The Blessed Bride

by Lynn Winchester

  You’ve let her down, and you’ve barely known her two weeks. It isn’t she who is unworthy, it’s you!

  Before he could apologize to her, raking his own arse across the coals, Pati pressed the back of her hand against her lips, and a single tear trailed down her milk-white cheek. She dropped into the chair, which looked stark and lonely in the chaos within the cabin. Pati’s shoulders slumped, and she cradled her head in her hands. “It’s me own fault. And now…I’ll have ta start all over again.”

  Sick for her, he knelt before her, placing a hand on hers where it rested against her cheek. Her hand was chilled. And he didn’t like it. Pati was warmth, she was light, and whoever had violated her trust was in need of swift, vicious justice.

  But he wasn’t an army captain any longer, he had no real law enforcement authority in the town, only at the mines, and even there it was often questioned by the lowliest of vagabond miners. He hadn’t cared so much about his lack of responsibilities and duties before, but now that someone he’d…befriended had been hurt, he despised how utterly powerless he’d allowed himself to become.

  Powerless, useless, worthless.

  A heavy sigh hissed from his mouth. “Pati…I wish I could help, but—”

  She drew back as if struck by lightning, the color returning to her face, the fire blazing to life in her eyes. “Ye can help! Ye can catch the black-hearted dog who stole me money.”

  Chapter 13

  “Damnation!” Mr. Winslet bellowed, his usually jolly face pinched in an expression of rage. “No one steals from an honest person in this town and gets away with it!”

  “But what can I do? I’m not in the army anymore, I can’t call in the cavalry and search the town, man by man, to find the culprit.” Pete continued pacing, his boot heels thumping against the floor in a steady beat.

  After leaving her cabin, Pete insisted Pati go to Winslet House. He knew Millie would supply a comforting shoulder and a pot of fresh tea—just the things Pati would need to calm her mind so she could think about what she was asking him to do.

  He couldn’t help her. And he hated what he’d become; a yellow-bellied coward, hiding away from life, only wanting to exist without the ungrateful glares of vain people. But, now that he’d become a part of Blessings, now that he’d met Pati…he didn’t know what he wanted anymore. For years, the loneliness cut away at him, slicing off chunks of the man he used to be, the proud, fearless, commanding Captain Peter Jones of the United States Army.

  “Pete,” Mr. Winslet said, ripping Pete from his troubling self-examination. “When I hired you, it wasn’t just to watch my mines. I’d hoped that you’d find a home here, perhaps get married, maybe fill my house with young ‘uns every Sunday when you and the missus came for supper…”

  Astonished, Pete didn’t know what to say. Mr. Winslet certainly had a wild imagination, one filled with a lot of dreams for him. Get married? Have kids? He’d given up on those things the day he’d left home for the wilds of the west.

  “I saw somethin’ in you, Son, somethin’ that told me you were runnin’ from somethin’. What do I know, though? I didn’t know if you’d ever want to go back to Baltimore, but I was hopin’ that you’d find a home here. In Blessings. That maybe we could be a blessin’ to you.”

  Warmth spread out from his chest. “I don’t know what to say, Mr. Winslet.” And that was the truth. What could he say to that?

  “Pete, Son, you’ve been here three years a’ready. I think it’s time you start callin’ me Atherton.” The old man’s eyes danced, and Pete found himself smiling.

  “Atherton…” he began, taking a moment to think on his next words. “What would you have me do?” Was he asking for orders or inspiration? He didn’t know, and all the not knowing was twisting into knots in his gut.

  He thought of Pati, distraught, sitting in that chair, surrounded by chaos, and something sharpened in his mind. He might not be in the army, but he was still a skilled and capable man. Wasn’t he? After getting shot, the thought of grasping a gun in his hand had always brought on uncontrollable shaking. His fingers trembling, his palms sweating, making him about as useful in a gunfight as a wet rag.

