Patrick's Charm (The Bride Train, #2)

by E. E. Burke

  The weight of the cases dragged her shoulders lower. Tightening her hold on the leather handles, she kept her eyes trained on a quadrangle of businesses that formed the heart of town: Appleton’s mercantile, Middaugh’s dry goods store, a blacksmith and livery, and the largest building, the railroad depot. Other stores lined the sidewalks, as well as numerous saloons, which were the only places besides the hotel that rented out rooms—for men. Women didn’t take rooms above saloons unless they were engaged in the oldest business in the world.

  Charm’s spirits sank. Where she could find a room, she had no idea, but that was something she would have to figure out later. She had a show to put on first.

  The sound of creaking wheels came from behind. Out of the side of her eye she spotted a harnessed horse. My, but it was a big one. Her head didn’t come up to the top of the creature’s shoulder, and its feathered hooves looked the size of plates. The dappled gray monster plodded closer to the sidewalk, so close she feared it might step on her.

  Alarmed, she jerked out of the way.

  “Whoa now.” At the driver’s order, the horse came to a halt, let out a loud snort and shook its thick white mane. The man’s apologetic smile showed from beneath the shadow of a straw hat. “Sorry Miss. Sadie didn’t mean to scare you. We thought you might need a ride someplace.”

  Charm eyed the brawny young farmer who’d nearly run her over and had the nerve to blame a dumb beast. “The horse told you that?”

  He grinned, revealing white teeth with a slight gap between the front. “Sophie don’t have to talk. Just nods her head and I know what she means.”

  “A creative excuse, I’ll give you that.”

  “Pardon me, miss. You must think I’m a hayseed without any manners at all. Arch Childers, at your service.” He swept off his hat and executed a bow worthy of Edwin Booth. As he straightened, he threw his head to toss his shoulder-length auburn hair out of his eyes.

  The young farmer had a certain rustic appeal, even though he didn’t make her heart pound. Not like Mr. O’Shea. Charm scoffed at the fanciful notion. The Irish saloon owner wasn’t the only man in the world who could send her heart racing. There were others...she just hadn’t met them.

  “May we give you a ride?” Mr. Childers indicted the buckboard seat.

  Charm hesitated. She wasn’t in the habit of accepting an escort from men she didn’t know, and the idea of getting into a wagon with a stranger made her palms clammy. On the other hand, a stranger hadn’t assaulted her, and the alternative would be to drag her bags another three blocks through the mud.

  A first step in getting rid of her unseemly infatuation for Mr. O’Shea would be to allow other men to assist her. She bestowed a smile on the helpful Galahad. “Thank you, sir. I accept your offer.”

  With an eager smile, he hopped down and tossed both suitcases into the back of the wagon as if they weighed no more than a woman’s reticule. He secured them with ropes on top of a heavy canvas covering what looked like large boxes.

  When he offered his hand, she took it. That didn’t produce a thrill, either. She refused to think about the shivers elicited by Mr. O’Shea’s touch.

  She must fight this irrational attraction and keep her goal in mind. As soon as she repaid her debt to the railroad and saved enough money to start over, she would go further west, maybe to Virginia City. With a new identity.

  Mr. Childers circled the wagon, gave the ropes holding her bags one last tug, and then hopped up onto the seat. He gathered the reins. “Where to?”

  “O’Shea’s.” Charm braced for a look of surprise, or worse, censure. She received neither. Instead, her benefactor smiled.

  “What do you know? That’s where I’m headed.”

  Chapter 5

  Patrick peered in the mirror behind the bar and rubbed his fingers over his smooth shaven chin. He hadn’t seen his face in so long he’d forgotten what he looked like. Wasn’t missing anything.

  He adjusted his tie, smoothing the black points down, and brushed lint off the shawl collar of his favorite waistcoat, a dark green brocade. He thought it only appropriate to wear a suit for Charm’s debut.

  Where was she anyway?

  With a tug on the fob, he pulled up his watch and consulted the time. The hotel wasn’t far. Shouldn’t take her half the day to collect a few costumes.

