And never before had O’Connell felt so much resentment and hatred for the brother who had once protected him.
“Why can’t you just let me go?” he asked Pete. “I’ve paid my debt to you a thousand times over.”
Pete gave him a hard glare. “You’re my family, Kid. Like it or hate it, it’s just you and me.” Pete smiled wickedly. “Besides, you’re the only man I know who can blow a safe and not destroy half the money with it.”
“You’re not funny.”
Pete shucked him on the shoulder. “Now, don’t get sore on me, Kid. You can do better than her. I told you that years ago. She ain’t nearly pretty enough for you.”
He grabbed Pete by his shirtfront. “I’m not a kid anymore, Pete, and I’m no longer scared of you. Catherine is my wife and she deserves your respect. If you ever say anything else against her, as God is my witness, I’ll tear your hide apart for it.”
For the first time in his life, he saw a glimmer of fear pass through Pete’s eyes. “All right, Kid. Whatever you say.”
O’Connell let him go. He had barely taken a step when he heard the front door of the boardinghouse open.
The marshal strode out across the porch with two men in tow. And all three of them carried shotguns in their arms. By the grim, determined looks on their faces, he knew what they wanted.
Him and Pete.
His blood went cold.
The marshal stared at Pete as he leveled the shotgun on them. “Pete O’Connell,” he said slowly. “Never did I expect to receive such a great Christmas present. Imagine the bounty of both O’Connell brothers.”
Pete swore, then went for his gun.
O’Connell didn’t think. He merely reacted. He was tired of his brother’s schemes, and tired of the lives Pete had taken for no reason.
It was time for it to end.
He grabbed his brother’s gun, and the two of them struggled for it.
Catherine watched the men tussle from the parlor window. She had sent Diana upstairs with Rebecca, then immediately sought out the marshal to let him know there was a possible outlaw outside.
She pressed her hand to her lips as terror sliced through her as she watched the two men fighting for possession of the gun. What had she done?
A gunshot rang out.
Catherine stopped breathing. Michael and Pete froze and locked gazes. Time seemed suspended as she waited.
Who had been shot?
Then Michael staggered back, and she saw the red stain on his shirtfront right before he collapsed on the ground.
“No!” she shouted as tears stung the backs of her eyes. It couldn’t be Michael! It couldn’t be.
Pete just looked down at him, his face indecipherable.
Dropping her shawl, Catherine ran for the door, down the steps, and across the yard to Michael’s side.
His brother stood coldly to the side as the marshal and his men put irons on his wrists.
Sobbing, she knelt by Michael’s side. Terrified and shaking, she touched his cold brow.
“Michael?” she breathed.
He opened his eyes and looked up at her. In that look she saw the love he had for her. He opened his mouth to speak, but she pressed her fingertips to his lips.
“Save your strength,” she whispered. She looked up to Marshal McCall, who stared angrily at Pete.
“I always heard you were mean, but damn, to shoot your own brother on Christmas? You’re a sick man, O’Connell,” the marshal said to Pete.
His face blank, Pete glanced down to her and Michael, then back at the marshal.
“What are you, stupid? Do we look like brothers?” Pete drawled slowly. “My brother got killed in Shiloh last month during our last holdup. That there’s just some stupid cow-poke thinks he’s a bounty hunter. Bastard’s been trailing me for weeks. I don’t even know his name.” Pete locked gazes with her, then shocked her with his words, “But I think the lady over there knows him. Ask her who he is.”
The marshal gave her a probing stare. “That true, Miss Catherine? You know this man?”
A tremor of panic shook her as she realized Michael’s entire fate was in her hands.
What should she answer?
She looked down at Michael’s calm, deliberate stare. He expected her to betray him. She could read it plainly in his eyes as he waited for her to denounce him.
But she couldn’t. She didn’t know everything yet, but before she handed him over to the marshal, she wanted some long-overdue answers. Answers he couldn’t very well give her locked up in jail.
“He’s my husband,” she answered honestly. “Michael O’Callahan.”
The marshal gave her a hard stare. “I thought you said your husband ran off.”
“He did,” she said, looking back at Michael. “But he came home to me last night.”
“Farley,” the marshal shouted to his deputy. “Help me carry Miss Catherine’s husband inside while Ted locks up O’Connell.”
The marshal helped her to her feet.
“Where you want us to take him?” the marshal asked.
“To my room,” she said, leading the way back into the boardinghouse.
Michael O’Connell didn’t say anything for the rest of the day. His head swam with what had happened.
Why had Pete lied?
Why had Catherine protected him, when she could have easily seen him in prison for the next ten to twenty years?
None of it made any sense to him, and worse, Catherine had avoided coming into the room for him to question her. If he’d been able to, he would have gone after her himself, but he was too weak to do much more than just breathe.
The door to his room creaked open. He glanced over to see a tiny dark head peeking in.
He smiled at the sight of his daughter in the doorway.
When Diana saw him look her way, the little girl smiled from ear to ear.
She fanned the door back and forth as she twisted in the door frame. “Are you really my daddy?” she asked.
