by Renee Ryan
“As it turns out,” Bridget said and let out a little laugh, “Gavin is interested in becoming a lawman one day.”
“Oh. Yes.” Maeve nodded. “I can see that.”
“Bridget said the same thing,” Nora confirmed in her big-sister voice. “And we all know she’s very insightful about these sorts of things.”
“That she is.” Maeve pressed her toe to Bridget’s and gave her an unreadable smile. “So tell me about your new job. Are the Black children better behaved than the Atwater girls?”
Something in Maeve’s voice made Bridget bristle. “Why don’t you ask Nora about her job?”
“I did earlier, when you were speaking with Flynn in the rain.” Maeve rolled her eyes. “She said it was fine.”
If Nora hadn’t felt the need to expand, then neither would Bridget. “My job is fine, too.”
Maeve sighed dramatically. “If you won’t talk about your job, then tell me about William Black.” Her voice held mild curiosity, an obvious ruse to cover the fact that she was mining for information. “From what I remember of the man, he seemed a bit severe.”
That was the same word Nora had used when she’d described Will. He was many things, but severe he was not. He was kind, generous, loyal and honorable to the bone. Plus, there was no doubt he loved his children dearly and shared in all their joys and excitement.
Closing her eyes, Bridget called to mind an image of him rolling on the floor with the twins, and another of him tossing a stick for Digger to chase after, and one more of him sitting in a chair far too small for his frame while he listened to Bridget read to the children.
Severe? No, her sisters were wrong. Will was…he was…remarkable.
“When you first met him—” she began, feeling the need to defend him “—of course he seemed intense. He was concerned about his intended.”
“That must have been it.” Looking unconvinced, Maeve smoothed her fingertip across one of Grace’s eyebrows. “What about his mother? How are you getting on with her?”
“Actually rather well.” Before her sister could continue with her questions, Bridget added, “And I adore the children most of all. Stop worrying, Maeve, I’m quite happy with my position in Will’s home.”
Maeve’s expression sharpened. “If you say so.”
“I say so.”
Grace chose that moment to let out an earsplitting wail.
Now that, Bridget thought with a large sense of relief, was the perfect ending to Maeve’s not-too-subtle inquisition. They spent the rest of the ride discussing Grace’s care and what was being done to find her parents.
* * *
By the time Flynn directed the carriage onto the road leading to Laird’s house, the rain had stopped and sunbeams cut bold lines through several seams in the clouds.
Bridget looked out the window, bracing herself with a hand on the seat as they bumped and splashed along the unkempt path. Mosquitoes buzzed in her ears and she noticed gnats swarming in clumps around the puddles.
“You might want to cover Grace,” Bridget warned, turning back to glance at her sisters. “The rain has brought out the insects.” She swatted at a fly hovering close to her nose.
“I’ll take care of it.” Nora reached out her arms and took the baby from Maeve before settling a swaddling cloth around her tiny body.
Once the carriage came to a halt Bridget jumped to the ground ahead of everyone else. Steam rose off a nearby puddle and snaked around her feet.
Shrugging off the heat, she looked around her. Will’s carriage sat off to her left, looking quite empty. Wondering where he could be, she turned to face the house. He was standing on the stoop, his arms hanging loosely by his sides.
The moment their eyes met something flared to life in his face, a look that Bridget knew was reserved solely for her.
She experienced a ridiculous urge to run to him. He was so different from any man she’d ever known, strong, principled and very, very masculine.
A ray of sunlight caught on his hair, streaking a hint of gold through the black. He seemed to be silently calling her to him.
She started forward, slowly, inch by methodical inch.
“Well, I say.” Maeve tugged her to a halt. “I’m a bit scandalized.”
“What?” Bridget yanked her gaze away from Will. “Why?”
“That man on the stoop is looking at you rather—” she lowered her voice to a whisper “—warmly for an employer looking at his nanny.”
“Maeve.”
“Now don’t go acting all outraged on me, Bridget Murphy. You’re looking at him in the very same manner.”
“I…I…” she sputtered and gasped and sputtered some more. “You can’t possibly know… That is, I’m not…”
“Oh, stop it.” Maeve slapped her arm affectionately. “You know exactly what I mean.”
Unfortunately Bridget did know. She’d been staring at Will like a lovesick cow. “Please tell me I wasn’t batting my eyelashes.”
“Not quite, but close.”
Bridget gasped.
“I’m only teasing you.” Maeve patted her hand in a show of sisterly solidarity. “Now, come along, Bridget. I believe proper introductions are in order.”
“You’ve already met Will, back in Boston. Remember?”
“Ah, yes, but I’m afraid we must begin anew. In fact, after what I just saw pass between you two…” Maeve gave her a haughty stare that rivaled any Mrs. Fitzwilliam had bestowed on them “…it’s imperative I become better acquainted with your…employer.”
Chapter Fifteen
Will had no idea what her sister said to Bridget, but he sensed it had something to do with him. Watching the two with their heads bent so closely together he saw the family resemblance at once.
