The note of levity in her mother’s tone matched a glint of tease in Maeve O’Shea’s tender gaze, reminding Libby of the loving marriage her parents shared despite her father’s propensity to control his daughter’s life. It was the same type of marriage she had hoped for herself, before her heart had been crushed into a million pieces.
Her mind flitted to Harold, her longstanding beau and Vassar professor whom she’d finally agreed to marry. Not the loving match of her parents, perhaps, but a gentle, non-controlling man as consumed with women’s rights as Libby, which made him the perfect match in marriage.
Agreeable to a fault.
“Besides,” her mother continued with a gleam of trouble in her eyes, “I need you and that professor beau of yours to hurry up and get married so I can bounce grandbabies on my knee.”
“Mother!” Heat scorched Libby’s cheeks, as much from mention of making babies with Harold as memories of doing the same with Finn McShane during their brief marriage. A flash of heat swallowed her whole as she frantically flapped her napkin to cool off, the mere memory obviously as powerful as the attraction they once shared. Hand shaking, she dabbed the napkin to the back of her neck, dampness forming over the very notion of ever seeing him again, much less being in the same town. Which meant she needed to get back to the security of Harold as soon as possible.
Like, yesterday.
“Goodness, Mother—Harold and I are too old to have children,” Libby finally managed, her voice far calmer than her pulse. She took great pains to steady her hand as she picked up her fork, her appetite as absent as she wanted to be. Sweet mother of mercy, what was her mother thinking? Harold was almost forty-five, and Libby barely a breath away from forty. Besides, she’d long since learned to satisfy her longing for motherhood by doting on sweet Maggie and the precious girls at the St. Patrick Female Orphan Asylum.
When she’d left Finn all those years ago, she’d filled her time—and her heart—with the teaching job Papa had helped her get at Vassar, then volunteering on behalf of women’s rights, and finally, loving on the lost girls at St. Patrick’s. Oh, how she longed to mend those sweet children’s orphan hearts, but they had mended hers instead, striking a bond she hadn’t expected. A kinship with little girls whose lives—or those of their mother’s—had been compromised at the hand of a man. Every week Libby spent with them, her heart ached all the more over injustices many had endured. Injustices that far exceeded Libby’s own, as painful as those memories might be. And so, they’d soon become her passion—along with women’s rights—to somehow, someway, bring a little joy into their lives, hopefully to counter the pain of male oppression. A chill pebbled Libby’s skin, reminding her how lucky she was to have escaped much of their plight, convincing her once and for all that babies were not in her future.
And neither was Finn McShane, God willing.
“Besides,” Libby was quick to follow up, “Harold and I intend to devote ourselves to the cause of women’s rights, not a family.”
“Poppycock,” her mother quipped. “Having babies is the greatest right a woman can have, young lady, and grandchildren is the second, isn’t that right, Gert?”
Libby’s former cook and housekeeper grunted, cheeks full of chicken. She swallowed hard, her skinny neck bobbing with the motion. “You betcha. Leastways, that’s what my sister Oly always says.”
Libby stifled a groan, hating to resort to bribery to hasten her departure from Virginia City, but what choice did she have? Her mother and father were homeless for the next six months at least. She needed them to agree to join her in New York for that duration and hopefully forever if she had her way. “Well, Mama, look at it like this,” she said with a casual stab of her meatloaf. “The sooner you and Papa join me in New York, the sooner Harold and I can get married and give you those grandchildren.” She popped the meatloaf in her mouth with a smile, hoping her mother would swallow the unlikelihood of Libby having children as easily as she swallowed her dinner.
Anxious to change the subject, Libby turned her attention to Maggie with a beam of approval. “Oh, and did I tell you that Sister Fred hired Maggie on the spot? She begins on Monday.”
Libby expelled a silent sigh of relief when her mother homed in on Maggie with a wide smile. “Maggie, that’s wonderful! You’re going to love Virginia City, young lady, and as soon as Mr. O’Shea and I have a home again, I insist you live with us.”
