Hell take a gentleman! She wanted Pete Jones to kiss her again, to show her that she was an ache he couldn’t soothe, a thirst he couldn’t slake. Just as he was for her.
Every day, when he came to visit with her, she’d pray he would toss his hat into the air, grab her about the waist, and kiss all thought from her body. But it never happened. Once their awkward yet strangely comfortable lunches were over, Pete would leave, only to return again just before sundown to collect her. Day after day after day. And she looked forward to seeing him every time. He’d become the part of her day she needed the most. Then, the next morning would come, and she would dress thoughtfully, wondering if the new hem on her skirt would flatter her better. She’d begun styling her hair with a little more care, braiding the soft waves along the sides of her face and pinning them back. The finished product was a crown around her head. Without a mirror, she couldn’t do much more than that, but then she’d remind herself that Pete wouldn’t care—he’d already rejected her outright—and her spirit would falter.
To Pete, she was just the woman he was forced to see every day. She was just a job to him. But she couldn’t ignore the desire to be more. He was a man of flesh and blood; though he never spoke of women from his past, or even about his family, she knew he was the kind of man who yearned for a home of his own, a wife…little dark-haired Joneses.
But, whenever they were together, Pete would pinch his lips together, hold himself stiffly, and avoid meeting her eyes. And she’d ask herself, what could have happened to him to make him into a fragment of a man, a man who could smile one moment then turn to iron the next?
And still…the longing would rise, and her heart would beat faster, and her body would tingle with anticipation…of kisses that would never come.
Now, they walked side-by-side down the familiar trail toward town. Tonight, she was having dinner with Millie, Atherton, Ellie, and Ed Mosier. She spent more nights with the Winslets and their guests than not, and she loved the friendships she was growing and the things she was learning, and the food she was eating. She hadn’t filled out a dress in years and, if she wasn’t careful, Millie would feed her into a larger dress size!
Imagining hemming her own tent-sized dress, she chuckled to herself. Pati felt Pete tense beside her, the silence between them growing heavier.
“What’s so funny?” he finally asked, and she stopped walking to meet his gaze. For just a moment, she could have sworn she saw something in his eyes other than the usual cold indifference. What was it? Curiosity pulsed within her, begging for her to do something, anything, to bring back that glimmer of emotion.
Planting her hands on her hips, she grinned up at him. “I was just thinking about a story I’d heard, years ago, back in Cork,” she answered, the lie falling easily from her lips.
He arched a black eyebrow. “Oh? What story is that?” he asked, crossing his strong, muscular arms over his broad chest. She swallowed, her mind blanking for a moment.
“Well, the story goes that a young woman was walking along the cliffs overlooking the Irish Sea, and she came upon a man, unconscious, laying just on the shore. He looked battered, broken by a great, dark storm, just short of death. She rushed to him, this heroine, and pulled him into a nearby cave. She waited, day and night for him to awaken, bathing his handsome face with clean water, stitching up his wounds, plying ointment to his scars, dripping water into his mouth, doing all she could to bring his spirit back from the dark…”
Was he holding his breath? His obsidian eyes were pinned to her face, his expression hardening, his arms flexing as if he were holding himself in check.
“After months of this, the young woman decided to try one final act to bring this man back to her—you see, in caring for him, in waiting by his side all those days and nights, she’d begun to love him. Despite never seeing the color of his eyes, hearing the sound of his voice, or seeing the charm of his smile, she’d fallen for him... She’d memorized every one of his scars, had seen the story in the wounds, had realized that the man beneath the beautiful face was a fighter, a survivor…” She let her voice drift off, then she turned and continued back down the trail, leaving Pete behind. She knew it was a risk, what she was doing, but she was tired of Pete being the only part of Blessings that hadn’t welcomed her yet. She needed Pete to want her there. She needed…Pete.
He caught up to her in two strides and stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. She tensed, the warmth of his hand sending tremors of aching need into her belly.
