She snorted—an adorable sound from such a petite woman. “So you’re a detective, too?”
“I wouldn’t say that…”
“That’s too bad,” she said, bending to gather the first article of clothing—a skirt—and the bar of rose-scented soap.
“Too bad? Why?”
Kneeling, she pushed the skirt into the creek water and waited for it to absorb enough water to hold a lather. Only then did she answer. “Well, you could have used those detective skills to figure out who stole my money. Look for clues, hunt down the culprit, and make him give me my money back.” She spoke so matter-of-factly, he couldn’t tell is she was serious or mocking him again.
And so, he decided to figure it out with a test of sorts. “But what if I don’t want you to get your money back? What if I was the one who stole it?”
Her head popped up, her expression incredulous, her green eyes sparking with humor. “So, not only a detective, but also a magician, capable of being in two places at once.” She chuckled again—a lovely, husky sound—and bent her head back to her task.
He watched her for a few moments, his thoughts following the movements of her hands as she scrubbed at the stains, using a creek rock as a natural washboard. This woman was obviously used to the less charmed life, and she didn’t seem any worse for wear. Though she spoke with the refined accent of English nobs, she was capable of sleeping on the dirty floor of a poorly made shanty, and wash her own clothes using rocks, chilly creek water, and muscle. No, definitely not a frilly miss…but could she live her whole life in a town like Blessings? If she never found her father, would she return to Europe and leave the dust and drudgery behind? Or could she be convinced that life in California, in a little mining town, was worth her consideration?
“Have you ever considered staying in California?” he asked before he thought better of it.
She stopped, mid-scrub, and sighed. Seconds ticked by and then she looked up and met his gaze. There was sadness in her eyes, a longing he knew like the back of his hand. It was the longing for home.
“Why?” The question came naturally to her lips.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he continued gazing at her, her eyes penetrating and captivating.
“Have you stopped to think that maybe your father doesn’t want to be found?”
Pati shrugged. “Of course, I have. But what does that matter? He’s my da, I can’t just leave him alone.”
Pete pursed his lips, considering his next words. “And what happens when you find him and he doesn’t want to go back to Ireland, will you come back to Blessings?”
“Pete…I don’t belong in California. I don’t belong in America. I only came because I thought I could rescue my da from himself. I know it was a terrible decision to make when I was so emotional, just having lost my ma…but I couldn’t fathom not being with him. Then, all the uncertainty, wariness, exhaustion…loneliness…I don’t know if I could live like that forever.”
“But you aren’t alone—I mean, Blessings is full of people.” What a weak response. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “What I mean is that you don’t have to feel lonely. Atherton, Millie, Ellie…Ben, they are all here for you. You have friends here.” He swallowed hard, as if the ache in his heart had made its way into his throat.
Her eyes wide, Pati dropped the half-washed skirt back onto the pile, then stood. Her lips were slightly parted, begging for him to press them together with his own.
“And what about you? Are you here for me? Are you…my friend?” Her voice was husky, her questions innocent enough, but the tone spoke of something else, something deeper. Her green eyes flickered from light to dark, and he knew what she was really asking. Was he capable of being what she wanted? Who she needed?
Lord, he wanted to be.
“Friends…sure we can be friends,” he said, the words like boulders tumbling down a hillside, and into her chest. With skills she’d learned in her societal politeness classes, she plastered a smile on her face.
“Friends, then. Good.” Holding back a decidedly unladylike curse, she knelt down again, and went back to scrubbing her skirts. Except this time, the question she’d been rolling around in her head had been answered. Pete wasn’t interested in being anything more to her than her forced protector. She knew what “friend” meant, and it wasn’t companionship. He was a man who preferred being alone to being around people, especially female people. He was just being polite, offering her what he thought would shut her up the quickest. And it stung.