  Atherton sat on the edge of his desk, pinning Pete with a stern yet understanding gaze—but there was a glimmering behind it all. “Pete, I think you should assign two of your most trusted men to findin’ out who stole Miss O’Connor’s money. The chances of that lowlife hangin’ around town are slim, but we need to send the message that those kinds of activities are not welcome in our town.” Atherton’s voice turned steely, and Pete nodded.

  “Yessir,” Pete said, stopping just shy of snapping a salute to the man. He knew Travis and Brandon would take to that assignment like starving dogs after a scrap of meat.

  “And I want you to escort Miss O’Connor from her home to her shop, every day, just to make sure she’s safe. I don’t want whoever stole her money, thinkin’ she’s an easy target.”

  Escort Pati? Every day? That would put her within arm’s reach much too often for his comfort.

  Don’t lie to yourself, man. You had her in your arms. It felt right. Comfort had nothing to do with it. Swearing to himself, he pushed his hat back on his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  When Pati had come to the security office, he’d thought he could get rid of her easily—send her on her way without much fuss. But then…she dug in, implanting herself in his bones. She’d said she thought they could be friends, and everything he’d thought about her up to that point became hazy. Sure, she’d done nothing but mess him up since he’d met her, but that wasn’t anything she’d actually done to him. It was what he’d allowed thoughts of her to do. He’d assumed she was trouble, so he judged everything about her through that cracked lens. And so, he decided to, at least, show her some common courtesy, as any lady deserved, which was something he should have done from the beginning. And he wished himself to Perdition for not doing it sooner. He was better than that. He’d been raised to be a gentleman. The time in the army hadn’t stolen his graces, it had only soured him against them.

  And Pati’s simple word, friend, had brought all of that into the light.

  After that, he’d agreed to come and check in on her every day, as he’d first promised. Then he offered to walk her back to her cabin so she could get back to work.

  He never intended to stare at her as they walked beneath the heavy boughs of evergreens. He never thought he’d wonder what it would feel like to be closer to her, right beside her, pulling the scent of roses into his lungs. He didn’t mean to find her flailing over a pine needle so funny, or to think her so enchanting. And he certainly didn’t intend to pull her into his arms and hold her against his chest, and realize that she belonged there. From that moment, he knew what it meant to get lost in someone’s eyes. The bright, shimmering depths of her eyes drew him in, drowning him in a green so rich, he never wanted to surface. Her perfect, oval face was flushed, and her cheeks were a dusky rose color, which only seemed to heighten her beauty. Her lush, softly curving lips, were a pinkish red, and were slightly parted, as if in invitation…come, devour, taste what you’ve been longing for.

  But then reality hit, and she stepped away, and he realized what he’d almost done. He’d taken one look at those lovely lips and had nearly lost his mind. He wanted to bend down, take her mouth with his and finally feel something again. Feel something with her. He couldn’t let his desires rule him; he might look like a mangled beast, but he didn’t have to act like one. He fingered the edge of his ruined ear, then ran the same finger over the bit of scar not hidden by the position of his hat.

  Letting out a weighty sigh, he returned his attention to Atherton. “I can send Ben to do that. I have too many responsibilities at the mine to be dancing attendance on one woman. Besides, Ben would like that assignment. He and Miss O’Connor are friendly.” Again, the idea of Ben anywhere near Pati made his blood boil.

  Atherton clicked his tongue. “That young man wouldn’t know ho
w to handle a lady like Miss O’Connor.”

  Pete snorted. He barely knew how to handle a woman like Pati O’Connor, and he’d led forty men into battle with Mexicans!

  “No, you need to do it, Son. I’m entrustin’ this task to you, my boy. The mine won’t fall to pieces if I take a bit of the work on myself. Lord knows I shouldn’t have put so much on your shoulders…but they’re strong shoulders, ain’t they? You’re used to carryin’ a burden, ain’t you?” Pete knew Atherton wasn’t just talking about duties at the mine. The older man’s eyes pierced him, seeking an answer Pete wasn’t ready to give.

