Jimmy threw open the door, pulled his wife inside, and slammed down the heavy oak bar. “His horse is hobbled behind the barn, so it is,” he said, taking her by the shoulders. “I had just watered the mules when I rounded the corner, and there it was. Sure, it’s a great black devil of a horse, and Cornwall’s saddle lay nearby. He can’t be far.”
“In the barn?”
“No, no. I looked there first. He’s nowhere to be found.”
“He’ll steal the children!” Sheena grabbed the baby from the cradle and wrapped her arms around the infant. “Jimmy, you must go and fetch Seth. Tell Rustemeyer to come, too. The three of you must hunt Cornwall down. Kill him if you can.”
“Now then!” Caitrin said, inserting herself between husband and wife. “Sheena, Mr. Cornwall won’t be after our wee ones. What good would it do him to make off with a stranger’s child? None at all. And, Jimmy, if Cornwall’s horse is here, why then it’s a sign he spent the night in your barn, so he did. Perhaps he left the animal as a gift.”
“A gift!” Jimmy snorted. “The man’s a criminal. It wouldn’t be in his nature to leave a gift.”
“How can you be so certain of his nature? Perhaps Mr. Cornwall is not the fearsome man we all believe. Perhaps he has a … a certain longing in his heart, something none of us can truly understand. Perhaps he was lonely last night and was grateful for the shelter.”
“There she goes again,” Jimmy said, addressing his wife. “Ever takin’ the worst and coatin’ it in honey. Your sister would insist hell was nothin’ more than a warm beach holiday, so she would.”
“Jimmy! Watch your tongue in front of the brablins,” Sheena scolded. “Maybe Caitie’s right. If Cornwall stayed the night in our barn, he’d be long gone by now. He must have left his horse behind him.”
“And set off for Topeka on foot? Sure, the two of you are a pair of silly, beeheaded—”
“Then where is the man, Mr. Jimmy O’Toole?” Sheena demanded. “If Cornwall wouldn’t go off without his horse, where is he?”
As Jimmy and Sheena fussed, Caitrin slipped over to the window again to study the barn. Was it possible? Could Jack Cornwall still be hiding out in her little storage room? He had promised to leave before dawn. Surely he wasn’t foolish enough to risk staying in a place where everyone viewed him as the worst kind of villain.
Then another thought dawned, more awful than the first. Jack Cornwall was dead. Perhaps his wound had filled his blood with contagion. Or the sausage she’d brought him had been too old. Or the salve for flyblown sheep had been poison to humans. Filled with remorse for his wickedness, perhaps he had ended his own life. The cider. The razor. A snake. Any number of things could have killed the man.
Caitrin gulped. First and foremost she must keep everyone away from the barn while she inspected the storage room. She would find a way to manage the consequences of her discovery later.
“Sheena’s right, Jimmy,” Caitrin said, turning from the window. “You must fetch Seth and Rustemeyer and search your land for Mr. Cornwall. If you don’t find him, you will have no choice but to consider the horse a gift. An apology for the trouble he caused us all.”
Before he could argue, she went on. “While you search, Sheena, the children, and I must carry on with our chores as usual. Sure, we can’t cower in the soddy day and night in fear of a lone, wounded, half-starved man. I am late to the mercantile as it is, and won’t Rosie be scalded? Shall I go off without my breakfast, Sister?”
This appalling notion sent Sheena into a flurry of activity. Mourning the loss of the eggs, she barked orders left and right.
Jimmy was to fetch a rasher of bacon from the smokehouse. Erinn must wash and dress the wee brablins. Will would stir the oatmeal and slice the bread. And Colleen must set the dishes on the table.
Her heart still in her throat, Caitrin quickly dressed and made up the beds, folding blankets and pushing the corn-husk mattresses back into shape. Then she helped Sheena cook the breakfast and serve it up. As the family ate, Jimmy announced that he would ride immediately to Seth’s place. The two of them would travel upstream to speak with Rolf Rustemeyer, the big blond German farmer who homesteaded to the north. If they were lucky, other neighbors could be persuaded to assist in the search, and the O’Toole land would be scoured from top to bottom.