  She might be staying away on purpose after he’d snapped at her, and for something that wasn’t her fault. His attraction to her. That, he couldn’t control, but he could curb his temper. When she arrived, he would be on his best behavior, meek as a wee lamb.

  A loud knocking came from the rear of the storeroom. “Hello? O’Shea?”

  Patrick started. In his preoccupation, he’d forgotten about his weekly shipment...and just in time. Now he’d have plenty of whiskey to satisfy a thirsty crowd.

  Arch Childers greeted him at the back door with a handshake and smile. “Sorry I’m late. Deliveries took longer than I expected.”

  Meaning O’Shea’s was last on his list of saloons and might not receive anything if he ran out. That didn’t sit well. Patrick refused to let the snub put him out of sorts right before Charm showed up. She already thought he had the temperament of a grizzly bear. For her sake, he would remain cheerful. “You’re here now, so you’re right on time.”

  Childers returned to his wagon, which he’d parked up next to the building just beyond a barrel of garbage that needed burning. Making deliveries to the rear of the building reduced the chances of being caught selling illegal whiskey. Though with all the other trouble in town, few people paid him any mind. The army had its hands full protecting the railroad tracks, and the sheriff didn’t care to enforce a law nobody liked.

  The bootlegger tossed a remark over his shoulder. “There’s someone out here to see you.”

  Patrick opened the door wide and stepped outside. Indeed there was...his Charm, sitting on the buckboard seat, wearing the brightest red dress he had ever seen, with her hands folded primly on her lap.

  She stared like she’d never seen him before when he went over to assist her. Rather than taking her hand, he grasped her around the waist, lifted her over the mud and set her on the threshold. He didn’t know how she’d ended up in the local moonshine distributor’s wagon, but he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  Biting her head off wouldn’t help, and would probably send her running. He forced his lips upward. “Glad to see you’re safe. I was beginning to worry.”

  She kept right on staring at him. “You...you look different.”

  Different. Not handsome, or good, or even just better. What was her opinion about Childers? Would she say he looked different? Patrick’s starched collar got tight, his neck hot. He fought to contain his jealousy.

  He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Why did you accept a ride from him?”

  Her smooth brow furrowed, a puzzled frown. “He was kind enough to offer me one.”

  Kind, my foot.

  Patrick sent Childers a warning look, but he was busy retrieving two large suitcases from the back of the wagon. Charm moved as he set them inside the door. The bulging cases would explode without the heavy straps holding them shut. Looked like she was moving in. The idea didn’t distress him, however unlikely. “Those are your costumes? Why didn’t you tell me you had so many? I could’ve gotten them.”

  Her color deepened. “We’ll discuss it later.”

  “Discuss what?” Her decision to accept a ride? Now he knew why with one look at those heavy suitcases. She wasn’t big enough to lift them, much less carry the huge suitcases three blocks. He should’ve gone after her.

  Her gaze shifted over his shoulder and her expression turned to distress. “What in the world...?”

  Patrick turned to see what had her so upset. The bootlegger had folded the canvas back, revealing pine coffins. Childers pried the top of one open with a crowbar. He retrieved two ceramic jugs. After setting those by the door, he went back and collected three more.

  “What i
s that?” Charm asked in a hushed voice.

  “Liquor.” Patrick carried the jugs inside. Later, he would transfer the contents to charred oaken barrels, which would turn the liquor a reddish color and give it a flavor close to bourbon whiskey. Far cheaper than purchasing whiskey from distillers back East and paying ridiculous taxes.

  While Charm watched with a look of amazement, he transported the remainder of the jugs into the storeroom. She’d tasted the brandy he made by mixing the brew with fermented fruit—wasn’t a lady’s drink.

  He lifted her heavy cases and set them over by the stairs. Costumes. Couldn’t imagine why she needed so many. She would want a place to put them, and to get dressed. He hadn’t thought of it earlier and should have. He wasn’t doing a very good job taking care of his good luck charm. “You can have one of the rooms upstairs.”

  Her face paled.

