by Kit Morgan
He watched her snuggle Mrs. Fitzsimmons and had a flash vision of her with a child in her arms. It came out of nowhere, and he almost jerked at the sight of it. His chest tightened for a scant second, and he swallowed.
“We should get her back to the shop,” Miss Dermont suggested. “Your mother told me to bring her once you were done with the ah … rescue.”
Lorcan smiled. “Ol Mrs. Fitzsimmons is a mischievous one. We’ll bring her back, but it’s only a matter of time before she’s off again.”
Miss Dermont smiled before she turned toward the gate. “How long was she gone this time?”
“A few days, which is strange, she’s never left home for more than one at the most.” He stopped her, opened the gate, and let her precede him. “Maybe she has a suitor.”
“Oh my. You’d best prepare for the result of that!”
“Aye, just what I need, more mouths to feed.”
She stopped and waited for him to walk beside her. “She can’t eat that much.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said with an exaggerated nod. They walked in companionable silence the rest of the way to the shop. Once inside, Miss Dermont set the cat on the floor. Mrs. Fitzsimmons took off like a shot to the back of the store, and up the stairs.
Miss Dermont laughed in delight and clapped her hands together. “Someone is happy to be home!”
“Running straight to her milk no doubt. Maither will have it waiting for her. Sometimes I think that cat has it better than I do.”
“Oh come now, Mr. Brody, I think your mother holds you in higher regard than a kitty.”
He looked down at her, his expression flat. “Don’t be too sure, Miss Dermont. After you’ve been around for awhile, you’ll see.”
She looked away. “Do you expect me to be around … for awhile, Mr. Brody?”
He watched as she turned back to him, her eyes shining with something he could not identify. Was it defiance? No, not that. But it held a spark, a fight, and he liked it. He smiled. “That’s up to you, Miss Dermont.” He went to the counter and straightened a random stack of books. “I cannot make you stay, or go.”
Guilt suddenly assailed him. Hadn’t he already tried to make her go? Yet here she was, standing before him with an innocence that beguiled him, and a quiet strength of heart that he realized didn’t strike out in anger at what he’d done, though she did say a few things, he recalled. But at the time, he’d deserved it. Now however, the pretty little thing was conveying in a single look, that she didn’t need him, that being there was because she made the decision to be. Of course, the fact his mother hired her on helped, but even if she hadn’t been added to their midst, he was sure she’d have had no problem finding work somewhere. “Do you cook, Miss Dermont?” he asked without thinking.
He froze waiting for her to answer. He wasn’t even sure why he asked.
She smiled. “Not as well as I’d like.”
“Oh.” He picked up the stack and studied the spines. “Looks like Mrs. O’Leary was in again.”
“Mrs. O’Leary?”
“Aye, she comes in, finds three or four books on the same subject, looks through them, and leaves.”
“Does she ever buy anything?”
“No, she’s a widow and hasn’t much money. We don’t mind.”
She followed him as he made his way to the shelf where the books belonged. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Aye, we try. When we first got this place, my mother gave away more than she sold. Took her heart awhile to figure out giving away the store wasn’t going to feed us. So now she bakes.”
“I see,” she said softly. “Cookies are more affordable than books?”
He shrugged, “We break even on the cookies.”
She laughed at that, her eyes bright. “Speaking of which, I should earn my keep, and get to work.”
He watched her a moment, and took in the few wisps of hair that framed her face. “Aye,” he agreed. “I as well.” She turned to retrieve the feather duster. He watched as she went about the simple task of cleaning the shelves and stacks, and decided he didn’t feel like going to McPhee’s later for some practice. It was much nicer to watch Miss Dermont do her work. He smiled at the thought, and returned to his place behind the counter.
* * *
Adaline walked back to the boarding house, a dreamy smile on her face. The day had been pleasant, and she enjoyed it more than she thought she would. She and Lorcan Brody may have gotten off to a rough start, but today made up for it, and she was already looking forward to going to work tomorrow.