“We’ll flush out that louse and pack him off to jail,” Jimmy said. “If I have anythin’ to do with it, the sherral will plague us no more.”
“Aye,” Sheena said, giving her husband a look of admiration. “That’s the Jimmy O’Toole I know. Hunt down that blackguard Cornwall. Shoot him if you must. Sure, you’ll keep your family safe from evil, won’t you, my sweet?”
Caitrin could hardly force a single bite down her dry throat. She took a gulp of water and pushed her chair back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I must fetch a few tins of oysters from the storage,” she said. “Sure, Rosie will be wondering what’s become of me.”
“The storage room!” Sheena gasped. “Jimmy, did you check it for that Cornish vermin?”
Caitrin held her breath.
“Aye.” Jimmy nodded. “The door was locked, of course. Our Caitie’s a careful lass, so she is.”
Caitrin managed a smile of gratitude. But she hadn’t locked the storage room door the night before. If she had locked him in, Jack Cornwall couldn’t have departed for Kansas at dawn. Then why was Jimmy unable to open it?
Sickeningly certain she knew the answer to that question, Caitrin threw her shawl around her shoulders and tied on her bonnet. After collecting the supply of fresh bread, butter, and cheese for the mercantile, she hurried outside and made for the barn.
Last night’s wind had brought a nip to the air. Winter would not be long in coming. The prospect filled Caitrin with dismay. This autumn was to have brought her wedding to Sean O’Casey—a wedding she and the dashing young Irishman had planned in secret. But his father had made other plans, and in the end Sean had not been defiant enough to stand up for the right to marry the woman he truly loved. Though he had wedded the daughter of a wealthy mine owner instead, Sean had sworn he would always love his Caitie. She knew she could never love another.
Trying to push away the pain that gripped her every time she thought of her beloved, Caitrin stepped into the barn. Though her heart would always belong to Sean, he was lost to her now. Ireland was lost. Home was lost.
“‘This is the day which the Lord hath made,’” she whispered as she made for the storage room under the loft. “‘We will rejoice and be glad in it.’”
Caitrin repeated the verse of Scripture three times more for good measure. She knew she must seek out each day’s joy rather than dwelling in its sorrow. God had given her this life and not another. Wishing would not change her lot. Anger would not change it. And certainly bathing herself in misery would never alter the fact that she lived on the Kansas prairie in a one-room dirt house with seven other people … and not in the O’Casey family’s fine stone cottage on the green sod of Ireland.
This was the day the Lord had made. He was her strength. And no matter what came her way, she would rejoice and be glad.
Lifting her chin, Caitrin knocked on the storage room door. “Mr. Cornwall? Are you there?”
“Depends on who you are.”
“I’m Caitrin Murphy.”
“Then I’m here.”
Relief that he was alive was replaced quickly by irritation. “And did you not promise me you’d be long gone from this place by morning?”
“Yep.”
“Then why are you still here?”
The sound of heavy scraping was followed by the storage room door swinging ajar. Jack Cornwall’s large frame filled the narrow gap. “Mornin’, Sparky,” he said.
Caitrin glanced at the barn door to make certain none of the O’Tooles had followed her, and then she slipped inside the storage room. “Don’t wish me a good morning, Mr. Cornwall, when you’ve sent the entire household into a flap by leaving your black hors
e tied outside in broad daylight. Jimmy fears you’ll steal his children away. Sheena dropped the morning’s eggs. In short, the mere thought of your presence has thrown everyone helter-skelter.”
“What does the thought of my presence mean to you, Miss Murphy?” he asked, his voice low. He leaned his good shoulder against a storage cabinet and studied her up and down. “Wish I’d gone?”
“Of course I do.” Unwilling to let him see the consternation his appreciative appraisal caused her, Caitrin marched to a corner of the room and began sorting through the stacked tins. “Now you’ll have to wait until tonight to make your escape. And what if Sheena decides to have a look in the storage room? Sure, Jimmy O’Toole will string you up from the barn rafters if you’re discovered. Even now, he and Seth and Mr. Rustemeyer are joining forces to scour the land for you. Why didn’t you go?”