“Goodness, Mrs. O’Shea,” Maggie said, “I wouldn’t want to impose—”
“Nonsense.” Maeve took a sip of her coffee, her green eyes—so like Libby’s own—glittering with delight. “Why, it will be like having a daughter at home again …” She commenced to cutting more chicken. “Of course, I hope Sister Fred warned you that the caliber of patient you’re likely to have can be a bit unruly.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, she did.” Maggie patted a napkin to her lips. “And I’m afraid I’ve already experienced it firsthand.”
Libby halted, a forkful of mashed potatoes halfway to her mouth. “Good heavens, Maggie, what do you mean?”
Laying the knife aside after buttering a bun, Maggie nibbled on the roll with a hint of mischief. “I had an altercation with a half-naked cowboy.”
“What?” Libby’s fork clanked to her plate while Mama and Gert only chuckled, Maggie’s introduction to the crudities of Virginia City obviously part and parcel for the notoriously “Wild West.”
Maggie’s eyes sparkled, a bit of the “dickens” shining through that Libby had occasionally seen when Maggie was growing up. “A very impatient patient, I’m afraid, who wanted me to fetch his clothes, which Sister Fred apparently hid till he recovered more fully.”
The blood immediately drained from Libby’s face as she stared, grateful Maggie’s mother couldn’t see the vulgarities her best friend had exposed her daughter to. “How naked?” Libby whispered, the shock barely scraping past her lips.
A rush of color bloomed in Maggie’s cheeks, reassuring Libby that her best friend’s daughter remained unscathed by a town that could be a threat to a decent young woman. Her sweet goddaughter peeked up beneath a thick fringe of dark lashes, too much humor in her eyes to suit. “A bed sheet wrapped around his middle and gauze wrapped around his bare chest,” she said shyly, “and when I refused, he stormed down the hall to terrorize poor Sister Berta and everyone else in the waiting room.” Her lips squirmed with a near smile. “Until Sister Fred appeared, that is.” The smile blossomed into a full-fledged grin as she thwarted a giggle with her palm. “When he bolted out of the hospital, bedsheet and all.”
Libby’s jaw dropped as both Gert and her mother laughed, quite sure she needed to hightail both Maggie and herself back to New York society and its more genteel ways.
“Did you catch his name?” Maeve asked with a grin that matched Gert’s.
Cheeks bulging, Gert laughed as she chewed, her salt-and-pepper bun bouncing with the motion. “Maybe, maybe not, but I’ll just bet he caught some chiggers.”
Another blush stole into Maggie’s face. “Yes, his name was Blaze Donovan, and Sister Fred already warned me to stay away from him because apparently he’s quite the rake.”
Donovan? Libby caught her breath. The only Donovan she knew was—
“Well, that certainly sounds like Blaze Donovan,” Maeve continued, as if half-naked men were everyday talk at dinner. “God bless his stubborn soul …”
“God bless him?” Jaw dangling, Libby stared at her mother, absolutely certain now that refined and educated women from New York had no business in Virginia City. “God dress him is more like it, Mama.” She placed a hand on Maggie’s arm, determined to do right by her best friend’s daughter. “Maggie darling, I’m starting to wonder if your mother would approve of you living in a town like Virginia City—”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Maeve said with a heft of her chin, a sure sign she was arming for battle. “Nurses see naked bodies all the time, Libby—”
“Yes, but parading down the street?” L
ibby leaned in, fingers gripped to the table.
“Only half naked, Aunt Libby,” Maggie said softly, the concern in her tone proof that she wanted to stay. “He was wearing a sheet, after all.”
“Precisely.” Libby pushed her plate away with a heavy exhale. “A corrupt cowboy with no compunction or pride.”
“Or clothes,” Gert said with a chuckle.
Her mother slanted in, sobriety dousing her laughter. “I’ll have you know, young lady, that it was that same ‘corrupt cowboy’ that saved my life and Gert’s, acquiring that very nakedness by braving a burning house to rescue dear Frannie.” She arched a brow. “And, of course, it was his uncle who risked his own life to save your father’s.”
His Uncle. Libby’s pulse thudded to a painful stop. The man who’d been her husband.
Before Papa had the marriage annulled.
“So, it’s best to leave your high-and-mighty opinions of Virginia City in New York where they belong, young lady,” her mother said, ever persistent in her defense of the town that she loved, “and embrace both this town and its people.”