“Pati…” he began, his voice low, a dark thrum in the dying light of day. “What did she do…to bring him back?”
She closed her eyes, willing her mouth not to trip up, and her nerve not to abandon her.
“She kissed him.”
Chapter 16
“She kissed him…” Pati’s words echoed through his mind, winding him up and sending shards of hot ice through his blood. More than anything, in that moment, in the seclusion of the woods, he wanted to gather Pati into his chest, embrace her, and ravish her mouth, good and proper. Taking her breath into his body, making them one in the experience, in the sensations. Forever.
But…he couldn’t. And it tore at him as nothing else before.
After their kiss by the creek, more than a month ago, he’d sworn he would respect her, give her the space she needed to live in Blessing without regret. So that, if she decided to stay, it wasn’t because of some misguided affection for him. And he wanted her to stay, more than anything, even though he knew she was just passing through. Soon, she’d have enough money to move on to Sacramento and settle in to find her father, leaving Pete in Blessings, without her. In the dark. She’d become like light to him. And every day that he woke, he rushed to her door, in desperate need to see her face…hear her voice. To feel her beside him. Where she belonged.
Pati would answer her door, her face flushed, her eyes bright, but her lips in two thin lines, as if she were holding in words she desperately wanted to say. Every day, this was their routine. And every day for over the month, he’d done his duty, escorting her from her home to her shop, and back. But he had no right to her; she deserved better than he could offer, a war-torn veteran with shaking hands and a bitterness that ate at him.
But now, staring down into her upturned face, he wondered if bitterness was the only thing holding him back.
“And this story…” he began, metering his tone, “made you laugh?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “No.” That was it, no explanation, and her temerity made him smile again.
“So…what’s the meaning of this tale? Is there one?” When she’d begun regaling him with her story, he’d wondered if she was speaking about him. By the time her tale was over, he knew she was speaking about him. And it turned a key in a lock deep within him.
Pati cocked her head to the side, her eyes dancing. Shrugging, she answered, “I don’t know if there is a meaning.”
“So, what made you think about that story?” he asked, mulling over her words, the tension in her stance, and the play of emotions across her lovely face. “Was it something I said? Did?” Why was he being so self-conscious? Before leaving for war, he’d been a confident, probably arrogant man. During the war, he’d ridden high atop charging horses. And then he took a bullet to the head. So much for swaggering home, triumphant.
As if tasting something sour, she wrinkled her nose. “There you go again,” she said, throwing her hands into the air. “Where do you go when your eyes lose focus and your face turns to stone?”
She certainly was perceptive…and forthright.
“Memories.”
“Memories of what?”
“I’m not talking about it.” He reached up to trail a finger along his scar.
“See!” she exclaimed, pointing to it. “It has something to do with that scar.”
He tensed, his blood slowing to a crawl. “I said, I’m not talking about it.” He dropped his hand to his waist, where his fingers brushed against the cold handl
e of his Colt. He waited for the shaking to start, the shaking that always came when his hand felt the gun metal against his skin.
But the shaking didn’t come. He didn’t have time to ponder it before Pati clicked her tongue at him, drawing him back.
“There ye went again!” she growled. “Payter Jones, if ye can’t tell me what’s got ye so twisted up, the least ye can do is stop wanderin’ off when I’m speakin’ ta ye.”
Sighing, he shook his head. “Not going to talk about it.”
Pati pinched her lips together, and her cheeks flushed a deep red that only made her eyes all the greener. She was holding her breath, and her hands were tiny fists at her sides. Lord in Heaven, she could spit fire if she had the mind to.
“Fine, ye don’t want to tell me what ye’re thinkin’, then I won’t tell ye what made me think about that story. Fair is fair, Payter.” Her lips curved up into a sly smile, and it took everything in him to not kiss the grin from her face.
Think about something else! Anything else! Get your mind off of Pati’s lips and how much you want to ravish them again!