She held the book Lorcan suggested she read, and fingered the spine as she walked. She’d heard of it, but had never read Alice’s Adventure’s in Wonderland. When she asked why he suggested it, he told her it was one of Mrs. Fitzsimmon’s favorites. She’d burst out laughing in a most un-lady like manner, that seemed to delight him, and that in turn made her smile. She’d been smiling ever since. She almost hated to go inside the boarding house and become engaged by others. But she couldn’t very well stand outside on the front porch all night, so in she went.
“Why, Miss Dermont, how was your day?” asked Mr. Dixon as he came down the stairs.
“Very well, thank you. And yours?”
“Not very well, I’m afraid. But I’m sure some of Mrs. Brown’s fried chicken will cheer me up.”
“I’m sorry to hear your day disagreed with you,” she said.
“It was either that, or I disagreed with my day, I’m not sure which.”
They both laughed at the remark as Polly Van Cleet came through the door. “Good evening, am I late for dinner?”
“Not at all,” Mr. Dixon said. “But where is Mr. Van Cleet?”
“He’s in a meeting with some gentlemen from Portland and knew it to be too boring for my tastes, so he had someone escort me home. Smells like fried chicken tonight.”
“I can’t wait!” exclaimed Mr. Dixon as he rubbed his hands together and went into the dining parlor.
Adaline smiled at his happy demeanor and turned to the stairs.
“Are you going to sit next to Mr. Walker at dinner?” Polly asked her from behind.
Adaline looked over her shoulder. “Sit next to him?”
Polly tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention, then glanced around before she spoke. “I hear he plans on sitting next to you.”
Adaline’s stomach churned. “What?”
Polly gave her a curt nod. “Really dear, don’t waste your time on the likes of him. I don’t think he’s all he seems.”
Adaline sighed. “I’m beginning to think that myself.”
“Did you enjoy working with Lorcan today?”
Adaline started at the question. “How did you know… oh, yes, you were in the shop this morning.”
“We love to visit their bookshop whenever we come to Oregon City. You … you aren’t angry with him?”
Adaline sighed again. “It wasn’t his fault.”
“Mrs. Brody felt bad it didn’t work out between you two, but don’t you go and marry the first man to come along.”
“Like Mr. Walker?”
“Exactly. Now, be a good girl and get ready for dinner. I’m going to help Mrs. Brown in the kitchen.”
Adaline watched her leave, then went up the stairs. She got to her room and noticed a piece of paper peeking out from under her door. She glanced around but was the only one in the hall. She unlocked her door, went into her room, and snatched up the folded paper from the floor. She opened it and read:
Miss Dermont, would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to church come Sunday?
H. Walker
Adaline let her hand fall to her side, the note still in it. “Oh, dear me,” she said with about as much enthusiasm as Mrs. Fitzsimmons when dragged out of the oak tree. She was going to have to think of what to say. She shouldn’t be entertaining ideas of Mr. Walker or any man, especially not now that … oh, Heavens … now that she’d begun to have feelings for Lorcan
Brody.
Adaline went to the chair and sat. She belatedly remembered the book she’d carried in, and set it on the writing desk. She looked at it, and could hear Lorcan’s voice as if he were sitting next to her. It’s Mrs. Fitzsimmons’s favorite.
She closed her eyes and felt a tiny prick of regret. She’d traveled so long and far coming from New Orleans, and convinced herself on the trip she was doing the right thing. Aunt Pricilla would be well taken care of by Uncle Charles, and she and her new husband would start life together.
Such was not the case, and was no guarantee Lorcan would change his mind about her. So here she was in a strange city, in wild country, where many of the residents were less than civilized, at least by southern standards. But Adaline was determined to make the best of it. She just didn’t know what to tell Aunt Pricilla when she wrote to let her know how things were going.
A knock sounded on the door. Adaline opened her eyes and looked at it, her earlier joy from working all day with Lorcan squashed by the reminder of his rejection of her as his mail order bride. She stood up and walked toward the door. What was she doing thinking she would have something with the man? He was pleasant to work with today, it didn’t mean he would be the same way tomorrow. She sighed and opened the door.
“Are you ready to go down to dinner?”