Its people. Libby sank back in her chair, well aware that Mama was right. She still had family and friends here she loved despite her disdain for the town she once called home. Relinquishing with a weary sigh, she offered Mama a conciliatory smile. “You’re right, Mama, and I’m sorry for being such a snob.” She reached to squeeze her mother’s hand, ashamed at the way she had turned her back on her family and her very roots. “And I promise you, I’ll embrace both this town and its people as long as I’m here.”
“That’s my girl.” Her mother patted her arm while Libby took a sip of her coffee, anxiety roiling in her stomach once again.
All but one.
CHAPTER FIVE
“So, how’s our boy today, Sister Fred? Ready for visitors?” Finn ambled into the small lobby area of St. Mary Louise Hospital with hat in hand, offering a generous smile to the one woman he respected more than most men in Virginia City.
Sister Frederica glanced up from the nurse’s counter, a clipboard in hand and a scowl on her face. “Alive at the moment,” she quipped with a dry smile, “but dangerously close to Last Rites if he keeps his bellyaching up.” Her mouth went as flat as her tone. “Keeps grousing to go home, but Doc McCoy says his blood pressure isn’t cooperating.” She scratched something on the clipboard and slammed it on the wooden counter, causing both Finn and the elderly sister behind her to jump. “And neither is Mr. O’Shea.”
Finn inwardly winced, remembering all too well his ex-father-in-law’s volatile temper in the brief three months Finn and Libby had been married. Especially the day he found out Pastor Poppy had accidentally married off his only daughter to the poor son of a man he hated. From that moment on, it had been war between Aiden and him, despite Finn’s many attempts to make amends over the years. “Is he … alone?” Finn asked, praying he wouldn’t run into Aiden’s daughter.
“Yes,” Sister Fred continued with a hike of her formidable chin, “and I’m sick of coddling the old coot, if truth be told, and I’d like to see someone else try and calm him down.”
A grin slid across Finn’s face as he scratched the back of his neck. “Now, you and I both know I’m the last one for that job, Sister Fred. I’ve always been the proverbial thorn in his side.”
Her scowl gave way to a grin as wide as Finn’s. She gave him a wink. “Yes, sir, I know, so I’m countin’ on you to give it your best shot.” She nodded toward the stairway. “Fourth floor, end of the hall. As far from the front door as possible to thwart escape and keep his caterwaulin’ down.”
“Thanks, Sister Fred—I owe you.” Finn shot a grateful smile as he strode toward the narrow staircase down the hall.
Her chuckle followed. “Don’t mention it, Mr. McShane, and I mean that literally. If Doc McCoy finds out I let his patient’s nemesis in, he’ll be screeching louder than O’Shea.”
Offering a salute over his shoulder, Finn scaled the narrow steps two at a time, heart pumping when he finally reached the fourth-floor landing, but not all from exertion. Nope, he’d been praying for reconciliation with Aiden O’Shea for the last five years, ever since Pastor Poppy had talked Finn into forgiving Aiden for ruining his life. But the forgiveness had definitely been one-sided, and Finn wasn’t all that sure that the feud would ever end—a feud that had robbed him of the only woman he’d ever really loved.
Thoughts of Libby struck hard as Finn approached the fourth-floor hallway, caught off-guard by an unexpected ache that he thought he’d purged long ago. Hand on the knob, he faltered, eyelids sinking at the memory of silky auburn hair that flamed as much as emerald eyes whenever Finn had stirred her temper. A smile shadowed his lips as he opened the door. A favorite pastime of his from the first day she’d arrived at the schoolhouse at the age of fourteen, the smartest girl he’d ever met.
And the most infuriating.
He’d harbored a secret crush all those years that had blossomed into love the summer after she’d arrived home from college. And when Pastor Poppy had pronounced them man and wife, the next three months had been the best of his life, even when they’d butted heads over her infernal women’s rights. But her suffrage obsession aside, Finn couldn’t deny the utter ecstasy of having Libby O’Shea as his wife. To him she was everything he had ever wanted—fire and femininity all wrapped up in the most beautiful, intelligent, and exciting package he’d ever seen. A woman who had been pure adrenaline to his soul.
