"Jessica?"
He looked down at her and sighed helplessly. "She hasn't spoken since that night. When the war ended and I came home. I decided to make a new start. To get her away from that house. From the memories. From the neighbors constantly reminding her of what a brave woman her mother'd been…”
"Brave?"
"Yes. To kill herself before allowing those men to touch her." Silently he looked away again.
Bridget could see that he was struggling to get himself under control. She understood his anger. By heaven, she wanted his wife in front of her right this moment. Brave? Bridget had never heard of anything so cowardly in all her life. To kill yourself and leave your child to the mercy of men such as those? It was unnatural. Unthinkable. No wonder the little thing was in such a state.
"Ah, the poor darlin’…”
He turned and faced her hopefully. “Then you understand?"
“Well, of course I understand. Heaven help us, anyone would have a time recovering from something like that."
“No.” Jacob shook his head, then reached for her arm. His grip tightened. "You understand why I'm asking for your help?"
"Well, yes, but.” – she pulled his fingers – “once we reach Montana, I'll be strikin’ out on my own, Jacob. Do you really think it's wise to have her come to depend on me now?"
"God, I don't know." He exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know anything anymore. The only thing I'm sure of is that Jessica comes alive when she's around you."
Torn, Bridget looked away from his desperate gaze. Her heart told her to go to the child, to do all she could to help heal her. But her mind screamed out for caution. She couldn't afford to forget the reason she was aboard the ship. She had to disappear and make a new life on her own, away from any who might discover her secret.
She chanced a glance at Jacob Fallon's face and knew she was lost.
She'd never be able to look herself in the face again if she built a new life on the wreckage of others. She took a deep breath and said quickly, "All right."
"Thank you."
"But you must remember, Jacob" – she met his gaze squarely – “when we reach Montana, I'll be movin' on."
“I'll remember." He raised his hand to touch her cheek, but she stepped back out of reach.
"And one more thing," she rushed out. “There'll be nothing between us. This is just for Jessica's sake. You understand?"
"I understand." His hand dropped to his side.
Maybe she shouldn't have said that. For pity's sake, the man's wife died only a year ago. The one kiss they'd shared meant nothing compared to that.
Poor Jacob. To have the woman you love taken from you with such ugliness. She laid her hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry," she said suddenly, “for Jessica and for you. You must have loved her very much."
He covered her hand with his own. Looking down at her, he smiled softly and said nothing. He could hardly tell this lovely innocent that he'd come to hate Helene.
#
“Fairies are smaller than leprechauns, so they have to be twice as mischievous!" Bridget laid a clean towel across the middle of the loaf of hot bread and started slicing it at the end. "Now, I've never actually seen a fairy, mind you, so I've only my father's word for that." She handed the steaming, crisp-crusted end slice to Jessica.
"You mean," Kevin said in an awed, hushed tone, "you seen a real leper… lepra…"
"Leprechaun," Bridget finished for him. She stopped a moment and grinned at Kevin and Hiram, sitting on either side of Jessica. In the last week the little girl's former tormentors had become regular visitors to the kitchen. For some unknown reason, the two boys had declared themselves to be Jessica's protectors. Although, Bridget silently conceded, her baking might have a hand in their devotion. "Certainly I've seen a leprechaun," she said, hiding a smile.
“Yeah, where?" Hiram challenged.
"Kerry Patch, of course. The little fellas like to stay near the Irish, y'know.”
"Aw," Kevin snorted, "she's funnin'. I been in Kerry Patch. Didn't see nothin'!"
Bridget fought to keep a straight face. "Kevin, where were you born?"
He frowned. "I dunno for sure. Somewheres in New York, I think."
“Well, that explains why you didn't see one of the little people. You weren't born in Ireland."
“Were you, Bridget?" Hiram asked.
She chewed her lip. “Well, no…"
"Hah!" Kevin shouted.
"But my parents were." She wagged a finger at Kevin. "So don't you be so quick to 'Hah,' young man." She handed each of the boys a slice of fresh bread and turned around to find Tom staring at her, a strangled smile twitching his lips.
