She needed to think, to reason out what he had told her. At the moment she was certain of only one thing, and she felt compelled to confess it. “Tye, what happened here tonight wasn’t all your doing. I’m to blame too. I don’t think—”
“Hush, now. Leave it alone. Like I said, it won’t happen again.”
“But—”
“It’s getting late. You start your mornings early. Let’s get you home so you can get at least a few hours’ sleep.”
Having been raised with brothers, Claire knew well enough when a man had made up his mind. “All right, I’ll leave. But you stay here. The girls are upstairs alone. You can’t leave them.”
“The Blessings will be fine. It won’t take me ten minutes to walk you home and come back. They tell me there were times back before he married Jenny that their father left them alone at night for a lot longer than twenty minutes, so they’re not afraid or anything. Besides, when I put them to bed I told them what I intended. They’ll know where to find me if one of them should need me.”
Claire made him go upstairs and check on the girls before she agreed to leave. Once they started down Willow Hill they walked briskly. Neither of them spoke. Claire wouldn’t have known what to say to him, and besides, her thoughts were all turned inward. The promise of the night had died, leaving her sad and confused and feeling lonely.
They paced side by side, Tye with his hands in his pockets, Claire with her arms folded, warming herself against a chill that didn’t exist.
At least, no chill in the air existed until they turned the corner of her street. Spying the lights blazing in each and every window of her house caused her soul to grow cold. “Oh, dear Lord. What’s happened?”
She picked up her skirts and dashed toward her house, her heart pounding from fear rather than exertion, Tye running alongside her. “Claire, wait,” he said. “Let me see what might be wrong.”
“No. I’ve got to see…look!” Her front door opened and figures began to file out. Brian and Patrick. Claire’s pace began to slow. Then others. Claire came to a complete halt. “Oh, my God.”
John Patrick Donovan shook off his wife’s cautioning touch and stepped forward, hands braced on his hips. His roar woke every dog in the neighborhood. “Catherine Claire Donovan! What in God’s holy name are ye doing comin’ home at this time of the night?”
His gaze raked her, and he suddenly clutched at his chest. “Look at ye now. Mussed and fussed and tousled like a strumpet.” He turned his glare on Tye and in a voice dripping with menace, added, “With the devil himself at your side.”
An egg with two yolks is a sign of bad luck.
CHAPTER 9
“RUN!” CLAIRE WHISPERED TO Tye.
He shot her an incredulous look. “Run?”
“Yes. They’ll kill you.”
Well, that was certainly a flattering assumption. “I’m not going to run anywhere. What kind of man would that make me?”
“A living one!”
Tye eyed the veritable wall of Irish manhood coming toward him and figured she might have a point. The Donovan family had that sort of rabid coyote air about them. Although he would admit to many faults, cowardice had never been one of them. He stood his ground, curling his hands into fists as he prepared to defend himself.
Claire gave a snort of frustration, then stepped in front of him. “You have it all wrong, Da. I was attacked by a drunken ruffian, and Mr. McBride stepped in to save me. He deserves your praise, not your persecution.”
Why, the little liar, thought Tye, torn between amusement at her audacity and chagrin at her dishonesty.
The Donovans slowed their approach, the sons glancing toward their father for guidance as Claire continued, “But never mind that. What are you all doing here? Is something wrong?”
“Is something wrong?” One of the brothers threw his arms out wide. “Is something wrong! I should say so. Reid Jamieson has us by the short hairs, and it’s all because of your hardheadedness.”
Her father’s gaze locked onto Tye’s, capturing and measuring. “Don’t use vulgarity in front of your sister, Brian.”
The other brother shoved the first. “Besides, it’s not true. It’s not all Claire’s fault.”
“Keep your hands to yourself, Patrick,” Brian shot back. “And it darn sure is too true. The weight of this entire debacle rests on Claire’s shoulders.”
“Look, this can wait” insisted Patrick. “First we need to find out what bastard bothered Claire so we can kill him.”
“Son, your language,” the father cautioned.