In his blood.
In his life.
And in his bed.
“Confound it, woman, you touch me with that washcloth one more time, and you’ll be wearing it.”
Stepping into the hallway, Finn had no trouble finding Aiden. A young nurse bolted out of a room at the end of the hall, two circles of pink dusting her cheeks. A streak of swear words followed her as she hurried toward Finn with a wash pan in her hands and a towel over her arm, water splattered all over the bodice of her crisp, white uniform.
“Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, did he?” Finn asked with a nod toward Aiden’s room.
The nurse offered a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid Mr. O’Shea only has one side of the bed, sir, which is why Sister Fred relegated him to the fourth floor all by himself.” Her mouth crooked. “Except for the poor nurses who draw the short straw.”
Finn’s smile was more of a grimace. “Short temper, short straw—not a lucky combination.”
“No, sir,” she said with a sigh, barreling toward the staircase door with an imp of a smile. “God be with you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m counting on it,” Finn muttered under his breath, steeling himself for the wrath of one of Virginia City’s richest and most powerful men. And the most ornery.
Crash! A plate sailed into the hall along with several curses, shattering against the wall. “Where the devil are my clothes?”
Finn bit back a smile. Apparently Blaze and Aiden had something in common—the wrath of Sister Frederica. Finn peeked around the corner of Aiden’s door with a wry smile. “You out of dishes, I hope?”
Aiden stared, his scowl clamping into a thin-lipped smile as he hunched on the side of the bed in a hospital gown, bare feet dangling. Short and stout, Libby’s father carried the girth and authority of a man ten feet tall, traits that served him well as the president of Virginia City’s largest bank. Silver hair usually neatly combed over a bald spot now stuck up all over his head, the perfect complement for a matching handlebar moustache gone awry. “It’s about blasted time, McShane—I told that goose-flappin’ woman I wanted to see you days ago. Where the devil have you been?”
Finn moseyed into the room, face immobile to mask his surprise over Aiden wanting to see him at all. “Sister Fred said Doc ordered no visitors till your blood pressure was under control.”
“Aw, he’s as loony as that goose-flap woman! My blood pressure is just fine.” Grumbling, Aiden shuffled into the bed and hiked the sheet up to his chest, apparently uncomfort
able holding court in his underwear. He nodded toward a chair against the wall. “Take a load off, McShane—you and I have some talkin’ to do.”
Tossing his hat on a credenza, Finn positioned the chair backwards at the end of the bed, straddling it with an off-kilter smile. “About time, O’Shea. Too bad it took saving your sorry backside for you to realize that.”
Aiden cuffed the back of his head, ruddy color crawling up his neck as he cracked an off-center smile. “Yeah, well, next to the Grim Reaper, you suddenly don’t look so bad.”
Finn chuckled.
Aiden’s eyes narrowed into a squint, white bushy brows slashing low as he gave a gruff clear of his throat. “Thank you,” he said, voice raspy with something akin to humility. Splotches of color mottled his cheeks, evidence of how difficult this was for a man like him. “The way I’ve treated you over the years, Finn, wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d left my stubborn, old hide to burn.”
“Couldn’t.” Finn shifted, mouth hooking in an attempt to lighten an awkward moment. “Figured there was enough fire in your future, old man.”
Aiden’s rusty laugh bounced off the sallow walls of the small hospital room, the sound as foreign as the civility in his tone. He scratched the back of his bald head, further disrupting his disheveled hair as his smile faded into sobriety. “Regrettably, yes, but I aim to do something about that before it’s too late.”
Meek blue eyes stared back, the lack of disdain Finn had always seen thawing them considerably from the ice-blue color that had always frosted Finn before. “Because you see, you not only saved my sorry life, Finn, you changed it forever.” He grunted. “Or I should say the heart attack and fire did—flashing years of regret before my eyes.” A lump jerked hard in his throat as his gaze met Finn’s, his sorrowful sobriety convincing him that Aiden O’Shea was, indeed, a changed man. “But you gave me the chance to do it, Finn, and there’s no way I can ever thank you for that. But I sure aim to try.”
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