"You do beat all, you know that, Bridget? I never heard stories like you come up with. Lord help us, I could listen to your yarns for hours."
Her eyebrows shot up. “Yarns, is it? And what makes you think I'm not tellin' the blessed truth?"
He shook his gray head. "Little tiny men that come around in the night playin' tricks on folks? Not likely."
"Oh, Tom," Bridget gasped and looked around uneasily. "I hope they didn't hear you say that. Why, they'd be honor bound to pay you a call."
He squinted and shot a quick glance about the tiny room as if expecting to see a horde of leprechauns descending on him.
Bridget choked back her laughter and turned to the children. Before she could speak, though, a shadow fell across the open doorway. She looked up and fell silent. It was Jacob Fallon. But it was a Jacob she'd never seen before.
He'd always dressed rather formally in a black frock coat, black trousers, white shirt, and string tie. Not now. Today his broad chest was covered by a soft-looking gray work shirt open at the collar and tucked into a well-worn pair of dark blue pants. His boots were old and scuffed, and a dustcolored, flat-brimmed hat was pulled low over his eyes. But Bridget's gaze was riveted on the pistol strapped to his hip.
Good heavens, she thought wonderingly, he's become a cowboy overnight. And such a cowboy! Her breath was labored, her heart pounded heavily. All of the restrained power and strength she'd sensed in him seemed defined by the casual, tightly fitted clothing, yet somehow, the rough, worn outfit made him more approachable, more… human. And altogether more dangerous to Bridget.
Finally she dragged her gaze away and met his. She only just then noticed the grim expression on his face. “What is it, Jacob?"
He stepped into the tiny, sweltering room and spoke to the boys first. "Kevin, Hiram, get back to your mothers. Now." Something in his tone convinced the children to do exactly as he said. Once they were gone, he turned to Bridget and Tom.
"A small skiff just passed us on the way downriver. The men on board say there are Indians just up ahead, waiting for us."
"Mother of God." Bridget slumped down onto a chair.
"Indians, eh?" Tom reached for his rifle. "He say anything else? Like why they wasn't attacked?"
Jacob shook his head. "Most likely reason is, they saw our smoke and figured not to warn us by firing on the small boat. Just luck that those men spotted the Indians."
Tom nodded and made for the door. "I'll go check with the captain. See ya on deck, Major."
"Right." Jacob didn't move. He simply stared down at Bridget. Finally, pulling her to her feet, he said softly, "Will you take Jessica to our cabin and stay with her there until this is over?"
Bridget blinked furiously, trying to focus her attention on what he was saying. It wasn't easy. Dear heaven, she thought desperately, Indians!
"Are you sayin' that Indians are waitin' right around the bend… for us?"
"Yes." He grabbed her elbow. “Now, will you take Jessica up to the cabin? And stay with her?"
She glanced at the girl. Bridget had become more alert to the small signs of awareness that flashed across the child's face, and now she recognized fear. "Jacob" – Bridget turned so Jessica wouldn't be able to overhear – “don't you think it would be better if you took her to safety?"
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Conflicting emotions warred in his eyes for a split second before he shook his head. "I can't. The captain will need every man and gun. I have to help."
"But, Jacob –“
"Bridget, there's no time for this! Will you take her or not?"
There was no mistaking the urgency in his voice. In answer, Bridget pulled away from him, scooped the girl up against her chest, and started for the door. She glanced back for only a moment. "Which cabin is yours?"
"Number ten." He joined her in the doorway, bent and kissed Jessica, then looked deep into Bridget's eyes for what seemed an eternity. "And for God's sake," he whispered, "stay low."
She nodded, but he didn't see. He was already on his way to the pilothouse to speak to the captain. Hurriedly Bridget ran up the stairs, pushing past the frantic passengers looking for cover. The frightened shouts of the people almost overshadowed the heavy thumping of the engines, and she couldn't stop herself from wondering why on earth a city girl was out in the middle of a river with Indians about to pounce.
