“Oh, well…honestly, I don’t think that would be wise. I need to find my da, and then I need to get back to London. I have commitments there I need to keep.” Did she? When she left London for Cork, she hadn’t had the time to seek out a position with her newly-minted certificate. If she ever got back, most of the jobs would be filled by the other ladies she’d attended school with. It was another piece of her life she’d given up to find her da.
Pati groaned, and Ellie and Millie’s gazes met over the table, flashing a knowing look between them.
“Pati thinks she should be chasin’ her pa all over kingdom come because of some idea that she’s to blame for his runnin’ off to America.” Millie’s tone was concerned, if a little accusatory. It was plain that the woman didn’t agree with Pati’s quest, but…well, Pati wasn’t so sure she agreed with it now, either.
She didn’t know if her da was in Sacramento, only that someone had said he’d been on the supplies wagon headed that way. Who was to say if her da actually went to Sacramento, if he was still there, or if she’d ever find him—no matter how much money she made mending pants and socks or how many months she spent looking for him?
Her entire journey had been spent praying, hoping, grasping for luck—maybe he’d be in the next town, maybe he’d welcome her and agree to go home with her.
Pati’s heart pounded, her blood turning to ice in her veins. She’d sold everything, traveled for ten months, and was now working her fingers to the bone in order to continue on a foolhardy journey—all based on maybe.
“Ah, Millie, she’s not lookin’ so good.” Pati could hear Ellie’s voice. It was a far off, echoing…
“Help me get her into the sittin’ room before she falls into my bread dough.”
“…Pati…” Echoing…
“…come on, girl, stay on yer feet…” Muffled voices and shuffling, grunting noises seemed to skitter around the edges of her mind, but she couldn’t focus on anything.
Da…what have I done? Why would God allow me ta come all this way, face all I’ve endured, just ta fall ta pieces now?
A flash, vivid and hot, speared through her thoughts—an image of a brooding face with dark eyes, a head of black hair, and straight, broad shoulders.
Peter Jones.
Pati sucked in a shuddering breath and blinked. Suddenly, she was sitting on an overstuffed chair in Millie’s sitting room. She didn’t remember walking there, but she must’ve.
“Well, there you are,” Millie said from the chair beside Pati. Ellie was standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. “For a moment there, it looked like you were gonna take a spill.”
Ellie nodded, her brown eyes skimming over Pati, probably searching for any other signs of insanity.
Grasping her forehead, Pati sat forward. “I don’t know what happened.”
Millie clicked her tongue. “Seemed like you had an epiphany.”
Surprised at the woman’s choice of words, and that the woman knew the word at all, Pati stared. “Is that what it was?” she asked, her heart still thundering in her chest.
Ellie pushed away from the door jamb and came to stand beside Pati. “That’s what I’m thinkin’, too…” Her gaze bored into Pati. “But I don’t think yer gonna stop lookin’ for yer pa, not yet.”
He was her da, the only family she had left. She couldn’t just not look for him. She couldn’t just give up now, not when she’d come so far to find him. And what if he needed her? She’d already let him down once.
Go home.
Find Da.
Give up.
Keep on.
Her mind, her heart, and her spirit all warred against one another within the bounds of her mortal frame, and she didn’t know if she’d survive the coming cataclysm.
“I can’t give up on him. Even if I am not at fault for his leaving, he is my da. My only family. I should be with him. I’ll work here, saving what I can. Then, when I’ve saved enough…” How much was enough? “…I’ll head to Sacramento.” It all sounded so easy…
The two other women were silent for a moment, then turned to look at one another. Both Millie and Ellie nodded, slowly, then smiled. Their eyes were twinkling.
“If that’s what you think is best,” Millie said, turning back to Pati. “Then I will help you however I can.”
Millie’s gaze dropped to Pati’s dress, and her nose wrinkled.
