Bridget glanced at Frances. Now, there was one to feel sorry for. Poor dear. No family to speak of, hardly a friend to her name, her being so shy. And now this – to end up in jail simply because you happened to be standing near a group of people when the law arrived. Naturally, no one believed her claims of innocence, and a judge certainly wouldn't take the word of the very criminals he was posting off to prison.
A heavy club smashed against the wagon bars. All four women jumped and turned startled eyes to the shotgun guard glaring at them.
"Shut up, you bunch!" he shouted. “We've a long trip, and I'm not gonna spend it listening to screamin' harridans!"
"Harridans, is it?" Colleen shouted back. "And who are you to be callin' us anything?"
'Pull up, James," he told the young driver. As the wagon stopped, the guard leapt nimbly down from his perch. Holding a shotgun in one hand, he swung his club with the other. Over and over, he beat on the iron bars as he walked around the wagon. The women moved warily, keeping as far from the furious man as possible. Finally, opposite a clearly frightened Colleen, he stopped.
“Who I am is Harry Longdon. Mr. Longdon to you." He suddenly dropped the club, reached through the bars, grabbed a handful of her long, black hair, and pulled her face up next to the cold steel barricade. His pale gray eyes narrowed. His full lips quirked in a smile that held no humor. He was so close now, the women noticed the scruffy sheen of blond stubble on his cheeks, the small scar below his right eye, and the massive muscles of his shoulders as he moved Colleen's head back and forth.
"You bunch got a few things to learn," Harry said, pressing Colleen's face tightly against the bars of their cage. "First off, you best remember from here on – when you want somethin', you got to come see Harry."
Mary Kate and Bridget shared a quick, frightened glance. Frances stared sightlessly ahead. Colleen's eyelids squeezed tightly shut, and her companions could see her bite into her bottom lip.
Harry went on. "See, in prison you convicts get 'leased out' to work for different outfits. Now, dependin' on how… nice you are to me, you can either work someplace decent or find yourself in hell." He released Colleen abruptly, and she dropped to the floor. "Favors don't come cheap," he warned. "And they don't come at all to those who spite me."
"C'mon, Harry. Leave off, huh? We got a lot of miles to cover today, y'know." The younger guard leaned over and spoke in a placating tone. "She ain't goin' nowhere. You'll have –“ He tumbled from his seat, and a split second later they heard the shot.
Harry spun around, frantically looking for the source of danger. James lay still on the ground, a spreading pool of blood soaking into the dry earth beneath him.
Another shot came from the trees on the left, and Harry Longdon's huge body crumpled over.
"Holy Mother!" Mary Kate's frantic gaze landed on Bridget. They huddled together, waiting for the next bullet to find one of them.
"Colleen!" a voice called out. "Colleen, darlin', is it you?"
Colleen raised her head slowly, a look of cautious wonder on her face. “Eamon?” she questioned.
Laughter. At least three men. They rode out of the trees and up to the prison wagon. "Aye, darlin' ," one of them answered. "It's me."
Colleen threw a victorious glare at her companions. "Well, hurry on, then!" she yelled. "Get me out of this bleedin' cage!"
As the women eased up from their cramped positions, Bridget wasn't sure for a moment who had frightened her more. The bully Harry Longdon or Colleen O'Grady.
Chapter Two
Eamon Flannagan gave Colleen's backside a familiar swat. "You didn't think I'd let you go on to jail, now did ya?"
She ran her fingertips lightly over his cheek, then turned and, swinging her generous hips, walked to his horse.
As his men busily rifled the pockets of the two fallen guards, Eamon stepped up beside Bridget. "Bridget Dugan, isn't it? I knew your da."
She looked up at the man who'd rescued her by killing two people. A handsome devil. Black hair, black eyes, and she thought, like as not, a black heart as well. As her mother used to say, "Handsome is as handsome does."
"A fine man, Michael Dugan," he said.
"When sober."
He laughed. "Well, now, I wouldn't know about that. I never saw him in that fearful condition."