Though she was happy to ignore him and set her mind to her task, she couldn’t help but know that he was standing there, behind her, silently. What was he thinking? Was he regretting settling on being her friend? Was he grinding his teeth in exasperation at having to mind her like she was a babe in basket? Her curiosity piqued, she threw a glance over her shoulder, only to find Pete was staring at her, his eyebrows drawn down into an onyx V.
Tired of his mute judgement, she tossed the stocking she’d been washing—which was humiliating all on its own—and sprang to her feet. “Out with it, Pete! Why do you silently assess me as if I am a strange creature to be dissected?” It took everything she’d learned to keep herself from slipping into the more familiar Irish accent because, when she became that upset, she was likely to say something she’d regret. And, right now, she needed to speak plainly, clearly, so that the brooding loner understood her every word.
Pete stepped forward, daring to meet her gaze. “To be honest, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” he answered, shrugging.
She didn’t know which burned hotter, her anger or the sun overhead. “Is that so? And why?” Keep it together, Pati. Don’t let him rile ye. Ye’ll never win him if ye can’t keep yer head on yer shoulders. Win him? What an odd thing to say! Her…and Payter Jones? Not likely. He was too dark, too mysterious. Her gaze dropped to his chest. Too broad…too big…much too…her mind blanked, even as her eyes wandered downward to where his large belt buckle was nestled against his flat belly. She swallowed. She’d never seen a flat belly before. What would it feel like to touch the hardness of a work-hewn body, to run her fingers over it? Would he shudder? Would she?
Daft and wanton!
Shaking herself, she remembered she’d asked him a question, and he hadn’t yet answered. “Well,” she said, tucking a strand of errant hair behind her ear, “what do you have to say for yourself?”
Pati’s breath caught as a slow, wolfish grin spread over his face. This was a different smile than the one he’d shared with her earlier. That smile had been brilliant, revealing…but this one was dark, devastating. As she watched, the corner of his mouth curled up, revealing a pointed tooth—wolfish, indeed. Heat barreled through her, knocking the sense from her head.
What had she asked him?
“Well, I wasn’t going to tell you this but, because you asked, I was going to say that you are a strange creature; the perfect mix of female and fire. That you keep surprising me, stirring up my thoughts until I can’t think straight. That you are too delicate for a life in Blessings, but too strong to give up…” His deep voice seemed to rumble through the trees and straight into her belly. She tensed, unsure what to expect next from his mouth.
He took a step closer, the belly she’d admired only inches from her trembling hands, his mouth just level with her eyes.
She licked her lips. “What else?” Sure, she was terrified to know, but she couldn’t not know. Not when he was so close, the very strength of him flowing into her. And she ached from it.
His smile disappeared, and the glimmer in his obsidian eyes turned to scorching flames, hotter, bolder. “That you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen…” She held her breath, unable to believe what she heard. Her? Beautiful?
She shook her head. “You don’t mean that.” Her breathy voice blew against a strand of hair that slid against her cheek, caressing it. Pete’s gaze dropped to the soft brown strand, and he lifted his hand, looping the loose curl aroun
d his finger.
“But I do…I mean every word,” he drawled, awe in his tone.
“Well, if all that is what you weren’t going to say, what is it that you wanted to say?” Again, her curiosity ruled her mind, pouring words into her throat.
That wolfish smile returned, his white teeth flashing as if in warning. “Nothing.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Nothing?”
The finger in her hair slipped free, and he slid it over her cheek, along her jaw, drawing out every sensation, every eager wanting. She trembled beneath his touch, even as fear of these new feelings nibbled at the pleasure. She froze as her senses flared to life, licking through her blood.
“No,” he whispered, lowering his face until his lips were a breath from hers. “I have nothing more to say. I have something else in mind.” His lips brushed against hers as he spoke, and her heart pounded in an erratic rhythm. His lips were much softer than they looked, and as his fingers curled under her chin, bringing her face up to meet his, she discovered just how hot they were, too.
