by Paty Jager
Her shoulders shuddered before she raised the liquid to her lips. He watched her swallow and then wished he hadn’t. Ever since setting eyes on the woman, he’d been as randy as a drunk cowhand. And ever since setting his sights on the lady, he’d stayed away from brothels.
If he could have dove into the lake without having to explain himself to the woman beside him, he would have jumped in fully clothed to relieve the ache in his loins.
He led the horses over to a patch of grass and tied the reins to a tree limb. The bundle of food sat on a large semi-flat boulder. He leaned against the rock and unfolded the cloth, pulling out a dried piece of meat. Chewing, he watched Maeve walk toward him.
She never gave any hint of her feelings for him. He’d kissed her enough to know, when she finally let him in, neither one would have regrets. He held out a piece of dried meat. She backed up to the rock and using her boot heels, shimmied up to sit on the boulder.
“Thank you.” She accepted his offering and chewed on it, gazing out over the lake.
“You thought about what all you want to ask your ma?” Having grown up around his brothers he didn’t like silence at a meal. Even a brief stop to eat.
“Some. I suppose once she answers, I’ll have more come up.” She glanced at him. “I suppose you want to be there when I talk to her?”
“I dang sure want to be there when you ask her about my pa.” He touched her soft cheek with a finger. “I have answered all your questions about me truthfully. When are you going to let me learn about you?”
Her eyes softened for a moment before she turned away from his gaze and his touch. Why did she fight her feelings for him? She’d been running from her feelings since he met her.
“I-I, there are some things, I don’t know the answer to. Like my father leaving us. I’ve thought about it so many times over the years. And—the only conclusion I can come up with is he didn’t love us. And why what I felt for him wasn’t a strong enough love to keep him.”
Zeke moved around to look into her face. Tears shimmered in her eyes.
He gathered her into his arms. Before his eyes, she became the scared little girl whose father never returned. And now, he had a brief glimpse at why she fought his attention. She was afraid she couldn’t love him enough.
He tipped her face. There was one way to show her how much he cared, that didn’t need any words. He lowered his lips to hers. At first she held her mouth firm, denying him access. He slid his tongue across her lips, stroking, teasing. With a moan, her mouth opened, and she kissed him back with knee-buckling need.
His heart slammed into his ribs. This was the woman he knew she’d be when he started courting her. She tried too hard to be prim and proper. He knew a vixen hid under that prudish disguise.
Coming up for air, he noticed the stunned expression on her face. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”
She leaned away from him. “I’d rather you didn’t kiss me until we figure out if our fathers were related.” Her icy voice belied the blush on her cheeks.
“I’d do anything you ask, and you know it, but refraining from kissing your tempting lips—I’m afraid I’m not that strong.” He flashed an apologetic smile and laughed when she slid off the boulder and marched to her horse. She swung up into the saddle and spurred the animal into a canter.
That was fine with him. He’d like to get to Baker City and get this cleared up. Maybe digging up her father’s past would open her heart to him.
Chapter 3
Maeve let out a breath and raised her hand to knock on Aunt Geraldine’s door. She held her hand in the air—inches from the wood. It bothered her Zeke had insisted on taking the horses to the livery while she announced their arrival. At the moment, she could use his self-assurance. In her rush to prove the Halsey brothers wrong, she neglected to tell Zeke she and her mother hadn’t spoken since she took the teaching job in McEwen.
Gulping, trying to still her nervous belly, she rapped on the solid, wood door and dropped her hand to her side as if the door had been on fire. Maybe no one was home? Her spirits bolstered at the thought.
Light footsteps sounded on the other side. She wasn’t ready to confront her mother.
Her feet slid back.
The door knob moved.
She couldn’t catch her breath and took another step back.
The door began an inward swing—she spun on her heel and smacked into a hard chest.
“What—” Zeke’s deep voice rumbled the chest under her hands and cheek. He grasped her upper arms and held her away. His calm gaze searched her face, lingering on her eyes.