Although Bridget’s hair was darker and she was taller by a few inches, both women shared delicate bone structure and the same remarkable shape to their eyes. Their creamy, alabaster skin and symmetrical features reminded Will of Olivia’s porcelain dolls.
They were both stunning women, but Bridget’s beauty was softer, giving her a more approachable air.
The oldest sister joined them and the three locked arms. There was no mistaking the bold picture they made. Sisters, kith and kin, family. Remarkable women who had endured hardships together, and had not only survived their trials but had flourished. Their unity reminded Will of the Scripture from Ecclesiastes, a threefold cord is not quickly broken.
Bridget stood between the other two, arms linked with her sisters, her eyes seeking his a second time.
When their gazes met again, he smiled.
She lowered her head and sighed. He liked her reaction. It made him feel very masculine and more than a little possessive. She was becoming a part of his life in ways he’d never imagined. He thought of her when he first woke in the morning and right before he drifted off to sleep at night.
He knew something important was happening between them, something he didn’t want to analyze too closely just yet. She hadn’t committed to him, had refused his proposal. She could leave him at any time. He had to remember that.
Enough stalling. Will started down the steps, just as Bridget broke away from her sisters. She met him halfway across the lawn.
“Thank you for coming today.” Her hands twisted in the fabric of her skirt.
Was she nervous? Around him?
A prickly feeling tingled in his fingertips. They itched to touch her, to soothe away her anxiousness. He placed his hand on her arm. “I’m happy to help.”
A movement behind her caught his attention and he looked over Bridget’s shoulder. Her sisters were watching them intently, with what looked like suspicion in their eyes. He arched a brow, both annoyed and pleased by their loyalty. These women understood fam
ily, better than most.
Not wishing to upset anyone, he dropped his hand and took a step back. “The Coulters are inside, waiting for you to tell them if they should move out of their room to another smaller one upstairs.”
Bridget’s gaze snapped to his. “No. Oh, no. We don’t expect them to move. I must speak with them at once.” She hurried into the house, leaving him to stare after her.
Nora started forward as well, the baby tucked securely in her arms. She stopped next to Will and glowered at him. “What did you say to upset my sister?”
Her obvious concern for Bridget took away any annoyance on his part. It was good to know her family valued her as much as she deserved. “James and Agnes are waiting to be told where to move. I think they may have misunderstood your intentions.”
“Oh, no.” She hurried toward the house behind Bridget. Watching her rush off, he realized he hadn’t told her about the cakes of chocolate he’d brought for her to use in her baking.
“Well.” The third sister joined him at the bottom of the stairs and gave him a rueful smile. “You certainly have a way with women, Mr. Black.”
He glanced over his shoulder, trying not to flinch when the door slammed behind Nora. “One would think I’d insulted them.”
“One would think.” Although her words came out flat and unemotional, this youngest Murphy sister regarded him with an amused twinkle in her eye. She seemed to understand his confusion. “What, precisely, did you say to them?”
“I merely told them that the Coulters are awaiting their instructions as to where to move their belongings.” He lifted a helpless shoulder.
“Ah.” Her eyes filled with wisdom far beyond her years. “That would do it.”
He lifted an eyebrow, still confused.
The woman patted his arm in a gesture that fell just short of patronizing. “After what we went through those last few days in Ireland neither of my sisters would subject the Coulters to a similar misfortune.”
At last Will understood. Bridget had told him about their Irish landlord’s actions. Considering what they’d suffered, they would never expect the Coulters to relocate, not even to a different room in the house.
Maeve patted his arm again, this time with more affection. “I had better go check on my sisters and the worried caretakers.”
“That might be wise.”
She walked past him, eyes fixed on the house. She climbed the steps a bit slower than her sisters had, but Will caught the urgency in her gaze. If he’d suspected otherwise, he now knew the truth. All three Murphy sisters were godly, kindhearted women who put the needs of others ahead of their own.
Evaluating the collection of emotions churning in his gut, Will decided one very important fact. He’d been blessed to have met Bridget Murphy. She was a special woman, born in a special family. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be the same for knowing her, and was glad for the opportunity. What he would do next to make the most of that opportunity required some considerable thought.
For now, he set out toward the black, well-made carriage sitting a hundred feet away from his own. He eyed the man standing beside it, the one he’d met in Boston, the one who had declared his intended bride officially dead.
Flynn Gallagher watched his approach with an unreadable expression.
At the moment Will wasn’t in the mood for a lengthy conversation with the other man. He’d just as soon forget about their last meeting, at least for today. “Put me to work.”
Flynn met his gaze, smiled at last and then clasped him on the back in the universal male gesture of welcome. “Gladly, my good man.”
While they were still unraveling the ropes, Cameron Long rode up on his horse. “Want another pair of hands?” he called out.
“Absolutely,” they said as one.