She turned to find Jack standing barely a heartbeat away. Catching her breath, she focused on the man’s face, truly seeing him for the first time. He had gray eyes—terrible, steely gray eyes, as hard and cold and impenetrable as iron. A strong nose, its bridge slightly bent as though it had been broken once long ago. Cheekbones high and squared. A jaw that might have been carved from solid oak. And a mouth … oh, she hadn’t expected such a mouth …
“Why didn’t I go?” he repeated.
She jerked her attention to his eyes. “Yes, why? You’ve caused so much trouble.”
“No one knows I’m here but you, Miss Murphy.” That mouth tipped up at the right corner in a lazy grin. “Do I cause you trouble?”
Caitrin hugged her produce basket tightly, willing it to form a protective barrier between them. “You have not answered my question, Mr. Cornwall. Aren’t you well enough to travel? Has your shoulder grown worse? Or did you simply fail to wake before dawn?”
“The shoulder’s bad,” he said. “I need the rest. But that’s not why I stayed.”
“Well, are you going to give me an explanation, or am I meant to guess and guess like a child at a riddle game?”
He smiled outright at that and seated himself on the lid of the pickle barrel that had prevented Jimmy from opening the door earlier that morning.
“I stayed because of the bandage,” Cornwall said simply.
Caitrin glanced down at his bare chest and the white strips of linen wrapped around his shoulder. “The bandage? Are you quite well in the head, Mr. Cornwall? Or shall I write to an asylum and have you put away for a lunatic?”
His face sobered instantly. “An asylum is no place for a lunatic.”
“No? Then what am I to make of a man who lingers in a place of danger because of a bandage?”
“Miss Murphy, are you going to listen to what I have to say, or do you intend to carp at me all morning?”
She swallowed down her annoyance. “By all means talk, Mr. Cornwall.”
“I’m much obliged.” He pointed to the collection of lamps Caitrin would sell later at the mercantile. “Last night after you left I lit one of your lamps and went to work on my shoulder. The salve is good, I think. Ought to help. Anyway, when I unrolled the bandage and started to wrap the wound, I noticed the lace. Fine Irish lace, I think you said?”
Caitrin nodded. “Aye, ’tis bobbin lace. In Ireland women work lace by the fire in the evenings; then we sell our creations to a laceman, who peddles them in the city. But that lace was a new pattern. I liked it, so I decided not to sell it. What does my lace have to do with your failure to leave this property as you promised?”
“I studied the stitches you’d used to sew the petticoat,” he said, ignoring the question. “Tiny stitches. Even my mother would approve … and not much gets past her.” He gave a low chuckle. “She’s particular. My sister Mary always used to say …”
He paused and reflected a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. “Been a long time since I saw fine lace on a lady’s petticoat hem. Long time since I thought about a fireplace with a woman stitching beside it. Long time since anybody said to me the things you said last night. In fact, the more I turned your words over, the more I knew I hadn’t ever heard such notions. I decided you were something different, Miss Murphy. So, that’s why I made up my mind to stay awhile.”
“Stay?” Caitrin snapped out of the daze his words had evoked. “Sure, you can’t stay here another night, Mr. Cornwall! Not in the storage room. I’m not a nursemaid, and I won’t be fetching and running for you. I’ve my own work to be after, so I have. I’m busy sunup to sundown. And what if you’re discovered? I’d bear the blame of it, so I would—harboring a criminal, sheltering the enemy. I’d be labeled a traitor to the whole town of Hope and everybody who loves Seth Hunter. Jimmy and Sheena would have every right to pack me off to Ireland, and I can’t go back to Ireland. I can’t.”
“Nobody’s going to find me. Lock the door when you leave. I’ll read a few of those books on the shelf. Sleep a little. Rest my shoulder. Clean my guns. Get things back in shape. When I’m better, I’ll leave.”
“But you can’t stay! I won’t allow it.”
“Are you planning to rat on me?” He crossed his arms over his chest and appraised her. “I didn’t think you would. You’re too blasted spunky to run crying for help. Fiery Caitrin Murphy and Blazin’ Jack Cornwall, that’s us.”
“I’m nothing like you.”