Brian braced his hands on his hips. “Patrick is right. It’s plain as day that someone’s been sniffing after Claire. If it’s not this fella, then we need to find out who it is.”
Tye decided the time had come for him to do a bit of talking. He stepped forward and extended his hand toward Claire’s father. “I’m Tye McBride, Mr. Donovan. Welcome to Fort Worth.”
John Donovan drilled Claire with a questioning look that she answered with batted-eyelash innocence. Sighing, he clasped Tye’s hand in a vicelike grip and gave it one brisk shake. “If my daughter says you deserve my gratitude, then you have it. Come inside, Mr. McBride. Let me offer you a drink.”
Claire piped up. “Mr. McBride needs to get home, Da. The children—”
“Are fine,” Tye said. “I have a few minutes to spare. Lead the way, Mr. Donovan.” The curiosity burning in him came close to matching the intensity of the lust he’d felt earlier.
Ignoring Claire’s unspoken suggestion that he reconsider—a sharp elbow to the gut—Tye allowed himself to be escorted into the house by the Donovan clan. There he got his first good look at Claire’s mother, which confirmed the source of the daughter’s beauty.
Heartache echoed in Mrs. Donovan’s voice as she cupped her daughter’s face in her hands and said, “Oh, Claire.” A pair of tears slipped silently from her eyes and trailed slowly down her cheeks.
“Hello, Mama.”
Claire appeared shaken, and Tye felt compelled to wrap his arms around her in comfort. He wasn’t stupid, however, so instead he looked around hoping to greet the schoolteacher. He’d been well pleased with the results of Katrina’s most recent arithmetic test, and he thought he should tell Miss Blackstone as much. But Claire’s roommate had apparently made herself scarce. Smart gal.
John Donovan placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Emotion cracked his voice. “Dry your tears, Peg. She’s here, now, safe and sound. We have much to discuss.”
Nodding, the older woman fished in her pocket and brought out a lacy white handkerchief to dab at her eyes. She took a seat in the rocking chair that sat in front of the fireplace as her husband glanced at his sons and said, “Boys, now that we know we won’t need to head out searching for your sister, why don’t you two find your beds. We’ve another busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”
The term “boys” sounded silly when directed toward the brawny pair, but the Donovan sons complied without complaint. First Brian, then Patrick, kissed their mother’s cheek then said their good-nights.
Once the brothers had departed, Tye refused the whiskey Claire offered at her father’s insistence, and requested water instead. While she fetched his drink, he took a seat on the horsehair sofa. Donovan pulled a chair away from the small dining table and sat down. He waited, the silence dragging out, until finally he turned to Tye and demanded, “Tell me of this villain who dared to touch my little girl.”
Claire returned to the room before Tye could reply. She shoved the glass of water toward him, saying, “Da, can’t we just forget this? I really don’t want to talk about it.”
Donovan harrumphed. “You’d like to forget it, wouldn’t you? Just as, I suppose, you’d like to forget a few other uncomfortable subjects? Subjects like how you ran away with nary a word to us on your wedding day? How you caused your mother to all but worry herself into a decline?”
“Da, please,” Claire cut an embarrassed look toward T
ye.
“Please what? Please don’t shame you in front of a stranger? Please don’t call you to task for the embarrassment you caused your family? Please don’t make you face the fact your selfish actions brought destruction down upon the Donovan clan?”
“Destruction!”
“Yes, destruction. I borrowed money to expand the business so your brothers could have their own bakeries, to stand on their own two feet and marry and raise families while making their own way in the world.”
What about Claire? Tye wanted to ask.
“I knew about the loans, Da,” she said. “We discussed them, in fact. Don’t you remember? I asked you why my brothers got bakeries, while I was given a token dowry to marry a man I didn’t want.”
Her father arrowed a glare her way, then continued as if she had not spoken. “After the debacle of your wedding, business fell off dramatically. The newspaper took special delight in reporting all our troubles. My creditors called the notes, Daughter. I couldn’t pay them. The Donovan Baking Company was forced to declare bankruptcy.”
