty glass. “Libby mentioned she planned to invite her to breakfast. Perhaps they left early.”
The Reverend looked at Seamus. “Well, now that you mention it, I noticed her door was open wide this morning.” He frowned. “Not something she’d do going off and leaving it unlocked after what happened the other day.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen. I’ll be back in a moment.” Seamus grabbed the hat to take to his room and sprinted up the stairs two at a time. His heart thundered in his chest fearful, as he strode down the hall to the last room on the left, that his life was about to be upended.
He halted at the open door, clutching the doorjamb as he scanned the room left neat and tidy. The bed was made, the hand towel hung perfectly on the wash basin. There was no sign anyone had been there. Even her small travel bag was gone.
A hand landed gently on his shoulder. “She couldn’t have gotten far, Seamus,” Reverend Hammond said. “Have faith.”
Seamus offered a dry chuckle. “Aye, Reverend. Tis my wife’s faith in me I fear is what’s at risk.”
“Maybe she decided to go to breakfast early like Zeke mentioned. I’ll go check the diner.”
Seamus nodded. “Thank ye, Reverend.” Seamus leaned on the doorframe and stared at the empty bed. How many times had he thought of climbing between those sheets to lie with his wife?
A hollow pit formed in his gut. Despair so deep threatened to swallow him whole. How was he supposed to get through this day? Where had she gone? He stopped at his room to gather himself before returning to the gaiety of the festivities. Slipping the key in the lock, Seamus was surprised to find it unlocked. He carefully pushed open the door and his heart stopped when he saw Norah sound asleep, her face in angelic repose, her crimson hair fanned out across his pillow.
One alabaster shoulder peeked from beneath the covers, with a single lace strap slipped half-way to her elbow, sparking memories of when his fingers had performed that very task. He stood motionless, watching her sleep, his mind and body warring about what to do next.
Unaware of what it was doing to him, she turned on her back,
eyes closed, and stretched her arms over her head. A lovely smile played on her lips.
Lord in heaven, how he yearned to keep it there.
She peeked open one eye, her focus zooming in directly at him, meeting his shocked gaze. Rather than risk her thinking the worst of him, he tossed the hat on the bed and shut the door. He stood in the hallway mentally kicking himself. “Eejit,” he muttered. Taking a deep breath, he tapped his knuckles against the door.
“Did you forget your cap?” came the answer.
Apparently, the tradition went further back than his wife remembered. “You can keep it if you like.” He paused and rolled his gaze to the ceiling. “May I come in?”
“Tis your room,” she answered.
“Tis true,” he muttered to himself as he eased open the door and looked inside. She sat in the bed, the covers up around her shoulders.
“The revelers started early, playing beneath my room,” she said.
“Of course.” He glanced around the room. “I can go tell them to stop, then until…you’re ready to be awake.”
“Seamus, I am awake,” she remarked.
“Aye, so you are. How did you get in, if I may ask?” He gave her a puzzled look.
“The door was ajar. I snuck over here hours ago after you’d gone downstairs. It’s far quieter on this side of the building. I hope you don’t mind,” she said, pushing back a shock of unruly curls.
Seamus swallowed hard. His body ached to touch her, her confession making him wish he’d stayed in bed long enough to meet her climbing in. “There’s quite a crowd already downstairs,” he said, turning towards the dresser.
“I thought I smelled stew,” she said.
He glanced up and watched her in the mirror. “You look fine sitting there in my bed, Norah Francis.” In the top drawer, tucked in the protection of his best dress socks was the Claddagh ring he’d planned to surprise her with later this evening. He debated whether to risk everything now and see how she’d react to it.
“I’ve still got concerns, Seamus,” she said, meeting his gaze in the mirror.
His heart picked up a beat as he reached in the drawer and pulled out the small bag, placing it in his palm.
She glanced away. “Perhaps I was too quick to judge the situation with Miss Fleece.”
“Fe-lice,” he corrected then shook his head. “Go on, what are your concerns.”
“I dinna like the way she flung herself at you.” Norah frowned.
“She flings herself at men, Norah. It’s what she does.” He raised his brow and turned to face her. “Not every man returns the favor,” he said, hoping she understood that he’d not knowingly precipitated her advances. Just the same, he sure as hell would be more careful now around her. “Though she’s not really the problem, is she? Anymore than the dapper Father O’Flanagan is the problem.”
He walked over to the door, closing it softly, and turned to her. “Norah, I need to know right now. Right here, what is left of us—of what we once had together.”
She looked at him. “For so long I held on to those dreams we shared. I clung to them, believing every day that we’d soon be together. I believed that if anyone could achieve such lofty dreams, it was you.”
Seamus watched her, searching her face, sensing what she must have felt, waiting all those years, wondering if he was dead, whether she’d ever hear from him again. And all the while, he’d been here believing the worst—that she’d kept his money and found a better life—without him. Given the type of man he’d been back then, could he really blame her if she had?
“Then I finally discover the horrible truth and after all this time, I came out here to see for myself the man that Mrs. Kinnison wrote about. The man people around here seem to hold in such high regard. And I guess I’d hoped you still felt the same. That among those dreams, those changes, there’d still be room enough for me.”
An awkward truth began to niggle the back of his brain. What impression had he given? He opened his mouth to explain. She stopped him with her upturned hand.