She lowered her eyelashes, hiding the feelings she wasn’t ready to share.
“Maeve? Is that you? And you’ve brought a beau!” Aunt Geraldine clapped her small hands before placing an arm around Maeve’s waist and drawing her into the house.
Maeve threw a look over her shoulder and found Zeke smiling like he’d just found a gold mine. Blast! Now he’d play the part of her beau with zeal. She ground her teeth. He wouldn’t be playing for long once Ma set him straight they were related.
“I can’t believe you’re here. And on a week day!” Aunt Geraldine drew her through the entry and into a parlor as inviting and homey as the petite woman drawing her deeper into the house. She stopped beside a small settee and looked up at Maeve with worried eyes. “You didn’t lose your job did you?”
“No, Aunt Geraldine. I have something I need to ask Ma.” Maeve glanced around the small, tidy parlor. It wasn’t filled with opulent furnishings only the necessary items for a comfortable life. “Is she here?”
“Yes. Your mother is upstairs resting. I’ll go get her.” Aunt Geraldine stared at Zeke. A spark lit her faded blue eyes. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Maeve’s Aunt Geraldine, and you are…”
Holding his Stetson in one hand, Zeke captured the woman’s small hand in his empty one and bestowed his little old lady smile on the woman. She tittered and tipped her head sideways in a flirtatious manner. Now why couldn’t Maeve have inherited some of her aunt’s playful traits?
“I’m Zeke Halsey, Ma’am.”
“I’m glad you brought my niece to see her mother. She has stayed away too long.” With one last titter, the woman left the room.
Zeke took the spot on the settee next to Maeve. “What was that about on the porch?”
“I-I was having second thoughts.” She pulled her hat off her head and smoothed the stray strands of hair back. Her hands shook.
“Why?” He stilled her hands and gazed into her eyes. Was that fear?
“Mother and I—we—”
“Argue about her father constantly.” A small, frail-looking woman entered the parlor. Maeve must have took after her father. He’d never thought of her as anything other than strong.
He stood as the woman crossed the room.
She stopped in front of Maeve, placing a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you, Maeve.”
The mother and daughter locked gazes, their eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He stood beside them, unseen, soaking in the resistance, sorrow, and acquiescence.
Mrs. Loman broke the spell. She wiped at a tear on her cheek and turned to him. “I’m Margaret Loman, Maeve’s mother. And you are…”
“Zeke Halsey. A friend, and hopefully, some day her husband.”
The squeak and then exasperated sigh from Maeve made him smile. “She’s fighting me on the last part.”
Mrs. Loman glanced at her daughter. “I’d say he’s a keeper if he can put up with your contrary moods.”
The anger in Maeve’s eyes brightened to the blue of a cloudless summer sky.
“Mother, we didn’t come here for your congratulations on anything. We came to find out,” she slipped the tintype out of a pocket in her riding skirt, “if this man was really a brother to father.”
The older woman took a seat on the settee next to her daughter and held the tintype. “Where did you get this? Your father always carried it with
him when he traveled.”
“My sister-in-law found it in an outlaw’s hideout.” Zeke watched the woman turn the object over and over in her hand before scrutinizing the front. She darted a look at him, then back at the image in her hand, and back at him.
“There’s a strong resemblance here,” she said, her gaze meeting his.
“Yes, Ma’am. Those two are my parents.” He knelt next to Maeve. “Your daughter says your husband told her that was his brother. We need to know if that’s the truth. Since as I stated before, I plan to make her my wife.”
Maeve snorted. “That may be his plans, but I haven’t decided if I want him in my life.”
“Seems to me you don’t have much choice. This man carries a pretty bright candle for you. I can see it in his eyes.” Mrs. Loman patted her daughter’s hand, then pointed to his father. “This man was not a blood relation.”
Relief drained through him like water running through a sluice box.
Maeve straightened her back and grabbed the tintype. “Why did father talk of him like a brother and tell of jokes they played on people?”