“Bankruptcy! Oh, Da, no.”
Tye watched as Claire took it like a bullet, reeling. He didn’t like the way her pa placed the blame on her, and he wanted to call the man on it. But the devastation in her eyes made him hold his tongue. He didn’t think she could handle more upset at the moment Obviously John Donovan didn’t agree, because he handed her another blow.
“Oh, Da, yes. We lost the bakeries.”
Claire grabbed the chair beside her for support. “All three of them?”
“All but this one. That’s why we’ve come, Claire.” He squared his shoulders and announced, “The family has moved to Fort Worth to start over. We’ll change the name of the shop to Donovan’s Confectionary first thing in the morning.”
The knife slid into Claire’s heart as smooth as a song. “Change the name?”
“Of course. It may take time, but I’m determined to rebuild the reputation of the Donovan name.”
Her knees had turned to water, so she found a chair and sat down before she fell down.
Her father continued. “Patrick and I visited the bakery earlier this evening. I’d have preferred a location on Main Street, but this will do.”
They must have toured The Confectionary while she and Lars were at the Literary Society meeting. Funny how she’d seen no sign of intruders. Of course, she’d been so wrapped up in her strange mood and Tye McBride that a steer could have sat at one of her tables and ordered chocolate cake and she wouldn’t have noticed. Still, she remembered locking the door before she’d left. “How did you get in?”
“Miss Blackstone told us you had an extra key in your bedroom.”
Claire made a conscious effort not to grit her teeth. The key had been in her underwear drawer.
“I studied your books,” her father said. “You’ve done surprisingly well for the short time you’ve been in business. You’ve made a nice little profit. Of course, I see areas where changes must be made. You’re paying too much for some of your staples, and your inventory is underpriced.”
She couldn’t stand to listen to this. She’d bartered hard to get the best possible prices for her supplies from Fort Worth Mercantile. She knew the prices were fair. True, items were higher here than in Galveston, but Fort Worth wasn’t a port city. And as far as what she charged for her wares…well…this market wouldn’t bear higher prices for tarts—of the edible variety, anyway. She was right and her father was wrong. Again. But she held her tongue. She knew he would not listen to her. He never had.
John Donovan rolled his shoulders and stretched, then glanced toward Claire’s mother. “Today has been a long day and tomorrow starts early. We’d best be getting over to our rental. Pack up just what you need for tonight, Daughter. We’ll fetch the rest of it tomorrow.”
Claire’s head jerked up. “Pack?”
Her mother spoke in a soothing tone. “Brian found us a nice little house. You needn’t be concerned about leaving that Miss Blackstone without someone to share expenses. We worked it out earlier before she left to go to supper with her beau. Apparently her school has hired an additional teacher, who is expected to arrive within the next few weeks. She can move in here with Letty. Doesn’t that work out nicely?”
Her head spinning, Claire didn’t dare say how she thought it “worked out.” Instead, she asked, “Where did you find a house to rent? And when did you find time?”
Her father launched into a description of how they’d stepped off the evening train and gone immediately to work. It had been easy to find out where she worked and lived.
“I must say I’m surprised at Lars. He should have told us he intended to return to Fort Worth. We were all quite put out with him for leaving Galveston so abruptly, especially Patrick. I daresay our boy will have a few words to say to him tomorrow. There’s no excuse for his silence. Why, if we’d known he was up here taking care of you, I wouldn’t have been nearly so worried.”
Claire literally bit her tongue to keep from speaking out at that. Taking care of me. Does he think I am helpless? And just what was he worried about? The success of my bakery most likely. Certainly not me.
“So Brian found us a home and all went smoothly, except when it came to you. Where have you been, girl? Why are you quite late getting home? What foolish thing had you done to put yourself in the position to be attacked?”
“Now wait just a minute.” Tye shoved to his feet. “This is ridiculous. What do you think you’re doing barging in here like this and trying to take over her life?” Glancing at Claire, he added, “And why are you just sitting there swallowing it?”