“What did your mama say?”
“She said St. Nick brought you to me last night.”
O’Connell gave a half laugh at her words, but he couldn’t manage any more than that, since pain cut his breath off. Pete had been called a lot of things over the years, but this was the first time anyone had ever referred to his brother as St. Nick.
“Yeah,” he said with a grimace. “I guess maybe he did.”
Releasing the doorknob, she ran across the room and scrambled to sit next to him on the bed. He winced at the pain she caused by dipping the mattress, but in truth he didn’t mind it at all. To have his daughter near him, he would suffer a lot worse than that.
“You sure are pretty for a man.”
O’Connell smiled at her words. No one had ever said that to him before.
She reached out one little hand to touch his eyelid. “You do have eyes like mine. Mama told me you did.”
He cupped her soft cheek, amazed at what he saw in her face. It was so strange to see parts of him mixed in with parts of Catherine.
Never in his life had he seen a more beautiful little girl. “We get them from my mother.”
“Was she pretty, too?”
“Like you, she was as pretty as an angel.”
“Diana!”
He started at Catherine’s chiding tone.
“I told you not to disturb him.”
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
“She’s not disturbing me,” he said, dropping his hand from her face.
Catherine shooed her out anyway. At first he thought she’d leave as well, but she hesitated in the doorway.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you really were?” she asked.
He stared at her. “I liked the man you saw me as. To you, I was a decent man, not some no-account outlaw drifter. The last thing I wanted was for you to change your mind about me and hate me.”
“So you lied to me?”
“Not really. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
&nbs
p; She shook her head. “I always knew you were hiding something from me. I was just never sure what. Funny, I used to think it was another woman you loved, not a lunatic brother.”
He gave her a hard, meaningful look. “I could never love anyone but you.”
“Do you mean that?”
“On my life.”
And then she gifted him with one of those loving smiles that had kept him warm on the coldest days. “So tell me, Michael, where do we go from here?”
Epilogue
Christmas Eve. Two years later
“Hey, Pa, where do we go from here?”
Michael looked up at nine-year-old Frank’s question. After Catherine had given him his second chance, the two of them had decided to adopt the orphans she’d been keeping. And every day of the last two years, he had spent every minute making up to her for the time they had been apart.
She would never again have cause to doubt him, and he reveled in the blessing of his family and home.
“I think you’d best be asking your mother that question,” he said to Frank. “Catherine?”
“It’s the big white house at the end of the street,” she said as she waddled up to them beside the train station.
Michael grinned at the sight of her pregnant body. He’d missed seeing her carry Diana, but he was definitely enjoying her now.
The way Catherine figured, they had two more months before the baby would join them. Just enough time to visit her parents with their passel of children in tow, and then make it back home in time for the little one’s birth.
Four of the orphans still lived with them. Five children total with Diana. Michael smiled as he watched all of them climb aboard the wagon he had rented.
He’d always wanted a big family.
“You nervous?” he asked Catherine as he draped a comforting arm over her shoulders. She hadn’t seen her parents since the day they had eloped almost seven years before.
“A little. And you?”
“A little.”
Even so, he was too grateful for his life to mind even a lengthy visit at his in-laws’. He still found it hard to believe Pete had lied to save him.
“I’ve ruined your life enough, Kid. This is one place I think I’d best go to alone,” Pete had told him.
Pete would be in prison for a long time to come. Maybe it would make his brother a better man.
All he could do was hope that one day his brother would find the peace that had always eluded him.
Michael placed a tender kiss on Catherine’s brow as he took Diana’s hand in his and helped her up into the wagon.
Every day for the last two years, he had been grateful that his wife had stood by him, even though it was the last thing he’d deserved.
“Thank you, Cathy,” he breathed as he helped her climb into the wagon seat.
“For what?” she asked.
“For making my life worth living.”
Her smile warmed him to his toes. “It’s been my pleasure, Mr. O’Callahan. Merry Christmas.”
And a Merry Christmas it would be, too. For in this life, there were second chances, and this time, Michael wouldn’t waste the one he’d been given.
REDEMPTION
A Bonus Scene from The Guardian
Blowing out a frustrated breath, Seth stared at himself in the mirror as he tried to do something with his rebellious hair.
It was useless.
Even worse than the curly mess he couldn’t control was the clothes Lydia had picked out for him to wear. The black pants that buttoned on the sides were extremely uncomfortable and they only went to his knees. From there down, he had on white… what had she called them? Stockings? And weird buckled shoes that pinched his toes and rubbed his heels worse than his armored boots.
But the thing he despised most was the gold, high-collared, heavily embroidered jacket with a white shirt that had mountains of girly lace cascading down the front. Lydia had called it a cravat. He called it hideous. And that same scratchy lace spilled out at the end of his sleeves, covering both of his hands, all the way to his knuckles.
He’d bitched about this monstrosity the moment she’d shoved it at him. The only reason he’d finally agreed to wear it was that she’d pointed out the fact that it couldn’t possibly be any more uncomfortable to wear than his armor – something he empathically disagreed with. Only an outright moron laughed at a man encased in demonic armor. Dressed like this, only an outright moron wouldn’t laugh at it.