Growling deep in his throat, Pete Jones kissed her, his movements slow, thoughtful, yet hungry…as if he were taking his time to taste something delicious. She’d never been kissed before, never felt such a depth of emotion before—such searing delight. His lips were whisper soft yet eager, pressing down, then lightening the pressure. A dance of attraction, and of mutual longing. Lord, how she wanted this man. A shiver quickened through her, and she gasped. And just as her bones began to melt from the heat of her desire, Pete pulled away, breaking their kiss.
Blinking down at her as if seeing her for the first time, he dropped his hand from her face. And without a single backward glance, Pete Jones picked up her pile of unfinished wash and strode away. “Come on, I can’t stick around here all day watching you wash your clothes. You can come back when Ben has the time to bring you,” he said over his shoulder, his voice flat, empty.
The anger she needed in that moment was easily squashed beneath the weight of her humiliation. Heat fled her body, replaced by a chill that shook her. Unable to find the words to curse him to Perdition, she instead picked up the bar of soap, and the wet skirt and stocking, and followed behind him. Her heart dragging along in the dust as she went.
Chapter 15
Gut clenching, heart sprinting, Pete’s breaths came in ragged gasps.
What did I just do? Groaning, his thoughts immediately filled with the sights, the sounds, the smells, the blood-pounding sensations he’d just experienced. What had he done, indeed? Against his better judgement, he’d just kissed Pati O’Connor. And heavens, but she tasted better than he ever could have imagined. When she’d looked up at him, her green eyes dark with desire, her cheeks flushed, lips parted, he couldn’t stop himself from taking what he’d wanted since seeing her for the first time.
And he would never be the same.
Slamming the door to his room off the security office, he tossed his hat onto his cot and ran his fingers through his hair. He cursed, angry at himself for taking advantage of Pati’s sweet innocence, and angry at her for being so irresistible.
It wasn’t fair, he knew that. But how was it, after all his years of denying himself the chance at something lasting, that this one would could slip past his defenses and lay waste to his resolve?
She was just a slip of a thing. Truthfully, she barely reached his chin. How could he lose himself to such a small and guileless opponent? Images of her dainty hand, tucking the silken strands of her hair behind her ear…the shimmering golds and coppers of her wavy locks, catching the sunlight just so. The smattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks…the fullness of her soft, red lips…her brilliant smile that was sultry and sweet, and her laugh which made his heart tumble about in his chest.
As desire pummeled him, he fell, like a log, onto his cot. Pati won a fight she didn’t even know he’d waged, simply by being the woman he never knew he wanted. For a moment, he’d allow himself to enjoy holding her in his arms, feeling her pressed against him, wishing that she was his to kiss and cherish…but then reality broke through the haze over his eyes. He couldn’t be what Pati would need, especially if she decided to stay in America after finding her father. How could he promise to protect her, cherish her, provide for her, when he couldn’t even hold a gun without it shaking in his grip? He was less than a man, and that wasn’t enough for her. Pati was a beautiful woman, her soul just as blindingly lovely as her face. She was smart, dedicated, loyal, and the toughest woman he’d ever had the honor to meet. And she deserved better than a man with a ruined face, a broken spirit, and a head full of nightmares. Yes…for a much too short moment, he’d allowed himself to love Patience O’Connor. And now, he had to fortify the wall around his heart, lest she win the war against his better judgement, and leave desolation in her wake.
As the unbearable warmth of June slid into the sizzling heat of July, Pati spent most of her days inside the relative coolness of her shop, and worked until the last of the daylight disappeared over the mountains. And on days like today, when the sun finally kissed the horizon, she felt a sense of peace…of accomplishment. Something she hadn’t felt—ever—during her years at Bitterman’s School for Ladies. Throughout her life, she’d known she was destined to a life outside of Cork; she wasn’t as content with marrying a farmer and living her days baking bread and birthing farmhands as some of the other girls were. But she never thought she’d come as far and endure as much as she had, and still feel…incomplete. While each day was one day closer to finding her da, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to make a home for herself in Blessings. Each day was new, because she discovered something new about herself. And about the town and people of Blessings.