Adaline stilled at Mr. Walker’s words. He stood on the other side of her threshold, a single flower in his hand. Adaline stared at it, swallowed, and looked at him. “Yes.”
He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She took it with reservation, but didn’t want to be rude. He smiled broadly as he handed her the flower, and they descended the stairs to join the others.
* * *
“C’mon Lor, it’s one fight, one wee fight,” Finn wheedled. “And think of what we can do with the prize money!”
Lorcan took a deep breath. The crowd at McPhee’s was larger than normal, and he suspected Finn knew something he didn’t, but wasn’t going to press it, because he wasn’t going to fight. “No,” he said firmly.
Finn’s shoulders slumped. “Ah, I guess yer right. But it’s a shame though, that money would do your da good.”
Lorcan scowled at him. “What of my da? What would you know of it?”
“Yer folks talk with my folks, they tell each other things.”
“Yes, they tell each other things, not you.”
Finn shrugged. “Can I help it if the walls in me house are thin as paper? Did ye know yer folks spent everything they had on getting a mail order bride? And what do ye do? Ye throw her back!”
“Shut up, Finn.”
“Shut up, Finn? Why should I? Not only do ye make it clear ye don’t want the girl, but when a fine upstanding citizen such as meself offers to take her off yer hands, ye get that fierce look in yer eye.”
“What fierce look?” Lorcan growled.
“The one ye have right now! McPhee!”
“Don’t call McPhee over here, you fool,” Lorcan hissed.
Too late, Mr. McPhee came running, his hands full of money, a pencil in his mouth. He removed it and stuck it behind an ear. “Ah, there ye are lad! Glad to see ye decided to turn up. Over half this crowd is here to see you, ye know!”
“Me? How could they be here to see me? I didn’t say I was fighting tonight.”
“No, but Finn here did.” Mr. McPhee laughed. “I’ll go tell them yer here.”
Finn began to back away as Lorcan seethed. “Tell who? Just what is going on?” he asked as he grabbed Finn by the shirt collar.
“Didn’t Finn explain things to ye, lad? There are agents from Stump Town here to watch ye tonight! It’s brought folks from all over!” He held up his two fists full of money. “I’ve never had it so grand!”
He hurried off before Lorcan could say another word. Not that he could, his lips were pressed together so hard he had to suck air through his nose as his eyes narrowed on Finn.
“Now, Lorcan, save it for the ring.”
“There is no ring here, there never was, and there never will be. This isn’t fighting, this is hoping you don’t get killed.” He gave Finn a shake. “Don’t you understand? I’m not going to do this anymore, I can’t.”
Finn’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, you can’t? You aren’t …” he gulped, … afraid are you?”
Lorcan opened his mouth to comment when a huge group of men squeezed their way through the crowd, grabbed Lorcan with a cheer, and started to drag him off. There had to be at least ten of them, some he recognized, others he didn’t. He yelled at them to let him go but was ignored. Others around them cheered, and money appeared out of each and every pocket. He caught a glimpse of McPhee and his elated expression, and then Finn’s terrified one. This was his doing, and he knew well the licking he was going to give him, if he ever got his hands on him that is. Right now there were too many hands on his own body to do much of anything, despite his struggles. It then began to occur him, he might be forced to fight. He knew well that in some cases when large sums of money were involved, a fighter was no longer a man with a talent and a skill. He became a highly prized possession, and Lorcan wanted nothing to do with any of that. Sometimes though, a man was given no choice. What had Finn gotten him into?
He was slammed into a corner and forced to a chair. Hands were everywhere, pulling at his clothes and yanking his boots off. “Stop!” he yelled again. But to no avail, they ignored him. He gave several men a good blow, and saw the teeth fly from the mouth of one, when a large fellow, larger than Lorcan at any rate, shoved his way through the mass.
“You!” the brute yelled over the din of the crowd as he pointed to him. “You’re next.”
“What’s the meaning of this? I didn’t agree to fight!”
The giant got in his face as Lorcan’s wrists and hands were grabbed. “No man says no, to Mr. Brennan.”