"I'm not surprised. My father was never one to pass up a friendly-lookin' pub." She turned her back on him deliberately and began to walk back down the road toward St. Louis.
“Here, now! Where do you think you're goin'?"
"Home."
"Silly woman." Eamon hurried up to her and grabbed her arm. "You can't go strollin' back to the Patch like you was the bloody queen of England! They'll only put you back in a cage."
"I've nowhere else to go."
“Then you'll wait and go back with us." He grinned mischievously at her. “We know lots of nooks and crannies to hole up in."
"What?" Colleen heard him and screeched in outrage. "I'll not have her along, Eamon. I wasn't good enough to talk to in the Patch. I won't have her now. Let her go and be damned."
"Shut your mouth, woman!"
Colleen's eyes widened in surprise.
Eamon pointed one finger at her and continued. “You've no say-so here, Colleen. And I'll thank you to remember that I say who comes and who stays."
"You have no worries about me, Colleen O'Grady," Bridget interrupted him. "I won't be travelin' with men who kill so easy as these."
Eamon looked around in astonishment. "Kill, is it?" He reached for her hand and pulled her over to the two guards. "Take a good look, Miss High and Mighty Dugan. I'm no killer and neither are they."
She looked up at his two friends. They wore identical insulted expressions. Forcing herself then, Bridget fastened her gaze on the guards. Eamon was telling the truth. She could see their chests rise and fall, though both were bleeding badly from their wounds.
"As you can plainly see, madam, they're not dead. Unconscious and bleedin', yes. But not dead. And they won't be when we leave them, either." Eamon grinned at his two cohorts. “We'll truss them up as neat as a Christmas package and leave them for whoever finds them."
Bridget had to admit she felt much better about the whole thing now. Though pleased to have been rescued, she hadn't wanted the sin of murder hanging over her head. "I'm sorry, Eamon. I'll take the ride you offered. And thank you."
"Eamon! Look here! See what I've found!" The young man's voice was choked with excitement.
“What is it, then, Dooley?” Eamon reached for the extra wide, worn leather belt his friend was holding out.
"Just you look. We found it on the big fella."
Eamon pulled at the edges of the belt, peeked inside the fold, and laughed heartily. “Well, now," he said with a sigh, "what a grand thing for the man to do."
"What is it?"
He turned toward Colleen to answer. "It's money, me love. And lots of it!"
#
"See how quickly the river flows, Jessica?”
The little girl stared at the murky water two decks below. She said nothing. Instead, she continued to chew at the end of her bonnet's ribbon.
Jacob gently pulled the material out of her mouth and sighed when her little fingers replaced it again. "All right, Jessica." He laid his hand atop her head and wished for the thousandth time that he knew what to do.
He'd been so sure that this move to Montana Territory was right. He'd hoped that once free of the memories haunting their old home, Jessica would return to him. To herself.
That interest and excitement in the journey would outweigh the tragedy that filled her.
An all-too-familiar sense of guilt crept over him. If he’d only been home that night. If duty to the army hadn't called him away. He shook his head wearily. Too many ifs. And nothing could be changed now. It was far too late for wishing. Too late for Helene and for himself. He only hoped it wasn't too late for Jessica.
“My! What a pretty little girl."
; Jacob snapped out of his wanderings in time to see an older woman reach for his daughter's shoulder. As the plump, bejeweled hand touched her, Jessica cringed as though in agony. She then turned into his legs and leaned against him, shivering.
"Well, for heaven's sake, child." The woman didn't give up. "I mean you no harm." She grabbed the little girl's chin and turned her head to see her clearly. One look at the child's beautiful, deep blue, empty eyes and the woman announced, "Why, the poor thing's addled!"
Jacob pushed the woman's hand away. Keeping a tight rein on his temper, he said in a hushed, angry voice, "'There is nothing wrong with my daughter, madam. And I'd appreciate you keeping your opinions to yourself." Taking Jessica's hand, he passed the handful of staring people and walked stiffly toward their cabin. Still, he heard the overstuffed woman say to her husband, "Such a shame, Ira. So beautiful and not a wit in her head."