“First, I’m gonna do somethin’ ‘bout your clothes…”
Startled, Pati looked down at herself. “What about my clothes?”
Ellie laughed. “Can’t attract flies with vinegar.”
“What?” Pati asked, confused by the woman’s strange remark.
Millie joined in Ellie’s moment of confusing merriment.
“Tell that to him,” Millie said, and Ellie snorted, rolling her eyes.
Pati had a sudden, sinking suspicion that these women were up to something.
Chapter 10
Pati pricked her finger for the third time that day, and she swore—as any proper O’Connor woman would; in Gaelic. Sucking the drop of blood from the wound, she dropped the pants she’d been mending to her lap. Once she’d mended all of the torn and worn clothes from the Winslets, she’d found even more work from men—miners mostly—who needed their work pants mended. Some of them hadn’t struck gold yet, so they couldn’t afford the expense of new pants. However, they could afford the two dollars she charged per pair of pants. She was the best of a bad situation. She’d become the “needs must” for the men of the town, and she was thankful for the honest work. Her wrists ached, her fingers were stiff from holding the needle, and her back burned from sitting hunched over mending all day. But she couldn’t complain. She was doing well, and in such a short time, too.
She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose; her eyes ached terribly, too. But it couldn’t be helped. The men needed patches and fresh hems, and she needed the money. Sleeping on the ground instead of in a proper cot or bed was taking its toll on her body, but she hadn’t the money to buy one. And she couldn’t afford more than the food at the saloon, but setting foot in there just the one time, eight days ago, had made her skin crawl. It wasn’t that Ellie ran a bad place, it was the leers from the men around the tables that had made her turn and leave—and never go back. She was thankful that Millie had offered to feed her, at least until she could set up a proper kitchen in the shanty and prepare her own meals. But even the stove, dinnerware, cookware, and ingredients would cost more than she’d made so far. So, she was at the mercy and hospitality of the Winslets. But she refused to let them host her, as well. They’d already offered their old cabin for her use as her shop, she couldn’t take their guest bedroom as well. And while she could sleep in the shop, she didn’t like the idea of sleeping so close to the mine. It was safer that way. She was an unmarried woman in a barely civilized town, in a country where she was as out of place as a sow at a tea party. Her da’s shanty was further from the mine, and closer to the Winslets’ house. Also, the shanty was better than the wagons she’d slept under during her journey west—and at least the weather was dry enough that rain didn’t come in under the walls and wet the bed roll she’d borrowed from Ben.
Ben.
It had been a week since that night at Winslet House. The night when she and Ben had been laughing over his stories of his and Reuben’s childhoods. The night when she’d felt the prickles of awareness on her arms. The night she’d looked up from the porch and saw Pete Jones standing there, dressed in black, with an equally black scowl on his face. She could remember how her breath caught, and how her heart thumped painfully against her ribs, and how embarrassed she’d felt for being “caught” with Ben. Then she remembered how angry she’d become—at herself—for letting Mr. Payter Jones make her feel like she’d done something wrong. She hadn’t! She’d been enjoying the company of a sweet, funny man, a man she had no desire for other than the desire to break the monotony of her days. So why had she felt as if she’d been caught p
etting with the village scoundrel?
Why did the opinion of a stranger bother her so much? It wasn’t as though he’d gone out of his way to befriend her—he’d even gone back on his word to patrol by her shop every day. Instead, he’d send Ben or Reuben. While it was nice to see the charming, smiling, easy to know men, it rankled that the man who’d made such a fuss about “duty” would shirk it because he’d seen her speaking with Ben—a totally, utterly, completely innocent thing.
Anger boiled up, and she picked up the mending from her lap and tossed it onto the work table, slapping the top of it with her palm. The scissors, spools of thread, and pin cushion all jumped with the force of her ire.
“That man…how dare he judge me? He doesn’t even know me!” she growled out, her body vibrating with retained violence. She should go right over to his office and give him a piece of her mind. She’d tell him, right to his handsome, brooding face, that she didn’t care a whit about his opinion of her.