“That dinner last night, the one Mrs. Kinnison arranged with your boss, was meant to find out what mattered most to you. And while I applaud the passion you obviously have to make something of yerself, the truth is, you can have that without me.” She waved her hand through the air. “You’ve already started.” She shrugged. “Aside from needing my grand-da’s recipe, of course.”
Good lord in heaven, he thought. Where to start? “Norah.” He sat on the end of the bed, knowing that if he sat any closer he’d not be able to keep his hands to himself. “Until I met you, I had no dreams. I’d likely still be back on the docks, had it not been for you. Don’t you see? It’s you…it’s always been…” Seamus looked for help from above, then met her gaze. “I never thought I’d amount to anything until I saw myself in your eyes.”
Her chin quivered. “Then it’s not only the recipe you’d be wantin’?”
Seamus barked out a laugh. “Oh, sweet woman. You are all I ever wanted. All I ever need. Without you, no amount of money or success means anything.” He scooted a bit closer, the scent of her skin wrapping around his senses. “And if you don’t wish for me to sell your grand-da’s recipe, then I’ll find another way to raise the money for the Nugget.”
“Maybe a St. Patrick’s Day celebration?” There was a hint of a smirk on her lovely mouth.
“Aye, and there’s a fair chance that my stew--though clearly not in the same caliber as yours—might still fetch a good price,” he said with a grin.
Her smile blossomed. Seamus swore his heart did a tiny flip.
“Now your ego’s inflated, Mr. Malone,” she said.
He gazed at her, loving her more than he thought possible. “Tis not all that’s inflated, Mrs. Malone. But as much as it pains me to say it, that will have to wait until later.”
He was pleased to see her cheeks turn a rosy hue. Seamus held his breath, feeling as green as a new groom. He opened his hand. “Do you know what today is?” he asked, searching her eyes.
She looked at the ring, a soft smile on her face. “The day we honor Saint Patrick?”
“Woman,” Seamus said quietly. Her quick wit was one of the things that aroused him when they’d first met. God in heaven, it still worked.
“Our anniversary, Seamus. Did ye think I could forget?” she said, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. Her mere touch nearly brought him undone. “But what about the curse?”
He met her concerned gaze. “I think we should leave the curses back in Ireland where they originated, Norah. We’re in a new land now. Where we can start our own traditions. Make our own dreams.”
She pressed her lips together and he saw she wanted to believe him.
“Norah, after all the time that’s passed, all the time we’ve missed together….” He took her hand and placed it in his lap. “Look what you do to me, still.”
She held his gaze, her breath caught as she discovered his arousal.
“I must know, Norah Francis. Will ye marry me—again. And make me the luckiest man in the world?”
She smiled and let him slide the Claddagh ring facing in on her left hand. It snuggled up beautifully with the simple gold band he’d given her the night they’d married.
He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, not wanting to let go. “Ye are my heart, Norah Malone. Ye make me want to be a better man.” He kissed her softly, holding her face in his hands. “What is it, then, my love? Will you grow old with me and may they find our brittle bones forever entwined?”
She met his gaze with a smile. “Aye, Mr. Malone. I will be yer wife, but now about this saloon….”
Seamus frowned. “What about the Nugget?”
“Well, to begin with, if you plan to expand I hope that it will mean there’ll be proper living quarters, at least until the babes come along,” she said.
He grinned. “Aye, I can make both happen, the second perhaps with a bit more fervor.”
“And another
thing....”
“Woman, I’ve not even taken ye to bed proper yet and ye got me life scheduled ahead for me.”
“If you plan to serve your guests a proper meal, you’ll be needing a cook with a good head and skills in the kitchen.”
He raised a brow. “And do you happen to know where I might find such a person here in Noelle?” He grinned. Whatever else Providence must think of him, he made a silent vow to never part, until death, from this woman again.
She smacked his arm. “Me, eejit.”
“Aye, but an eejit hopelessly in love with you, Norah Francis.” He lifted her chin and kissed her slow and through. Licking his lips from the taste of her mouth, he smiled. “And to be clear, should I ever entertain the thought to run off and make us a better life, do feel free to hit me over the head and stop me.”
She cupped his face. “Agreed,” she said, drawing him into another kiss. “Now,” she said pushing at his shoulders. “Hand me my frock. It’s not fancy, but we have a celebration to host and it must do Ireland proud.” She lifted the dress over her underpinnings and glanced over her shoulder as he fastened the buttons up the back. “I trust yer planning soda bread with yer stew?” she asked as she braided her hair over one shoulder.
“I had planned biscuits,” he said, planting a kiss on the exposed back of her neck. His hands slid around her waist, moving with slow deliberation over her breasts, persuasive in his caresses.
“Ye should save yer strength for later, Mr. Malone.” She sighed. “You’ll be needing it after every lamp is out and our bedroom door is closed”—she glanced at him with a smile—“and securely locked.”
“’Tis securely locked now, Mrs. Malone,” he whispered, touching the sensitive place below her ear.
“But I’ve only just dressed,” she said, moving her hand back to slide along his hip. She pressed back into him, reaching around to bring his mouth to hers.
“Easily remedied, my love.” He began to work the buttons, praying his patience would hold out.
“Won’t people wonder where you are?” She turned in his arms.
“I am exactly where I’m meant to be, Norah Francis Malone. Forever and always, right here in yer arms.”
Norah- A St. Patrick's Day Bride Page 9