They were wrong, Jacob told himself angrily. They were all wrong. He bent down and lifted his daughter into his arms. She stared at him blankly as she wrapped her thin arms around his neck, then laid her head on his shoulder. He closed his eyes for a moment. "Please God," he pleaded softly, "let them be wrong."
#
"Are you sure, Bridget?” Eamon studied her face carefully in the dim evening light.
"She said she wants to go, Eamon."
He glanced at Colleen and noticed her pouty mouth and narrow eyes. Strange, he'd always found that sulky expression attractive before. Eamon admitted to himself that his passion for the woman had cooled recently, but until today he hadn't understood why. Looking away from Colleen, he stared down at the small, auburn-haired woman standing calmly on the threshold of adventure.
He ignored Colleen's continuing comments, as he'd been doing often, of late. Funny, he told himself, how being near a woman like Bridget Dugan a few hours could change a man's outlook. He'd always been satisfied with his life. Until now. Thanks to Bridget's quiet dignity, he'd taken a closer look at himself. And it wasn't a pleasing sight.
Maybe she was right to get away and start fresh somewhere different. He glanced at Colleen again. Alone. It was something for a man to think on.
"I'm sure, Eamon." Bridget held out her hand. As he took it in his, she added, "I'm not so sure about takin' the money, though. SteaIin' it."
Eamon grinned. "Don't you go worryin' over that, now. You didn't steal it, I did. All you did was take a loan from a friend."
"I suppose." She smiled uncertainly. “Though it would make Mr. Daniels right for once. Him callin' me a thief, I mean."
"Daniels hasn't had a right day in his life." Serious again, Eamon asked, "But wouldn't you like to have enough money to buy cabin passage? Sleepin' on a hard deck for two months is no way for a lady to travel. And it'll take at least that long to reach Fort Benton."
Colleen snorted and Mary Kate gave her a shove.
“The deck'll be fine, Eamon. Besides, with the cost of this ticket, the new clothes and the food parcel— I've taken enough."
"Well, then," he said, reluctantly releasing her hand, “you'd best be gettin' aboard. The River Belle pulls out at daybreak."
She nodded. Without a word her gaze slid over the faces of her companions. Strange that only a day or so ago they'd have walked past one another on the street without a passing glance. And now she hated to leave them. In an odd sort of way she'd even miss Colleen O'Grady. Though not much. But Mary Kate and Frances and the men who'd rescued her from that awful cage of a wagon… they were hard to leave.
"Frances," she asked suddenly, "are you sure you don't want to come with me? There's still time."
"Oh, I couldn't." Her face paled at the thought. "Goin' off to God knows what. No. I… couldn’t."
"It's all right, Bridget," Mary Kate cut in. "We'll look out for her."
Bridget took a deep breath and forced a smile. Turning her gaze back to the tall dark man in front of her, she said, “Thank you, Eamon. For everything."
"Ah, nonsense! It was little enough to do for Michael Dugan's daughter." He grasped her shoulders, turned her around toward the levee, and said softly, "Go on, now."
She moved slowly at first, then with determination. In the middle of the gangplank, Eamon's voice stopped her. "Don't be surprised if you look up one day and see me!"
Lifting her hand high in the air to show him she'd heard, Bridget went on and boarded the riverboat.
When she'd vanished from sight, Eamon turned to face his friends.
"What was that about, Eamon?” Colleen demanded. "I’ll not be going to the wilderness, y'know."
He looked up at her thoughtfully for a moment. "Aye," he agreed softly, "you won't at that." Then louder he said, "Before we run for our holes, lads, what d'you say we find out what kind of a fire Daniels's lovely store would make?"
Laughing, his men turned their horses, the women following. With one long last look at the River Belle, Eamon Flannagan turned and urged his mount toward Kerry Patch.