Thankful that she’d had the mind to pin back her hair and wear the better of the old dresses she’d borrowed from Millie—the dresses belonged to Millie’s daughter, Aylish, and they fit surprisingly well. Not that Pati cared what the gun-slinging mine supervisor thought of her hair or what she wore. At least that’s what she told herself that morning when she’d bewailed the lack of a proper looking glass. Which was out of character. No one in Blessings cared what she looked like, and it wasn’t as though she’d ever been one to spend more than the necessary time at the vanity—but that was almost a year ago. Back when she had long hair, a fair complexion, and a career path that required she look her best at all times. Deportment was ten percent manners and ninety percent looking the part.
Maybe ye should’ve spent more time learnin’ how to deal with uncouth men…
Pressing her hands against her skirts, she took a long, slow breath.
“Now wait a minute. He never said a thing to you. You are seeing will-o-wisps where there are none. The man is just busy. He is not avoiding you because he saw you, sitting cozy, beside a man he’d already berated in front of you…” The more she spoke, the angrier she became, and she couldn’t explain why. And she knew that if she took the time to wonder about it, she’d not like what she discovered.
Standing up, she moved to the door, which she’d left open so customers knew she was there—and because the days were getting stifling hot—and out onto the small porch which overlooked much of the woods just outside of the town proper. It really was a beautiful place; the green trees, the mountains and rolling hills. And the scents were a new kind of heaven she’d never thought to experience; evergreen, notes of dying spring blooms, bubbling water, and smoke. They all wove together into a smell she’d always think of as “Blessings”. But she didn’t have time to enjoy the view or the experience, she had a man to see about the thistle in his breeches.
When he’d first started coming to check on her, Ben had told her how to get to the mine security office because he’d been pressing her to visit him there while he was on shift. She didn’t think it a good idea because she was unmarried, and he was…well, he seemed eager to start something she wasn’t interested in pursuing. While he was sweet and charming, she just couldn’t gather enough interest in him to encourage his attentions.
He’s not Pete Jones. Frustrated by her own thoughts, she charged on, sidestepping twigs and tree roots, and striding through piles of dried needles that crunched beneath her boots.
Making her way through the woods, along a trail well-trodden by booted feet, she made herself focus on the Pete Jones she’d met that first night at Winslet House, not the Pete Jones who’d been stealing into her thoughts every day since she’d come to Blessings. She had to think on the black look he’d given her before he’d even spoken a word to her, and not the way his lips quirked up into an almost smile when he’d first come to her shop. She had to think on what she’d say to him about how mean and irrational he was being—and how ridiculous. She was unwilling to beg any man for his kindness. And she’d be painted green before she begged him to forgive her for some perceived slight or misconception, because that’s what it had to be. He must’ve taken one look at her and assumed the worst about her. But why?
It doesn’t matter. It only matters that he apologizes for it.
She snorted, sending a nearby bird into flight. Pete Jones wouldn’t apologize, she’d see heaven before an apology left those lips of his. She knew that much about him. But, at least, she could absolve herself of her part in the growing animosity between them, an animosity he’d stoked from the first moment their gazes met.
Again, she thought back to that moment, nearly two weeks ago, when Pete Jones entered the sitting room of the Winslets’ home. She’d taken a look at him and thought him darkly beautiful. He’d taken one look at her and thought her worthy of only his disdain.
Again, her anger grew white hot and flicked against her every nerve. Increasing her pace, she sped toward her destination, her hands fisted.
Payter Jones thinks me a creature of his displeasure…I’ll make sure ta prove him right!