The River. Belle rounded the bend in the Missouri just as she reached the cabin door. A shot rang out, and she quickly turned the doorknob, entered the cabin, and slammed the door after her. For a moment she stood, her back against the flimsy wood barrier, her breath almost choked off by Jessica's stranglehold. Then, remembering Jacob's warning to stay low, Bridget crossed to the far side of the room and dropped to the floor behind a bed.
The little girl's tremors grew increasingly stronger, as did her grip around Bridget's neck. The poor darling, Bridget thought helplessly. "Hush, Jessie, sweet. Hush now." Deliberately Bridget pulled the thin arms down, then took the girl's chin and forced her to look up. "Jessie darlin', don't take on so." She kissed the tip of the girl's nose. "I'll not be leavin' you. You and me are going to stay right here until your papa comes back. We'll sing songs, shall we?"
A solid blow struck the side of the ship. A mental image of a quivering arrow raced through Bridget's mind, but she pushed it away. Another round of shots were fired, too many to count. From somewhere close a man screamed in pain.
"Holy Saints protect us all," Bridget mumbled.
Jessica burrowed up against her, and Bridget lay down on the floor, her body curled spoonlike around the child's. Softly she began to sing an old favorite of her father's. With every verse, the little girl's body relaxed a little more, only to stiffen at the next burst of fire from the ship's defenders.
With the thud of arrows and the ringing gunshots keeping time, Bridget went through every song she knew, and when she finished, she began again. Anything to keep from thinking about what was happening outside the cabin walls. To keep from worrying about Jacob Fallon, and what she would do if he didn't return.
Chapter Six
St. Louis
Colleen smoothed her hair, then leaned closer to the mirror and pinched her cheeks. Still not satisfied, she did it again, biting down on her lips at the same time. Not much improvement, she thought. But it didn't matter anymore, she told herself with a shrug. Nothing mattered except getting out of that damned room!
Quickly she turned and snatched her red plaid shawl from the rumpled bed. She didn't care what Eamon had to say. It had been long enough. Besides, she was thoroughly sick of looking at the same four walls with their peeling paint and huge water stains. She needed to get out and see people, to talk, to drink, and maybe even to flirt with a handsome man or two.
Eamon had become as jittery as an old woman, insisting that she stay hidden away. She walked up close to the mirror again and applied some rouge to her full lips. He might as well have left them all in the damned prison wagon.
Her eyes narrowed as she checked her reflection critically. She knew very well how attractive she was. Hadn't men been telling her so since she was a child? With her thick black hair and sapphire eyes, she'd attracted many admirers over the years, but none she'd wanted so much as Eamon Flannagan. She frowned.
There was definitely something wrong. He hadn't been to see her in three days. Hell, she hadn't seen anyone in three days, save for the old hag that brought her meals. Even Mary Kate and Frances were kept from her. Eamon insisted that they, too, were hiding in separate places somewhere in the city, but Colleen wasn't sure she believed him anymore. He was different.
Running her hands down her rib cage and over the swell of her hips, she assured herself that she wasn't beginning to run to fat. “Then why the hell hasn't he bedded ya since the escape?" she asked the mirror. "I'll tell ya why," she went on, wagging a finger at her reflection, "there's some new young thing out there, gettin' what by rights belongs to you!"
If she hadn't seen Bridget Dugan get on that riverboat with her own two eyes, Colleen would have put her money on the sneaky redhead. But it couldn't be Bridget. More's the pity, Colleen told herself. There's nothing she'd like better than to take a hold of that Dugan girl's hair and give it a good yank.
She shook her head. Forget about that one.
Colleen picked up her reticule and slipped the string ties over her wrist. She draped the shawl over her shoulders, then undid three of her shirt buttons. Pulling at the material, she smiled at the creamy skin exposed in a deep vee.
Tonight she would have some fun. Tonight she would find out just who was trying to steal Eamon away from her. And maybe she'd give Eamon something to be jealous about as well.
She stepped out onto the landing and pulled the door shut behind her. Taking a deep breath of the cold, dank air, she started down the flight of steps. Almost immediately she wished she'd brought a candle with her. It was black as pitch in the alley.