They finished their walk in silence. All the while, Pete wondered why he didn’t just tell her about his scar, about how he’d been shot in the line of duty. Would telling her really matter? Would opening up to Pati make the memories and nightmares hurt any less? As he watched her beside him, her stride as purposeful as his, her back straight, her shoulders back, her head held high, he knew that he could tell her anything. Pati was exactly what he needed, who he needed, and his heart called to hers across the space between them.
But she was leaving. And he couldn’t risk her taking part of his heart with her when she did.
Pati did her best to smile at Ed Mosier, the mercantile owner, as he shared a story about his son, William, who’d learned that shearing sheep was best done with boots on.
“You’d better believe he spent the better part of that spring hopping around on one foot, cursing little Annie-Bell for biting his ankle!”
The table erupted in laughter, and Pati followed suit, only because it was the polite thing to do. After her time in the woods with Pete, she didn’t much feel like laughing.
And it wasn’t that he’d embarrassed her again—though it did sting a wee bit—it was that she could see how much he wanted her to do as the heroine in her story had, and kiss the wounded, scarred man, bringing his spirit back. But Pete had pulled away, the emotion behind his fiery black eyes slamming shut, hiding away his true feelings behind the mask of Winslet Mining Co.’s mine security officer. Instead of taking her into his arms, as she’d hoped, he’d nodded, offered a forced smile, and continued on down the path. He left her at the Winslets’ doorstep, bidding her a good evening, and leaving without a backward glance. What was with him and dismissing her? And what was it about his scar that made him pull away so quickly? She could remember seeing his ear—what was left of it—and it hadn’t bothered her, not really. It did nothing to take away from the strength of his character or the sharp beauty of his face or the dangerously addictive quality of his presence. But no matter how much she longed for him or wanted to be with him, he didn’t feel the same.
Anguish swirled in her belly, twirling around the mass of regret and confusion that always seemed to be there.
She ignored the twinge of pain in her chest, and dipped a bit of bread into her stew. She chewed it slowly, letting the flavors of buttery bread and savory stew fill her senses. She had to do something to rid her mouth of the taste of Pete Jones.
Determined to enjoy the rest of the evening, she focused her attention on the silver-haired man to her left. He was a tall, thin man of middling years, perhaps two decades younger than Atherton. He had a thick, brown mustache over his mouth, and a ready smile. His blue eyes were worn, but they sparked with humor.
“So, Mr. Mosier, how was it that you met Atherton and Millie? Surely you aren’t a miner?” From the man’s well-kept nails and trimmed hair, she could tell he’d spent time caring for his appearance, which meant that a career underground wasn’t his dram o’ whiskey.
“Well, I’m from Boston, originally. My family owns three stores in the city, Mosier Fine Goods. On behest of my father, my brother and I decided to strike out into the west to make our own fortunes, expand the family name to the other side of the country, and all that. My brother, Louis, headed to Texas, where he and his wife have set up a small mercantile in a town called Dry Bayou.”
Glad she’d asked him a question that required a lengthy answer, Pati allowed herself to half-listen as thoughts of Pete continued to intrude.
“I kept heading west until I got to Ajo, Arizona. I met Atherton there; he came to my small supplies wagon, where I was selling dry goods and tack, and he asked me if I would ever consider setting up a store in a town no one had ever heard of before.”
Atherton cackled. “And this was back ‘afore I even hit the lode. I just saw somethin’ in him, and I knew I’d want him with me iffin the Lord saw fit to bless me with a fortune.”
Ed nodded. “A year later, I get a letter from the California Territory, and it’s this fool, asking me to come up to his land claim and open a store.”
Not surprised by Atherton’s gall and forethought, Pati grinned. “And so you came, without thinking twice?” She was teasing, but the look that appeared on his face made her smile tip.
“Once you meet Atherton, you’ll never doubt the man’s ability to turn a lame horse into a prize winner. He had a look in his eyes that told me he was going to do everything he’d dreamed, or he’d die trying. And since he hadn’t died, I figured he was a good bet to make. I packed up everything and left Ajo that same week. I haven’t looked back.”