For a new town, it had loads of potential, and she loved seeing more and more people arrive each week. Many of the arrivals were miners, eager to make a fortune with Winslet Mining Co., but some of the arrivals were people escaping the hardships of life on the prairies, or the hopelessness of eastern cities. They were families, with husbands, wives, and children. The town was growing, with new shanties, cabins, and tents going up everywhere she looked.
She smiled to herself, remembering the sight of two little boys scampering from tree to tree, their eyes wide in innocent wonder…
The sound of an approaching horse told her that her escort had arrived, an escort she met at the door. She pulled back her shoulders, readying herself for what was to come, her heart safely tucked behind her steel resolve, and the key to the shiny new door lock in her skirt pocket.
Pete would never hurt her again…and no one would ever steal from her again, either.
“Pati, you ready to go?” His rumbling drawl did as it always did. It made her belly tighten, but she shook it off, as she always did.
“Just give me a moment,” she replied, turning to pull the shop door shut behind her and taking the time to lock it. Slipping the key back into her pocket, she turned again to meet Pete’s gaze. As always, his expression was unreadable, his black eyes as dark as ever, and just as bottomless.
Since their disastrous kiss more than a month ago, he hadn’t spoken a single word about it. Well, if he didn’t want to acknowledge it, far be it from her to do so. If he wanted to forget the unimaginable sensations, the heart-stopping desire, she would, too. Eventually. In the meantime, she would go about her days as she had before she’d experienced the most incredible moment of her life.
The afternoon after their kiss—the one that must never be mentioned—she’d fully expected to see Ben come along the trail through the woods to check on her. Imagine her shock and awkward squeak when Pete strode toward her, hat pulled down over his face, and guns perfectly seated on his hips. After having spent the night, wide awake, recalling the heat and pleasure of their kiss—and then the shame of his rejection—she wasn’t prepared to face him head on. Thankfully, he acted as if nothing had transpired between them. It had allowed her, over the last several weeks, to settle into a somewhat strained rout
ine with Pete. He’d come to retrieve her at her shanty on one end of town, walk her to her shop, and then he’d continue on to his patrols of the mines, and whatever else he did for Atherton. Around lunch time, he’d return, usually bearing some kind of food to share, and they’d sit on her porch and eat. Sometimes, they’d talk about his patrols or the ongoing investigation into who stole her money, and sometimes they’d talk about her life in Cork, and sometimes they’d sit in silence. It was the silence she liked the least. In that silence was a world of unspoken words, of unrequited need. At least for her. Who knew what went on in Pete’s head. She often wondered if he would rather leave her be, going about his duties without her as a bother. But then he’d instigate a conversation, share with her about his day, and she would sink further into his eyes…and under his spell. At first glance, Peter Jones was a brooding mix of strength and singular focus; do the job, keep to himself, repeat tomorrow. For weeks now, though, she’d been given rare access to the man beneath the cold, handsome surface.
It wasn’t even in what he said, but rather in the things he did. He greeted her, every morning, with a quiet nod. He walked beside her, not in front of her or behind her. He was mindful of her needs, bringing her food when he could have just as easily come to check on her, empty-handed. Despite the gruff exterior, Pete Jones was a man with a kindness in him, and a subtle charm that stole her breath, often leaving her watching after him as he deposited her at home in the evenings. She wondered where he went when he left her. Did he go to the saloon to sit and drink with his men? Did he go back to the lonely mine security office and sit beside the fire, cooking a meal for one? Did he lay in bed at night and think of her?
Pete Jones had done something to her she never thought possible…he’d tied her heart up into a messy bow. But could she give it to him? Would he ever want it?
Ye’re a fool, Patience O’Connor.
Lord, but she was becoming a daft, wanton fool, easily charmed by a man who only meant to do as bid. Sure, he’d called her beautiful, and his kiss was hungry, matching her wicked fervor, breath by breath, but since then, he’d been nothing but a gentleman.
The Blessed Bride Page 11