  He could’ve kicked himself. Working women had rooms over saloons. He quickly explained. “A dressing room is what I mean. Nothing else.”

  “Got everything unloaded...”

  Patrick turned at the remark. Childers would have to walk up about the time he stepped on his tongue. “Fine, thanks.”

  On delivery day, they typically ended up in a long conversation about the finer points of making moonshine or arguing over local politics. Today, Patrick was in no mood to chat. He wanted Childers gone as soon as possible.

  The bootlegger gave Charm a flirtatious smile.

  Patrick fought the urge to knock the other man’s teeth out. “I’ll settle with you inside.” When he turned to Charm, he softened his tone. “Won’t be long. Then I’ll take these bags up to your dressing room. The door has a bolt on the inside.”

  “That’s good to know.” She looked at him, not Childers.

  She followed him into the saloon. Patrick had never been so keenly aware of a woman’s presence, and it made him wonder if her magnetism extended to other men. Saints, he hoped not. He might end up killing someone.

  He retrieved the lockbox from a drawer in the back bar and counted out what he owed. The cost of homebrew had gone up to twelve dollars a gallon. He’d been forced to raise his prices, but he could still sell drinks for twenty-five cents a shot and make a profit. With Charm performing, he would bring in even more. Enough to pay off his debts and make improvements.

  Unless the railroad agent assigned the land to McGill. Then he would lose everything.

  He glanced up, caught Charm watching him and gave her a smile. She blushed and looked away. The classic reaction from a woman who found a man attractive.

  Maybe her stunned remark earlier meant she liked him looking different. She shied away from him when he touched her. That didn’t mean she disliked his touch. She might like it too much. And the way she’d fussed over him, not like a mother...more like a wife.

  Patrick’s heart beat faster. Why was he so bloody slow to see the obvious? She shared this insane attraction, or his name wasn’t O’Shea.

  He could ask for Charm’s hand and his problem would be solved. Marriage to Charm could turn out to be a bigger problem. Desperation made a man risk what he wouldn’t otherwise. Knowing the attraction was mutual gave him confidence, and having enough in common to make the marriage sensible made him more comfortable with the idea. Besides, it would benefit both of them. He’d keep his land, and she would have his protection and be kept safe from men who would try to take advantage. She was naïve to think she could bring her things over here and not suffer the consequences. He’d save her from herself.

  Patrick handed Childers his money.

  The bootlegger folded the bills and tucked them into a leather pouch threaded through a belt that also held a sheath. He adjusted his coat over a bone-handled knife locals called an Arkansas Toothpick. Unlike his brothers, Arch wasn’t known for being quarrelsome, yet few were willing to push the strapping young man into a fight. For his part, Patrick avoided confrontations. He’d had enough of killing in the war. However, he’d make an exception if Childers kept sending sheep-eyed looks in Charm’s direction.

  “Miss LaBelle tells me she’s gonna be performing...”

  “That’s right.” Patrick didn’t invite Childers to return. Reason told him the more men who came to the show, the more money he’d make. But he’d stopped listening to reason the moment he saw Charm sitting in the bootlegger’s wagon.

  Childers smoothed his hand over his hair, preening as she watched. “Think I’ll come back later so I can see you perform, Miss LaBelle. I bet you sing as pretty as a songbird.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Childers. I do hope you’ll make it back in time to see the show.”

  Logically, Patrick knew Charm was just being polite. But hearing her issue an invitation to Childers heaped fiery embers on the searing jealousy burning his insides.

  Charm belonged to him. The sooner he established that, the better.

  “You’ve got other deliveries to make. I’ll see you out the back.” Patrick took hold of the younger man’s beefy arm.

  Childers frowned when he couldn’t shake off the grip. “I’m in no hurry.”

  “Sure you are.”

  Arch kept his feet planted, the friendly smile fading. The muscles in his arm tensed.

  Patrick glanced at the knife. On second thought, a different approach might’ve been wiser.

  “Oh, Mr. O’Shea. I almost forgot. I have a favor to ask.” Charm glided over. The moment she laid her hand on his arm, it seemed something inside him unlocked, and his grip on the other man released.