Bridget breathed deeply and turned in a slow circle, letting her gaze move over the crowded ship. There had to be at least fifty people wandering around the deck in the cold night air. Most of the passengers were men, of all ages, from the very old to the very young. There was a sprinkling of women, all but two of whom were burdened down with blanket-wrapped parcels and children. The other two, dressed in expensive, though tawdry, clothes were holding court in the far corner of the ship. From their soft laughter and the men's lowered voices, Bridget guessed they would be very popular on the trip north. She shook her head. She'd steer clear of those two, certainly.
Clutching the food parcel and a small carpetbag to her chest, Bridget walked quickly to the back end of the ship, where hundreds of wooden crates had been stacked into irregular towers.
Palms down on a huge box, Bridget climbed atop it and huddled back as far as she could go, using crates on either side of her as a windbreak. Every inch of her body screamed with weariness. It was all she could do to pull her packages close. Laying her head back against the roughly planed crate, Bridget stared out over the river.
The dark water rushed by the ships lined up side by side at the levee. In the center of the river, small whirlpools began and ended as the Missouri encountered and conquered small underwater branches and snags. The steady push of the river even managed to drown out the noise created by the people waiting to begin their trip. Bridget sighed, reached into her carpetbag, and pulled out her green shawl and a blanket she'd bought just that day. Pulling them both over herself, she allowed her eyes to close. Deliberately she shut out the clamor of her fellow passengers. All she wanted was a little rest. A little quiet.
Then she heard him.
"I don't know if You're there. Or if You're there, that You can hear me. Or care."
Bridget opened her eyes and looked over her right shoulder. At the very back of the boat a man stood alone, talking to the night sky. Moonlight touched him and softened his silhouette so that Bridget almost thought she'd imagined him.
But then he spoke again.
“But if You can hear, please help me do what's right. I have to help her. I can't stand to see her like this. It's not right. I don't know what to do."
His voice was low, but Bridget heard the pain.
"What a fool," she heard him say before he gave a short harsh laugh. "Standing in the dark, trying to strike a bargain with the Lord."
“Well,” Bridget offered quietly, "you surely wouldn't be the first."
The tall man spun around. She watched as his eyes moved quickly over the surroundings, searching for her.
"I'm right here," she said. “I didn't mean to startle you. And I am sorry I overheard. But…"
His back to the river, his face in shadow, Bridget couldn't make out his features. But the tone of his voice left no doubts as to his feelings.
"I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I didn't know anyone was here."
She shivered. Like frost on a window. His voice was now cold and hard.
"Yes, well.
There likely was no one till a moment ago. I've only just arrived, y'see."
He stepped forward but remained in the darkness. It seemed almost deliberate, the way he avoided the few hanging oil lamps and their dim light.
"As I said, I'm sorry to have disturbed you." He kept walking toward the staircase. He moved stiffly, surely, like a man more used to marching than strolling.
"And as I said. You didn't." Bridget squinted, trying to see him. He was almost at his destination now. She had to speak quickly or lose the chance altogether. "He does hear, y'know."
"Hmmm? Who? Who hears?" He stopped.
"Why, God, of course. He hears and He cares."
A muffled snort. "Thank you for the information."
"Think nothln' of it." She refused to be put off by his icy manner. "I'm sure He heard every word of your lovely prayer."
The shadowy man straightened his shoulders. Throwing his chin up, he countered, "Whether He did or not… it is quite obvious to me that you missed nothing. I would appreciate your not mentioning it again."
She pulled her shawl up close around her neck. It was even colder now. “Well, that's hardly likely, now, is it? Since I don't know your name, nor what you look like, nor do I want to know."
"Good."
"Good."
He turned again and hurried for the stairs.
Her voice stopped him. “Tell me somethin'."
He sighed heavily. “What?”
"If you didn't think He was listenin', why were you talkin'?"
"I… uh…"
"Y'know what they say… 'It's no use carryin' an umbrella if your shoes are leakin'."
He shook his head, obviously confused. Quickly he continued on and reached the stairs. His booted feet had climbed only three steps, though, when he heard her voice again.
"He did hear, y'know."
Jacob hesitated, then continued his climb. She sounded so sure.
Mountain Dawn Page 2