  “If that’s what you think is best, I’ll do it.” But he wouldn’t like it—at least that’s what he told himself as he left the mercantile, hiding an eager grin beneath the brim of his hat.

  It had been two days since her life took a decided turn, but she didn’t quite know which direction it had gone. After losing all the money she’d made, she knew she had to work even harder to get that money back and still make enough to head to Sacramento before winter. She was determined to get settled in the bustling town before the cold weather descended on the region. While winter in California would in no way compare to the frigid winters in Ireland, she still hated the cold. Stiff fingers, numb face, and chaffed cheeks—not pleasant no matter where you lived. It was early June, and the heat was climbing. The sun beat down to scorch the land, and turn the ground to dust. The tree bark was brittle and, though the pine needles stayed green, it didn’t take much to knock them right off the branch as you walked by.

  And that thought brought her back to the moment in the woods when she almost, very nearly, kissed Peter Jones. No, she didn’t almost kiss him—the look of disgust on his face told her she was the only one caught up in an attraction that wasn’t really there. She’d been an idiot to think otherwise.

  Daft. That’s what ye are!

  So that’s what she kept telling herself when Pete showed up at her shanty to escort her to the shop—on orders of Atherton, of course. Pete wouldn’t have bothered with her unless told to do so by his employer. She refused to believe that Pete’s lack of attraction to her bothered her. Why would it? She didn’t know anything about the man, and though she’d walked to and from work with Pete at her side, the man barely said more than a few words to her. Even then, those words were usually, “I’ll be back to check on you around noon.” Or, “Scream if you need anything.” Scream? As if he’d hear her all the way over at the mine security office. She was surprised he heard her when she’d been robbed. He’d come, guns drawn, before she’d even really registered what had happened. And he’d been a comfort, even if he hadn’t meant to be.

  And now, he was her security officer, and he’d told her that she wasn’t allowed to leave the shop without him there to take her where she needed to go. As if she’d allow him to dictate her day to day actions. The man was a menace to her peace of mind. Let him find her gone, what would he do about it? Growl? Brood?

  Snorting, she knelt at the creek’s side and bent to dash cool water in her face. She’d needed to do her laundry; her dresses were all stiff from dried sweat and stained with dust. Also, she’d needed space to think, away from the piles of mending, away from Pete Jones and the sensations she couldn’t control. Sensations that were telling her that he was what she wanted. That she could find a place of her own in Blessings, and that Pete could be a part of it. That she could give up her foolish quest for her da. That voice in her head reminded her that her da had made his decision, and that decision was to go it alone. And what could she do about it? If she found him, would it make her life any easier? Any better?

  No. It wouldn’t. Because after the many months of chasing after him, and sacrificing everything she held dear, and losing pieces of herself—scattered to the four winds across the American prairie, she realized something. She wasn’t her da’s keeper.

  The dry heat pressed against her skin, which made her sweat more than she’d ever sweated before. Groaning at the discomfort, she pulled her collar away from her neck and bent to cup water and cool her neck and chest. It was heaven. Closing her eyes, she sighed.

  The sound of a breaking twig pierced her blissful bubble and she opened her eyes, a scream ready in her throat.

  Pete was standing there, across the creek, staring at her. His eyes were impossibly dark and burning with a fire so intense she could feel it licking against her flesh. Before she could open her mouth to ask him what he wanted, he strode toward her, stepping off the bank and into the water. The heat had vaporized much of the creek water, but there was still enough to wet his boots and his trouser bottoms, but he didn’t seem to care much for wet pants. He looked neither left nor right, only at her. She felt the heat of his gaze, the scorching ferocity, but she couldn’t move away, didn’t dare break eye contact. Then, he was there, standing in front of her, and she had to crane her neck to see his face. Hard, beautiful, devastating.

  And all good sense fled.

  Chapter 14

  Pete didn’t know whether he wanted to throttle her or kiss her.