“They worked together during the war.”
He stared at the replica of his father. No one had ever said anything about Pa being gone. “My pa wasn’t in the war. I know that for a fact.”
“They weren’t soldiers. At least not for either side.” Mrs. Loman pulled a handkerchief out of her dress sleeve. She sniffed the dainty cloth and leaned back against the cushions.
“What do you mean?” Zeke sat on the arm of the settee next to Maeve. He’d been cleared of being a blood kin, but now his scalp tingled with uncertainty.
“Margaret, do you need to lie down?” Aunt Geraldine bustled across the hand-braided rug to her sister’s side.
“What’s wrong, Mother?” Maeve made the first attempt at contact with her mother since her arrival. The mother daughter relationship puzzled him. Having been left to fend for themselves, one would think they’d have a strong bond. The bond between his brothers strengthened after the deaths of their parents and younger brother. But he felt hostility oozing from the mother and daughter.
“I’m fine.” Mrs. Loman brushed off her sister and daughter’s hands and settled more comfortably on the settee. She looked at him. “What were you told of your father?”
“My brothers and I grew up in Sumpter. My father wasn’t anywhere near the civil war when it happened. He was in Oregon country.” The older woman’s eyes opened in surprise, then narrowed. What did she know?
“You and your brothers may very well have grown up in Sumpter, but I can assure you this man,” she tapped a finger over his father in the photo, “was part of the group my husband ran with during the war.”
He scratched at the prickling hair on his scalp. There was no way his father could have been that far away during the war—Zeke was born during that time. And there was no denying he looked just like his brother’s who all resembled their father.
“It can’t be. There is no way my father could have been East during that time.” He studied the woman. Dredging up the past wasn’t helping her coloring any. Her already pale complexion was turning a pasty gray.
“Mother, how can you be so sure? Did you meet him? Or are you just going by what Father said. After all we know how reliable his word was.” The contempt in Maeve’s voice drew his attention. Her gaze rested on him. Was that concern he saw?
“I met the man one night. Your father thought I was sleeping, but it was close to your birth.” Her eyes turned misty as she reminisced. “I didn’t sleep well. I heard voices and went to the back porch. Your father and this man talked in hushed voices. I knew your father wasn’t what he said he was, but he kept a roof over my head and made me feel special.”
“What were they talking about?” Zeke cut into her memories. It was rude, but he wanted answers just as desperately as Maeve.
“I didn’t hear it all, but it had to do with an underground railroad. It wasn’t until the war was over I put it all together. They were part of the group helping slaves out of the South.”
Maeve sucked in her breath, and he shook his head in disbelief.
“I don’t understand?” Maeve said, as he stared at the older woman. His father couldn’t have been a part of something like that and not be missed. He knew his father was never gone more than a week at a time when he worked as a freighter to bring in more money.
“Not to be disrespectful, Ma’am, but there’s no way my pa was there. He was never gone more’n a week at a time. That wasn’t enough time to travel to the East and back let alone help some slaves get free.”
Mrs. Loman looked him straight in the eyes. “That’s what I know.”
“When did we move here, Mother?” Maeve wrung her hands. He took one, hoping to give her support and muster up some for himself.
“A few years after the war, we moved to Philadelphia. Your father worked for a coal mine and was part of an organization. One day he came home, said we’re going west. We were on the next train going as far west as it would take us and then by stage to Oregon City.”
“That’s where we were when he left us to go mining.” Maeve clutched his hand as the bitter words tumbled from her pinched lips.
Mrs. Loman shot a sympathetic look at her daughter and glanced at Zeke. “She’s right. He left one day and never came back.” The woman pulled a yellowed, sealed envelope from the folds of her dress. “I found this when I packed up my things to move in with Geraldine.” She handed the envelope to her daughter.
Maeve felt the crispness of age as she took the paper. What could this be? She studied the handwriting on the outside.