“No? All my life I’ve aimed to do something worthwhile, something that matters. I’ll fight anybody to right a wrong and see that justice gets done. If I want something to happen, I do it myself. I’m bullheaded, contentious, and tough as nails. Are you any different?”
Caitrin clutched the handle of her basket, and the blood drained from her knuckles. “It terrifies me to see how the fire inside you matches that in my own soul, Jack Cornwall,” she said in a low voice. “Sure, we’re a pair of candles burning brightly. Never have I known a man like you, a man whose flame will not flicker out at the slightest gust. But what can become of people like us out on this windswept prairie? Why will you linger here? What is it you want?”
“I want to watch you turn raw ore into gold.”
“Only God can perform such a miracle.” She met his eyes, determined to have the upper hand. “You cannot stay.”
“I reckon I will.”
“I’ll lock you up and leave you to die.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Sheena will find you.”
“You’ll keep her away.”
“I’ll tell Jimmy.”
“Nope.” He stood and held the door open for her. “I’m precious, remember? What was that you said about me last night? Oh yes. You love me.”
“Turn my words against me, then. Make light of what I said to you in honest Christian charity.” She squared her shoulders. “You are as wicked as they say, Mr. Cornwall. Though the good Lord commands me to love all men, I certainly don’t like you. Not in the least. You are rude and stubborn and selfish. Sure, I rue the moment I laid eyes on you.”
Aware she must hurry to the mercantile or someone would come searching for her, Caitrin stepped past Cornwall. Relief at escaping him had just begun to seep into her when he caught her elbow. Her heartbeat skidded to a halt. Would she never be able to get away from the man without his barricading and accosting her?
She spoke through gritted teeth. “What is it now?”
“I wrote a letter to my parents last night.” He pulled an envelope from the hip pocket of his blue denim trousers. “I understand you run a post office at that mercantile of yours. Suppose you could mail this for me?”
“Give me one good reason why I should do anything for a man like you.”
“All right. A fellow I ran with at the end of the war has been searching for me. He thinks maybe I can pull our old bunch out of some hot water they got themselves into. My folks need to be on the lookout for this man.”
Caitrin snatched the letter and stuffed it into her apron pocket. “Anything else I can assist you with, Mr. Cornwall?”
He smiled. “The key. You wan
ted to lock your storage room, remember?”
“Take it,” she said, tugging the ribbon necklace over her head. “Lock the door yourself from the inside. And if my prayers are answered, you’ll use that key to let yourself out tonight and leave us all in peace.”
She whirled away from the man before he could capture her again. As she raced for the barn door, she heard his voice ring out behind her. “Good-bye, Sparky. Don’t work your pretty little hands too hard.”
Mortified, Caitrin turned on her heel. “Whisht! Be quiet, you great rogue!”
Jack Cornwall was standing in plain view, his broad shoulders gleaming in a patch of morning sunlight and his brown hair ruffling in the breeze from an open window. If not for the bloodstained bandage on his shoulder, he would have passed for the finest specimen of a man Caitrin had ever seen. He wasn’t handsome and elegant like Sean O’Casey. His face was rough-hewn. His form was lean—all flesh and muscle without the hint of softness. His clothes were worn, dusty, faded. But he filled up the barn with a powerful presence that froze her breath in her throat and turned her feet into blocks of wood.
Clutching her shawl at her throat, Caitrin stared at the man. Outlined in sunshine, he stood calm and unafraid, studying her across the open space. And she understood.
Jack Cornwall was not staying in Jimmy O’Toole’s barn in order to heal his shoulder. Nor to hide out from his enemies. Nor to filch himself a few free meals. In fact, he wouldn’t care much if someone discovered him.
He was staying because of her. Because she fascinated him … just as he fascinated her. Fiery Caitrin Murphy and Blazin’ Jack Cornwall, a matched pair.
“Auntie Caitie!” Erinn’s high voice sang out just beyond the barn door. “Are you there, Auntie Caitie?”
Unnerved, Caitrin lifted her skirts and turned away. “I’m here, Erinn! Will you go with me to the mercantile this morning?”
The little girl danced into view, her pigtails bouncing at her shoulders. “Oh yes, I’ll go with you! And after lunch may we open your trunk and look at your dresses?”
Prairie Fire Page 3