  “Excuse me for interrupting...” She acted as if she hadn’t noticed they were about to come to blows. Except, her fingers trembled.

  “No, ma’am, you ain’t interrupting anything. I was on my out.” Childers adjusted his coat. With a careless smile, he touched his fingers to the brim of his hat. “Miss LaBelle, it’s been my pleasure. Until later.”

  As soon as the back door slammed shut, Charm turned with an icy glare.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  Patrick didn’t answer right off. Her question could be interpreted a number of ways. She could be referring to his jealousy, or to his stupidity, or to something else entirely.

  He made it to the bar without limping and stashed the lockbox in a drawer. His pride had already taken a beating when she stepped in and saved him from having to fight a man who might’ve whipped him. No, not might have. Defeat was a foregone conclusion. Childers had every advantage: health, strength, agility, and a damn big knife.

  “You should be careful who you accept rides from...” The moment the rebuke left Patrick’s lips, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

  Charm’s eyes flashed with fury. “Mr. Childers behaved like a gentleman. You, on the other hand, are being an ass.”

  She applied the lash with more precision than the officer who’d flayed his bare back, a punishment for being drunk and disorderly. Hadn’t he learned anything since then?

  More restraint. That’s what he needed. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to stand by calmly while men drooled over his wife, something that was guaranteed to happen as long as she performed. His bad temper had gotten him into trouble too many times to count. He couldn’t let it chase off his good luck. That is, if he hadn’t already ruined his chance at talking Charm into marrying him.

  ***

  Charm applauded the restraint she showed by not walking over there and slapping Mr. O’Shea. The impertinent man had some nerve. How dare he rebuke her for accepting a ride when he hadn’t bothered to offer his assistance, and then foolishly antagonized the man who came to her aid? He all but challenged Mr. Childers to a fight by trying to drag him out the door.

  She shivered, rubbing at the chill on her arms. Had she not intervened, Mr. O’Shea might be sprawled out on the floor with a knife plunged into his chest. It could’ve happened. She’d seen fights spiral out of control, had witnessed men stabbed to death, shot, struck on the head with a chair, all because they couldn’t control their tempers. Or jealousy. That�
��s what appeared to have set him off, though she’d done nothing to provoke it.

  Unable to deal with the onslaught of emotions, she turned sharply and set off after her suitcases. Her skirts swirled, throwing bits of caked mud off the hemline, the result of her brief walk with suitcases in tow. Mr. O’Shea had left her bags by the stairs in the rear of the building where liquor and foodstuffs were stored. She would fetch suitcases and take them upstairs herself. She didn’t require his assistance.

  The storeroom had a distinct odor peculiar to fermented beverages. Canned goods lined the shelves, and on the floor next to casks of beer and whiskey were barrels labeled salt crackers. Greasy sausage links dangled from a nail driven into a beam over her head.

  Her stomach growled. Maybe she could have one of those sausage links. She would prefer potpie, except she would choke on it just thinking about those horrid people who put her out in the street.

  Mr. O’Shea caught up and reached the suitcases before she did. He moved fast, given his limp. His legs were so much longer than hers, he made the distance in half the time.

  “Miss LaBelle...Charm...” He stammered her name.

  She hadn’t seen him so awkward. Embarrassed, perhaps. He ought to be.

  “You ran off before I...” His eyes begged forgiveness. “Here, let me get these suitcases. I’ll show you to your dressing room, and get you something to eat. Don’t want you thinking I starve all my workers.”

  The dimpled smile melted her heart. She restrained her fear, which told her to throw herself into his arms and beg him to promise her to never get into a fight, to never leave her.

  She stared at him, horrified, as a different kind of fear took hold. The devilish man had infected her...with sentimentalism. Something she never suffered from before. Dramatic emotions were reserved for the stage, not real life.

  “After you.” He nodded at the stairs leading into the unknown.

  Her hand trembled and she grasped the railing. The risers behind her creaked and groaned. He followed at an uneven pace. She grew worried. “Are the suitcases too heavy?