John Donovan ruffled up like a bantam rooster, and Claire felt the bitter laugh bubbling up inside her. Firmly she forced it down and spoke up before her father found his tongue. “Mr. McBride, you’d best be getting back to the girls.” Standing, she walked toward him, her arm extended for a handshake. “I can’t thank you enough for saving me from that ruffian. I’m in your debt. Now that you’ve delivered me to the bosom of my family, it’s best you get home to yours.”
She watched the protest forming in his eyes and squeezed his hand hard. “Please, Mr. McBride. Go home.”
His gaze shouted his unhappiness with the idea, but Tye did as she asked. As he took his leave, her father again expressed his appreciation to Tye for helping Claire, although this time it was offered rather grudgingly.
The door shut behind Tye, and Claire sank back into her chair, her shoulders sagging beneath the weight of her family’s presence. When her father again started rambling about his plans for her bakery, she couldn’t work up the energy to say a word.
“…won’t need such a big place for long,” John Donovan was saying. “Once we’re back on our feet, Patrick and Brian want to return to Galveston and their sweethearts. With luck, their weddings won’t be delayed more than a year.”
A year. Claire licked her dry lips. “How are Cynthia and Eloise?”
Peggy Donovan smiled. “The McClendon twins are well, although I daresay they are pining for your brothers. They want to—”
“Enough of that,” John interrupted. “You girls can gossip later. Claire, get your things. On the way home I need you to tell me of any peculiarities I need to know concerning The Confectionary. Any customers we should refuse to sell to? Any idiosyncrasies about your equipment? How much Magic do you have in stock? I didn’t see too many bottles in the shop. Do you have a supply laid in somewhere else?”
Claire’s head was beginning to hurt. She’d had about all she could stand for one night. “Da, I’m tired. Can we discuss all that in the morning, please?”
“No. I don’t want to have to wake you up before I leave for work.”
Before he left for work? What about her? Slowly, Claire said, “Da, we’ll have plenty of time to talk down at the bakery before it opens.”
“You won’t be there. Your mother will need help setting up the house. Your brothers and I will run the Donovan Confectionary fro
m now on. You won’t have to worry your head about it one little bit.”
His words gave the knife in her heart a vicious twist. Dear Lord, my father has repossessed my dream.
***
BACK AT Willow Hill Tye checked on the Blessings, then brooded. The night felt strange and all out of kilter. Sitting here in his brother’s study a nagging sense of being needed tugged at his heart. It reminded him of the intuitive link that connected him and Trace, but he finally pegged the sensation as feeling almost…well…feminine.
Less than five minutes later he was headed back toward Claire’s.
He hoped he’d make it before her parents dragged her off to the house they’d rented. He wouldn’t know where to look for her otherwise. And the one thing he knew for certain was that he wanted…no, he needed…to see Claire Donovan once more before he slept.
Striding down her street, he spied her parents coming toward him just in time to duck into the shadows. Out of sight, he followed them a short way, eavesdropping on their conversation.
“Cheeky girl,” her father raged. “She’s lucky I didn’t lay her across my knees and beat the defiance out of her. I would have, had Miss Blackstone not returned. Don’t want to air any more of our linen in public, I don’t.”
“Now, John,” her mother said. “At least Claire is not alone. Letty Blackstone appears to be an upstanding young woman, and it’s only for tonight. One more night apart from us won’t hurt anything.”
“Well I’ve a mind to hurt something. The nerve of the girl. The disrespect. Did you hear that tone in her voice? ‘Why, I thought you’d disowned me,’ ” he mimicked. “What has come over her? Why has she changed so drastically?”
Peggy Donovan’s heavy sigh winged on the wind toward Tye. “I don’t know, John. I simply don’t know.”
“Then you’re a fool,” Tye muttered beneath his breath. “She grew a backbone, that’s what.” He quit following the parents and switched direction, going to check on Claire.
The Bad Luck Wedding Cake Page 14