Cam jumped down and then looped his horse’s reins over a tree branch near a patch of wet grass. The steed lowered his head and happily munched away. Introductions were made and the men took on the task of unloading the Murphy sisters’ belongings.
Discussing the wonders of female packing habits—all the while marveling at how even women of modest means could collect a multitude of unnecessary items—the three men proceeded to unload bags, trunks and carrying cases.
They worked as a well-oiled team, as though they’d been toiling together for a lifetime. Will had a strange sense of homecoming, as though he’d finally found his place in the world.
That didn’t make sense. He’d worked in his family’s mill since he was a boy, had always known his future was there, making chocolate, providing jobs for others. Today, however, he’d been given a glimpse of something else, something equally permanent yet altogether different. Bridget Murphy was at the center, drawing him close, calling to a part of him long dormant that yearned for a richer sense of family in his life.
Uncomfortable with the sensation, he picked up a large trunk and made his way to the house without stopping.
Once inside he shifted his load and waited for instructions. Bridget pointed him in the direction of the staircase. “That goes in the first room on the right.”
After a short nod he headed up the stairs, keeping his eyes cast down as he went. The house was clean, but the structure needed considerable repair. He avoided the third, fifth and seventh step. All three were warped and might not hold his weight. He wasn’t sure about the rest. He would have to take a closer look. Before he left today, Will promised himself he would fix them and any other hazards that might appear.
With that in mind, he placed the trunk in the appointed room and then went in search of the other two men. He found them at the carriage, unloading the last of the bags.
“We have a problem,” he said without preamble.
They both lifted their heads, but Flynn spoke up first. “What sort of problem?”
Will opened his mouth to explain then stopped himself. “Not here, where we might be overheard by the women. Over there.”
He directed them toward a large shade tree where a neglected bench sat under a sign that read Colleen’s Garden. He started to prop his foot on the bench then stopped himself. Like many of the stairs, the crumbling wood probably wouldn’t hold his weight. “The house needs some immediate repairs.”
Cam’s eyebrows slammed together. The gesture gave him a ruthless look. “What kind of immediate repairs are we talking about?”
“You were in the house for all of five minutes,” Flynn pointed out before Will could answer Cam’s question. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Five minutes was long enough to discover that three of the stairs leading to the second floor are ready to collapse.” Will shuddered at the thought of Bridget navigating them at night, without the benefit of decent lighting.
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Flynn looked up at the house, his eyes filled with concern.
Good, the man should be worried. He was Bridget’s brother-in-law, her family. That made her safety his concern, too. But no matter how Flynn handled the situation, Will wasn’t going to allow Bridget to live in a house where she could get hurt merely making her way up the stairs to her bedroom.
“What else?” This question came from Cam. He looked as worried as Flynn. “Is the kitchen safe?”
“I’m sure there are other points of concern, but as Flynn pointed out I was only inside a few minutes.”
“Then our first step is to decide what’s what.” By the look on his face it was obvious Cam’s mind was already working on a plan of action. “Once we decide which of the repairs need immediate attention we’ll have a better idea where to start.”
It was a solid suggestion, smart and logical. “And if we discover anything life threatening,” Will added, “the women won’t be staying here tonight.”
Cam flattened his lips into a grim lin
e. “Agreed.”
Walking shoulder to shoulder, they took off toward the house. Two steps out Flynn moved into their direct path.
“Whoa, gentlemen, now wait just a moment.” Feet splayed, he crossed his arms over his chest and held steady. “Not that I don’t agree with you, in principle, but you boys are forgetting one very important point.”
“What’s that?” they asked in tandem.
“Other than my wife, Bridget and Nora Murphy are two of the most intractable women I know.”
“What do you mean by intractable?” Cam asked in his most inflexible lawman voice. The unspoken message was that he could hold his own against a stubborn woman.
Flynn widened his stance. “You have to understand. The Murphy sisters have been single-minded about this house from the day they left Ireland. Now that it’s theirs, you won’t be able to convince them to leave tonight, maybe not ever.”
Although deep in his gut Will feared Flynn was right, he also knew he had his own stubborn streak, especially when it came to protecting what was his. And like it or not, Bridget worked in his home now. That made her one of his.
“Intractable?” Will repeated the descriptor the other man had used to define Bridget and her sister. “We’ll just see about that.”
* * *
“No.” Bridget planted her fists on her hips and frowned at Will. How could he ask such a thing? When he knew how important this house was to her? “I am not leaving my own home. Don’t ask me again.”
“I’m not asking you.” He towered over her, his face an immovable slab of hard angles and firm lines. “I’m telling you.”
“Is that right?” She resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “Well, then, don’t tell me again.”
He softened his gaze and reached to her.
She took a step back. His hand fell away.
“Why are you being so stubborn?” He seemed genuinely confused by her resistance.
That hurt more than his words. “You know how important this house is to me.”
“Bridget, listen to me. It’s not safe.” He spoke slowly, all impatient energy and suppressed power flickering across his face and tightening his lips.