A scratching sound and a tiny burst of flame drew Colleen's attention. Someone was lighting a cigar. She inhaled the cheap, overpowering scent of bad tobacco and walked toward the man. He was merely a darker shape in the shadows. There was no telling what he looked like or even how old he was.
Colleen leaned her head back and shook her hair slightly. She licked her lips and continued on. It didn't matter if he was a Cyclops as old as Methuselah. He was a man. And Colleen knew how to handle men.
"Hello, darlin' ," she whispered as she came up alongside him in the dark. “Would you care to buy a girl a drink?" He straightened up from the wall he'd been leaning against and nodded. She reached for his arm and sighed softly. "My, you're a big one, aren't ya?”
He covered her hand with his and led her out of the alley.
She squinted in the dark, trying to see his face. It was impossible, though. The streets in Kerry Patch were lighted no better than the alleys. Hell, she told herself, what does it matter who he is? As long as there's money in his pocket, they'd get along fine.
Lord, it was good to be out of that room. Breathing deeply, she took in all the sights and sounds she'd missed so much. The walkway was crowded, and she was glad of the big man on her arm. He pushed through the people, making them give way for her as if she were a queen.
Maybe it was a good thing that Eamon had been so distant lately. Maybe it was time for a change for both of them. She glanced up at her companion just as he brought his cigar to his lips. As he inhaled, the glowing red tip shed a slight, hazy glow over his features. Her brow furrowed. He looked familiar somehow, but she couldn't place him.
No matter. Colleen smiled when she heard the raucous piano playing coming from O'Shea's tavern. Ah, it was good to be back in the world. Good to be alive.
"I'd like to stop in at the tavern over there, if you've no objections."
The big man didn't say anything but started for the street. His grip on her hand had tightened, and she tried to slow down. "What's your hurry, darlin'? We've got all night."
From the end of the street she heard one of the heavy brewery wagons approaching. They always went too fast, as if the drivers couldn't wait to be out of the Patch. She watched it as it came closer. Drawn by eight draft horses, the lumbering vehicle had people jumping for safety. Colleen laughed at the sight, then stopped to look up at the man beside her. His hand had moved t
o her back, and she wanted to let him know his attentions were welcome.
She met his gaze with a smile that most men would kill to receive.
"I warned you Irish bitches not to fool with me, didn't I?"
His voice. She remembered. In a flash of panic Colleen tried to break away from the man who'd been their prison guard. But before she could move or even scream, Harry Longdon's big hand gave her a mighty shove.
She went down before the brewery wagon in a flurry of skirts and never had a chance to cry out.
The wagon finally stopped a half a block away, and the driver hurriedly ran back to join the shocked crowd of spectators standing around Colleen O'Grady's broken body.
No one noticed the huge blond man slipping into the shadows.
#
River Belle
The silence was somehow more frightening than the sounds of battle. At least before, with the rifle fire and the steady thumping of arrows hitting wood, Bridget had been sure she and Jessica weren't alone.
She raised her head hesitantly and cocked an ear as she strained to hear the slightest sound. Finally she sighed and smiled her relief. She could hear them now. A soft murmur of voices, building in strength like a choir in church. Through the babies crying, people running along the decks and passageways, and the occasional shout, Bridget heard the unmistakable wail of grief.
They'd made it past the Indians then, she told herself. But not without paying a price. She rose to her knees, lifted the sleeping Jessica, and sat down on the edge of the bed. The thin mattress flattened beneath her, and Bridget smiled and shook her head. She recognized the soft rustling and shifting feel of cornhusk stuffing. Imagine payin' a bloody fortune for the privilege of sleeping on such as this! Ah, well, she told herself, no good was ever served by trying to understand the rich.
Jessica stirred in her sleep. Bridget's arms tightened around the girl. "I know, darlin'," she whispered, "you want your papa." When the child sighed, Bridget ran her finger over the smooth, soft cheek. "Well, I'd like to go on out there myself. It's hard to wait. Not knowin'. But I promised your papa I'd keep you right here, till he came back. So, we'll just have to wait for him."
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