“Brennan?” Lorcan barked. “I don’t know any Brennan!”
The brute smiled. “No, but he knows you.” He looked to the men holding Lorcan’s arms. “Bring him.”
They shoved, pulled and yanked Lorcan along, and when they reached the “ring” which tonight consisted of nothing more than a huge group of men circled around four-by-eight foot sheets of wood, he knew he was in for it. The thin wall wasn’t even nailed together, the men were the only thing holding it in place. Half a dozen moved their part of the wall like a gate, and Lorcan was shoved inside, the door quickly shut behind him. By now he was beyond angry, and cursed the men around him in his Irish Gaelic. It was then he noticed they had become quiet, and were looking behind him.
Lorcan turned. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack. He was going to knock Finn’s teeth out for this. A man, the size the likes of which he’d never seen, now stood in the ring, his hands already bloodied, probably his last opponent’s. Lorcan looked at his surroundings more closely and noticed the blood splattered here and there on the wooden wall, one section had a huge crack in it. He swallowed and glanced about for Finn. Knocking his teeth out was too good for him. He’d like to break something, if he got out of this alive that is.
The crowd also stared at the monster-sized man in the ring, as another stood. He was in the center of a group of well-dressed men, and their chairs were up on a platform to have the best view of the fight. “Gentlemen,” he began. “You’ll note the leaner build, the height, the breadth of chest …”
Lorcan’s eyes widened. The man was English, well groomed, impeccably dressed. What in Heaven’s name was he doing in Oregon City in the back of an Irishman’s saloon? And who were the men with him?
“Also note,” the Englishman continued, “the height and weight of Mr. Stiles. I’m sure the comparisons will make the night most interesting.”
Lorcan shook his head, and felt more like a horse or cow displayed at auction, than a man in a fighting match. He stared hard at the Englishman, who studied him in return before he took his seat. Lorcan’s anger reignited and he stormed toward the men on the platform. Forcin
g him to fight wasn’t right, and he’d have no part of it.
But Lorcan didn’t get the chance to voice his opinion on the matter. The giant in the ring began to move, and Lorcan had to focus his efforts on what was to come, whether he wanted it to or not. And as he sidestepped the first blow dealt by his monstrous opponent, he decided the worst fate he could inflict on Finn for getting him into this mess, was to turn him over to his mother. No Irishman with half a brain wanted to fight against Mrs. Meara Brody. There was just no way to win.
* * *
“Do ye think he’ll be all right?” Mr. McPhee asked as Doc Henderson examined Lorcan.
“What were you thinking you pig-headed dote?” the doctor scolded. “He’s lucky to be alive!”
Finn stood, his hat in his hands, twisting it this way and that as they looked down upon the bloodied body of his friend. He’d held his own for three rounds, faltered in the fourth and fifth, but came back in the sixth. The seventh did him in, the giant acting as if bored with the whole affair, and so dealt the deathblow. If it had been any other man fighting, he probably would be dead. But not Lorcan, it was why he was the best in Oregon City. Finn glanced over his shoulder at the Englishman and the fighter he’d brought, then swallowed hard. These men were definitely not from Oregon City.
“At least he didn’t lose any teeth,” Doc Henderson commented as he continued to clean Lorcan’s face. “Which of you is going to tell Mrs. Brody?”
McPhee’s shocked face and dropped jaw was his only response. Finn swallowed again and looked down at Lorcan. He still hadn’t come around fully, his mind clouded from the blows inflicted upon him. But he would, and when he did, Finn was going to die. Or at least have his brains knocked out of he head, which he should have done himself for thinking this would turn out well.
“Well done, gentlemen,” the Englishman remarked as he stepped over to them. “I’m sure he’ll recover.”
Finn, McPhee, and Doc Henderson could only stare. A beautiful woman stood behind the Englishman, her face barely showing beneath the lavender cloak she wore. She stepped forward, and looked down at Lorcan. One hand balled into a fist, and she raised it, as if not sure of what to do, then bent to the still form on the cot. “Is he badly injured?” she asked Doc Henderson. She had an odd accent, and Finn wondered where she was from.