  Both. He’d kiss her until neither of them could breathe, and then he’d tell her how careless she was in leaving the relative safety of her shanty to come out into the woods. Alone. If the man who’d robbed her, had followed her…sickness roiled in his gut, but it was the anger he allowed free rein.

  “What are you doing out here alone?” he ground out, his chest tightening with thoughts of her hurt beside the creek.

  He peered down into her face which was, moments ago, brilliant with desire, a desire he returned tenfold. But he couldn’t trust it and so he ignored it, as best he could, anyway. Even though his hunger for her was eating away at him, day and night, until the nightmares that used to rule his twilight were easily defeated by thoughts of Pati. The memory of her in his arms, against him, the scent of her, the perfectness of her lips. Lord, how he wanted to taste them.

  Her green eyes snapped with fire in an instant, and she shot to her feet.

  “So ye’re me keeper now, is that it? I can’t set foot out of that tiny box of a shanty without yer permission?” There was the change of accent that turned him inside out. He knew that if she ever discovered what her voice alone could do to him, he’d never know silence again.

  You could do without all that silence, you lonely fool!

  “You can go wherever you want, as long as I am with you,” he replied, his voice steady with measured patience.

  She raised a tawny eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  He nodded.

  Pati planted her hands on her hips, and he couldn’t help but see where the water she’d sluiced down her blouse had gotten it wet. He swallowed.

  “And how am I supposed ta tell ye I need ta go somewhere? Smoke signals? Light a beacon?”

  With her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing in brazen defiance, and her lips quirked up at the side in mocking humor, she was the very image of beautiful resistance—and he couldn’t help but grin.

  When her eyes widened at the expression on his face, his smile grew. And then the laughter emerged, a deep, rumbling sound he hadn’t heard in years. And heavens, it felt good to laugh. So he did, bracing his arm over his belly as the heaviness in his chest ebbed away.

  Lighter than he had been since he was a boy, Pete felt the sun on his face in a new way. He felt the slight breeze brush over his cheek in a new way. He looked down at the woman before him in a new way.

  She’d done this. She’d changed something inside of him he never thought possible. And she hadn’t even meant to make him smile.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, humor lacing his words. “But you have to admit, lighting a beacon to get my attention would be rather dramatic, don’t you think? Imagine, everyone from Sacramento to the Washington Territory would see it blazing and know you had to do your wash.” He pointed to the pile of clothes at her feet.

  She looked down, nudged the pile with a bare foot—she had awfully dainty feet, then snapped her attention back to hi
s face. Her eyes narrowed, but that same mocking smile played at her lovely lips.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she agreed, her other accent back in place. He fought the wave of disappointment, but didn’t let his smile falter. He could tell this new expression had thrown her off-kilter. Shoot, it’d done the same to him. He liked her off-kilter. “I didn’t think you’d want to watch over me while I did my wash.”

  “And why not? You’re still in danger out here, whether you’ve got soap in your hands or a weapon.”

  She chuckled. “Believe me, with as much practice as I’ve had skipping stones, the soap is a weapon.”

  Picturing her as a young girl, with ribbons in her soft, brown hair, skipping stones across a lake, made him wonder what her daughter would look like at play. What his daughter would look like. The ramifications of those questions tore through him, and the very ground shifted beneath his boots. He shouldn’t care what her daughter would look like, and he shouldn’t ever consider that they two would have a family together. He’d already proven himself unworthy of her, and she was leaving town as soon as she got enough money to chase after her father.

  But how long would that take? A month? Two months? In two months, Patience O’Connor could be gone…and his heart would be the worse for it.

  “How did you know where to find me?” she asked, her curious voice pulling him back from the brink of downward swirling thoughts.

  He rubbed his jaw. “Well, when I escorted you home last night, I noticed the pile of wash on the chair beside your door. When I went to escort you this morning, you and the wash were both gone. I assumed you’d come out this way to get it done.”