Chapter 11
It was hot, and he was cranky. Pete had spent all of last night fighting sleep, and it wasn’t the nightmares that pricked at him. It was flashes of wide eyes, plump lips set in a becoming pout, and a voice that wound its words around him and pulled tight. When she was calm, peaceable, careful, her voice was cultured yet earthy, with a richness that thrummed through him. But, when she got riled up—usually at him—she became a different woman. Her accent changed from elegance to a lyrical lilting that nearly pulled him into its spell. She’d charmed him, and he hadn’t even noticed until it was too late to put her out of his mind.
Yep. Trouble.
With little sleep and the overbearing heat, he’d taken his frustration out on his men. Ben, Reuben, Travis, and Brandon had already fallen on his bad graces that morning, though, Ben had been there for over a week. He told himself he tried keeping his emotions out of it by sending Ben to check on Miss O’Connor every day—saved him the time and bother—and Ben didn’t seem to mind. But he did. He didn’t like that he’d reneged on his duty to watch out for the pretty interloper, but there was something about her…about what she did to him whenever she was near, that put him on edge. And it didn’t help that no matter how many times he berated himself, he couldn’t stop thinking about Little Miss Trouble, sitting there on that porch, laughing and smiling with Ben Baird. Pete knew he was being an utter louse for begrudging the two their happiness, but there was something about her smile…her full, bright laugh, her sparkling green eyes that made his gut twist into knots and his good sense fly from his mind in a blink.
It was a condition he’d never experienced before, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like how one woman could control him so easily. And did she know she held such power over him? Would she use that to her advantage? She was in town because she’d followed her father here, and Pete remembered the red-haired Irishman easily. He was loud, seemed gregarious enough, but he also seemed troubled, always on alert, as if something were chasing him. Maybe he felt his own daughter trailing after him, or maybe he was running away from something…
Like you are? That nattering voice rumbled in his mind, making him stand from behind his desk and walk toward the wide-open door. He needed fresh air; the stifling heat inside the security office pressed down on him, thickening the layers of sweat beneath his clothes.
And he wasn’t running from anything! And he wasn’t hiding! He’d left home behind because…well, he needed something new. Something that would take him away from the curious looks, the fake smiles, and the glittering emptiness of society.
Blessings, California was so far away from all of those things that he could actually breathe again. He’d found some semblance of peace in his war-torn life, and he’d be damned if anyone tried to take it from him.
Then he remembered seeing Miss O’Connor…Pati…for the first time, when that feeling of peace he’d foug
ht so hard for had vanished in a heartbeat. That feeling was replaced by a surging urgency that made his blood race through his veins. It’s what bothered him the most about the woman…and also what intrigued him the most. Who was she? How was she able to get under his skin like that? If he believed in witchcraft, he would have labeled her “witch”. But he was a man of logic, and he knew that whatever had happened to him in that moment had more to do with the woman than any magic she wielded.
He just needed to avoid her. Once she earned enough money to move on, he’d be well rid of her and the confusing thoughts and emotions she wrenched from him. Though, the thought of never seeing her again was like a mule kick to the gut. He had to admit that not seeing her every day was becoming more difficult. He told himself that she was a distraction from the yawning loneliness and boredom his life had become—but that’s what peace was, right? The lack of commotion or emotion?
The sound of crunching pine needles drew him from his own mind and he glanced at the path to the right of the building. From where he was standing, leaning against the door jamb, he could see the object of his vexation tromping toward him through the thinning trees.
Her sun-kissed, brown hair was wild about her head, and her face was flushed, the pink on her cheeks only emphasizing the rich, lush red of her lips. Lips he suddenly wanted to taste.
Shaking himself, he ignored the tightening in his belly.
He remained where he was and crossed his arms over his chest in a feigned air of nonchalance. He watched her advance upon him, like an enemy combatant charging to the firing line.
She stopped just in front of the single step and glared up at him, planting her fists on her hips, and pursing those lips at him.
“Mr. Payter Jones! I have a bone ta pick with ye,” she said, that lyrical accent spilling from her mouth and winding him up. And, he had to admit, he liked the way his name sounded when she said it like that.
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