If I should not return.
She stared at the slanted writing. Something told her it was from her father’s hand. She glanced at her mother. The unshed tears in the older woman’s eyes confirmed her thoughts.
“Why? Why didn’t you show me this earlier?” Maeve slipped a trembling finger under the wax seal.
“You were so sure he left us for riches and greed. You wouldn’t listen. Then when you stopped coming to see me altogether…” her words trailed off. Her mother dabbed at her eyes with the dainty handkerchief.
Maeve swallowed the lump in her throat. How was she to make up to her mother for all those years of not believing her? Yet, even as she had so vehemently told her mother they’d been abandoned, deep down she’d known her father wouldn’t do that. Which only made it hurt all the more.
A wide, strong hand rubbed her back. Maeve glanced over her shoulder and into the sympathetic eyes of a man she’d become too dependent on.
Letting out a breath, she unfolded the letter and read:
Margaret, if you are reading this letter it means I have not returned. You have been a wonderful wife and mother. I could not have asked for anyone stronger or more faithful to be by my side through these years.
If you need anything, go see Barton at the High Stakes saloon in The Dalles. He’ll help you. Tell Maeve, my treasure, I love her and to always cock the hammer with confidence.
Love, Brendan
Maeve wiped at the tears trickling down her cheeks. He hadn’t abandoned them. Something happened. She handed the letter to her mother. How could she have so blindly assumed he left them? His love for them came through in the words of his note.
An arm encircled her shoulders, drawing her against Zeke’s broad, hard chest. She didn’t pull away. The anger and loathing she’d held onto released on a lengthy sigh. Tears slid down her cheeks. She felt weak and vulnerable and wanted his strong arms around her.
Letting years of pent up feelings escape, she burrowed deeper. Now, to hide the shame. Shame of having held those feelings for a man she remembered as loving. How could she have turned on him so drastically? And why?
She pulled out of Zeke’s embrace, wiped her tears, and turned to her mother. The woman’s tears ran silently down her pale cheeks.
“Why didn’t you open that letter when you found it? Or at least contact me?” A war
m hand rested on her shoulder. She shook it off. She remembered the reasons she’d thought the worst of her father. Little innuendos her mother had dropped along the years.
She narrowed her eyes, watching the woman. “You told me father left because he didn’t want to see us anymore.” Maeve pointed a shaking finger at her mother. “Why would you say something like that?”
The anger in her mother’s eyes stunned Maeve. “Because you wouldn’t stop chattering about your father. When he didn’t return, you’d turn those big blue eyes on me and as much as accuse me of having chased him away. ‘Daddy wouldn’t leave me. Why didn’t he come home?’ Me. You knew he loved you more than me. When he was home for short periods of time, he’d spend every waking moment with you. I’d be left behind, washing his clothes, cooking his favorite meals, but you were the one he doted on. His little treasure.”
Maeve leaned back against the solidness of Zeke. The hate and jealousy defiling her mother’s face made her stomach churn. How could a parent hate their child so much? She wanted to turn and hide from the vileness.
“So you planted all those lies in Maeve’s head,” Zeke said. The vibration of his chest against her back comforted.
“I was sick of her mooning over a man who wasn’t worth it.”
“Why wasn’t he worth it?” Maeve sat up straight. What would make her father not worth caring about?
“The rumors going around after he went missing.” Her mother curled her lip in disgust. “I didn’t want you to keep telling people your father was coming back, when they all watched us waiting for his return so they could put him in jail.”
Maeve shook her head. “What do you mean jail?”
“Rumors spread he was part of a gang that held up a freight wagon loaded with gold headed to Canyon City.” Her mother sat straight and glared. “I figured he was shot during the hold up and wandered off somewhere and died. Otherwise he would have come back for you.”
“Why would you think your husband capable of being part of a gang?” Zeke asked. Maeve smiled at him, thankful he was there to help ask questions. Her mind reeled, and she didn’t know what to ask next.