The weight of Ed’s words, and his faith in Atherton, made Pati’s heart clatter. Wasn’t that the kind of devotion she’d had to her own da? She’d bet everything, literally everything she owned, to follow after him, to come to him. But he hadn’t sent a letter or telegram—not that he even knew where to find her, and he hadn’t reached out to her to tell her he wanted her there.
And again, the stark revelation sliced her open. What was she doing in Blessings if not working to make enough money to find her da? If this was the end of her journey, wasn’t she just putting off going home? To London? To Ireland?
Her shoulders dipped; she didn’t even know where home was any more. There was no cottage for her in Cork. Her flat in London had been leased to another student before she even left Europe. So, she had nowhere to go and, with her da in America, she had no one to go back to.
But she had a comfortable if a little drafty shanty. She had a growing business. Pati looked around the table at the familiar, beloved faces of Blessings. And she had friends. But something was missing.
Millie caught her eye and returned her smile, then began chatting about something Pati couldn’t quite focus on—her mind, again, turning to Pete. He wasn’t there; there was an empty place beside her at the table. He was what she was missing. She missed him, his presence, even his brooding. She missed his scent, the quirking of his lips when he was fighting a smile, the dark depths of his breathtaking eyes…
Yes, without meaning to, Pati had created a life in Blessings…but what did that matter without Pete?
Stayin’ in Blessings isn’t an option, even if Pete cared enough to want ye ta stay. Ye have yer da ta think about. A thought struck then; maybe she could convince him to come back to Blessing with her, earn his fortune mining for gold like Atherton had. Then, she could stay where her heart wanted and be with her da, too.
“I’ve been wondering,” she began, desperate for an answer to her dilemma, “how much can a man make in the mines?”
Atherton beard twitched, and a smile appeared. “Well now, you thinkin’ of gettin’ your nails dirty diggin’ for gold?”
She laughed. “No. I’m just curious…how much can someone get for…say an ounce of gold?”
Atherton seemed to think about it for a minute before answering, “I get ‘bout t
wenty dollars for it, but I give the men a cut o’ that at fifteen dollars.”
Fifteen dollars for an ounce of gold? Why hadn’t her da stayed in Blessings, if making a fortune was his goal? No, there had to have been another reason for Liam O’Connor to come to America, but she couldn’t find him to ask him about it.
“I see.”
A knock at the door sent all eyes to the hallway leading through the kitchen and to the front of the house. Bushy white eyebrows in a V, Atherton stood up. “I’ll just go see who that is. Won’t be but a minute.”
It was silly to feel such…anticipation. It was probably just Ben looking for another free meal. It was ridiculous to even hope that he would come, that he would miss her as much as she missed him—and it had only been an hour since he’d left her at Millie’s door. But Lord, she wanted it to be—
Pete, dressed in black trousers, a white button down, and with his black hat in his hand, sauntered toward her through the kitchen, stopping just inside the small dining room which looked all the smaller with him in it.
“Pete!” Ed exclaimed, standing to come around the table and clap Pete on the back. Pete, though jostled a bit by Ed’s enthusiastic greeting, hadn’t taken his eyes off of Pati. And she felt his gaze right to her soul.
“Heavens, Son, didn’t expect to see you for supper. Come on in, take a seat, grab a bowl and warm up your insides,” Millie said, and Pati only just heard her. Focused on Pete, Pati barely noticed Atherton come into the room, or the knowing look that made his hazel eyes glint with something secret.
Tearing her gaze from Pete, Pati looked at her half-empty bowl of stew and prayed her cheeks weren’t as pink as they felt. Pete. Was there. He’d come. And now she had to make it through a meal with him without letting her utter lack of good sense show. She’d fallen for the growling man, but he didn’t need to know about it.
The Blessed Bride Page 12