And two – the most important reason of all – he wouldn’t have to wear it long. As soon as they were done, she’d promised to rip this heinous outfit off him and make him deliriously happy that he’d humored her.
Little did she know, he’d have worn it for her anyway. All she had to do was smile at him and he was sunk.
Still…
“I look like an effing idiot.”
Dressed in black tails and tie, Asmodeus snorted from behind him. “I would respond to that, but the fact that you have more powers now than you did when I served you in the Nether Realm, and the fact that I’m fond of my body parts in their current locations, prevents me from saying a single word.” He flashed a fanged grin at Seth. “Sorry.”
Yeah, right. His expression said Asmodeus was anything but. In fact, that expression said the bastard was highly amused… and at Seth’s expense.
See. Point taken. Asmodeus had never dared laugh at him when they were in Azmodea and Seth was in armor.
But in this…
Laughter was a moral imperative, and he couldn’t fault Asmodeus for that.
Seth was tempted to offer the demon money to change clothes with him. Unfortunately, Asmodeus was an amorphic demon who could take any form he wanted, and for the wedding, the little creep had decided to be only six feet tall with short white blond hair he had spiked up, all over his head. Then again, Seth could use his own powers to simply change his clothes into something else.
Like armor.
But that would upset Lydia.
For her, Seth would suffer.
Maybe not in silence, but…
He stifled a whimper as he met Asmodeus’s gaze in the mirror. Those demonic gray eyes were the only thing that stayed the same in all of Asmodeus’s incarnations. Eyes that saw far deeper than the surface of any being.
While Seth had been locked in the Nether Realm, Azmodea – the demon – had been the only one, besides Jaden, who’d never harmed him. In fact, it was Asmodeus who’d taught him to paint his face to intimidate the others. And in spite of what Asmodeus had said, Seth had never once done him harm either.
The sad news was that Asmodeus was the closest thing to an actual friend Seth had ever had… which was why the demon, who’d been freed from Noir’s service a few years back while Seth had been confined, had been asked to be his best man.
Asmodeus moved closer to straighten Seth’s cravat. “I have to say that I’m glad you’re the only one she wants dressed this way. ‘Cause it is epically hideous and you look like a woman in it.”
Seth glared down at him. “You better be glad I’ve mellowed and that you’re one of only four guests I have here today.”
Asmodeus’s grin widened. “Infinitely so, Lord Master Guardian. Besides, you wouldn’t want your best demon to have blood on his rented tux at your wedding, would you? It might distress Mistress Jackal.”
A wave of anger shot through Seth at the reminder of the slavery in hell he’d barely survived. But for Lydia, he’d still be there, living in torture and chains, and never-ending misery. Even the mere mention of it sent him into a furious state. “I know you’re joking with that title, but don’t call me that anymore.”
Stepping back, Asmodeus inclined his head as if he understood why that reminder stung Seth so deep. “What do I call you then?”
“Seth.”
The demon started to chuckle then stopped the moment Seth lifted a questioning eyebrow. “Sorry, Lord Master… that which I cannot say.”
“What’s so funny abo
ut my name?”
The demon shrugged. “I just thought you’d have a more sinister one than Seth. Although it does rhyme with death… Perhaps apropos after all.” Asmodeus clapped him on the back then changed the subject. “Are you nervous about this?”
Not really. Bored. Irritated. Impatient. But definitely not nervous. He couldn’t think of anything better than being bound to his Lydia. She was his only master now and he was quite content to be shackled to her for the rest of eternity. “Am I supposed to be?”
“I’m told many are when they go to tie their lives to someone else. I, personally, would be vomitus over it.”
“Why?”
“One woman? Forever?” Asmodeus choked himself.
Seth shook his head at the demon. “She’s not just any woman.” She was unlike anyone he’d ever known. Best of all, she loved him, and that he’d never understand. Not even a little.
But he would always be grateful that she, alone, had looked into the eyes of a scarred, broken demon-slave and found a humanity Seth had never known, or even guessed, existed inside him.
Not until he’d been touched by a gentle hand that didn’t cause him injury. One that never begrudged or betrayed him.
The demon shrugged again. “That’s what they all claim. Then you marry one of them, and they spend the rest of their lives trying to kill you.”
“How so?”
Asmodeus checked the list off on his fingers. “Whining. Nagging. Expanding.”
Seth scowled at the one he didn’t understand. “Expanding?”
“You know, getting fat on you.”
Seth was baffled by his reasoning. “Lydia’s pregnant, not fat.” And that was definitely his fault and not hers.
“Yes, but that weight never goes away. Trust me.”
Still, he didn’t see how that was a bad thing. “There will just be more of her to love.”
The demon made a gagging sound. “Just wait until the demon in her makes a – ”
“Asmodeus!” Maahes, the Egyptian god of war and cousin to Seth, snapped as he flashed into the room in all his regal god-finery. “Stop trying to run him off.”
Dark Bites (Dark-Hunter World) Page 60
