A crash sounded overhead. Grace stood and headed for the parlor door. “Sounds like Charity and Hope are going to need an intermediary or Aggie isn’t going to have a house left standing.”
Another crash shook the ceiling. Grace frowned and hurried from the room.
Aggie bounced Abbie Rose up and down on her hip again, causing her voice to garble her reply. “Charity and Hope are attempting to lay claim to their rooms from the four bedrooms upstairs. But by the noises coming through the ceiling, this is not going to be a peaceful transition.”
Faith watched Aggie play with Grace’s little girl. She could hear female voices arguing upstairs and male voices coming from Mr. Hanover’s library. This was her family. She was so grateful for every one of them. And yet—
There it was again. She couldn’t help but wonder what her real family, her blood kin, was like. Did she look like her mother? Her father? Did she have siblings somewhere? Were they lost and abandoned, as well, or was she the only child? Where were her parents? Alive somewhere trying to find her? Or dead?
“What are you so deep in thought about, Faith?” Aggie asked.
Pulled from her private reflections, Faith shrugged. “Nothing of importance. Can I get you some more tea?” She rose from her seat and picked up the silver teapot on the table next to the bookcase by the window.
Faith could tell Aggie didn’t believe her denial. Thankfully, the woman left the subject alone.
“Grace?” John stuck his head inside the parlor door.
Aggie motioned him to come inside. “Grace went upstairs to barter a small respite of peace between Charity and Hope. Is there something I can do for you?”
Faith knew the minute the man’s eyes lit on his little girl. There was warmth and love radiating off every inch of him when he smiled in Abbie Rose’s direction.
“Hi, Baby Girl. Come to your papa.” The big man walked with an easy grace belying his large frame. The minute the baby spied her father, little arms and legs flailed like a rug beater on wash day.
John was a muscled giant and yet he was so gentle with his child. The sight of her sister’s husband and daughter made Faith’s heart ache with longing. But she was not naive enough to think she could ever have something like this.
Faith watched until tears pricked. “I’ll see if Grace needs reinforcements.” She cringed at the sound of her voice warbling with emotion. Quitting the room, she caught a snip of conversation.
“Aggie, please let Grace know I went down to the Holy Moses. I think Liam could use a friend about now.”
Faith knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but the mention of Liam’s name caused her heart to flutter. She paused just outside the parlor door, careful to stay out of sight while she pretended to busy herself with a vase full of fresh flowers sitting on the hall table.
“Why would Liam need a friend? Has something happened?”
Muted footsteps and toddler squeals followed by Aggie’s, “Come here, Abbie Rose” indicated John had passed his daughter back to Aggie for safekeeping.
“Well, you know today wasn’t easy for him. Faith’s trial and all.”
Faith held her breath. She would love to know why Liam always seemed so angry with her. Was it something she had done? Or said? If so, she would apologize posthaste. There was something about the man that made her...feel things.
“Why would Faith’s trial be hard on Liam? He and Hiram worked tirelessly to see justice done. I would think today would be a day of utmost celebrations. What am I missing?”
“You know Liam is an orphan, don’t you?”
Faith heard Aggie’s voice vibrate as she bounced Abbie Rose across her knees when she spoke.
“Yes, Hiram has mentioned that on several occasions. But, I’m ashamed to say, I’ve never asked for details. Is there something I should know? What is it about Faith’s trial that would affect Liam in such a way?”
The long pause caused Faith to lean a little bit closer to the edge of the door.
“Well, the fact is, Liam’s parents were killed. Murdered, actually.”
Faith heard Aggie gasp and the room was silent except for the jabbering of the baby.
“Murdered? How? What happened?”
“Faith No-Name, what are you doing?”
Caught listening to the private conversation, Faith whirled to find Grace just behind her, an amused look on her face.
“I—”
Grace started to say something else, but Faith stopped her.
“Shush. I know it’s wrong but I must hear this.”
The shocked look on Grace’s face should have been enough to make her turn tail and hide upstairs. But she couldn’t. She had to know how Liam’s family had been murdered. And why he was so angry all the time.
John’s voice was loud and clear when he spoke.
“Indians. Liam’s parents were killed in a raid on their wagon train. Liam’s younger sister was hauled onto the back of a horse by one of the warriors, and Liam was left behind to bury the dead.”
“Oh, dear God, how the lad must be suffering.”
Faith’s ears began to ring and the room faded to black. Now she knew why Liam was always so angry. It was her. She heard Grace’s voice calling for her husband to come help somewhere in the distance. And then, blessed oblivion.
4
Liam sat nursing his third glass of whiskey when John pushed through the swinging front door of the Holy Moses Saloon.
He watched the long-time barmaid’s eyes brighten when his friend walked in the room. He knew Charlotte’s unrequited love for the big man was a lost cause. John was head over heels in love with his beautiful wife, not to mention his baby daughter. Charlotte had not a chance in hell at turning John Malone’s head.
John sat on the bar stool beside him and ordered a bourbon and water. The barkeep wasted no time and soon the gentle giant was nursing his own glass between two large and calloused hands. He took a sip and spoke. “I thought perhaps you could use a friend about now. If I’m wrong, I’ll leave.”
Liam cast a side glance at his friend then back to the mirror behind the bar. “No. Don’t go. I could use someone to—”
His words hung in the air as tears stung his eyes. Damn it. Would he ever get over this excruciating pain? And guilt?
“To talk to?” John urged him to continue.
Liam nodded his head and finished off his whiskey, signaling Charlotte to pour another. For two cents, he’d take the buxom barmaid upstairs and bury himself in her softness. Anything to forget that horrible day. About his family. About the raid. And about the dark-haired beauty that haunted his traitorous dreams.
He watched the amber-colored liquid sparkle in the flickering glow of the kerosene lanterns overhead, filtering through the stale smoke of tobacco.
John’s deep voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts. “You know Faith had nothing to do with your family’s deaths. She’s as much a victim of life as you are.”
Liam didn’t answer for a few minutes. He wanted to give his rational side a chance to override his angry side. Finally, he nodded.
“Yeah. I know it. At least my head does. But every time I look at her, I don’t see an innocent woman abandoned by her own people. I see her kin, butchering and killing my people.” His words stopped short as he worked to regain his emotions. More in control, he continued. “I know she had nothing to do with any of it.”
Liam watched John stare into his glass of amber liquid. When the big man didn’t speak, Liam continued. “And, somehow, some way, I’ve got to find a way to work with her. Every damn day for the next year. And that, my friend, isn’t something that will come easy. I don’t see how it can happen. We are as different as dark of night is to the light of day.”
Liam could see his friend measure his words before he spoke. Finally, John turned to him and thumbed his hat back on his head. “So, start there.”
Perhaps Liam had had one too many glasses of whiskey. His friend no longer made sense. “Start where?”
“Recognize your differences, but then focus on your similarities. Make one of those lists you are so famous for. I think once you get started, you’ll find you are actually more alike than you think.”
Liam scoffed. “We have no similarities. She’s an—well, you know what she is.”
He cringed inwardly when he said the words, but he couldn’t seem to keep the venomous comment from escaping past his lips when he talked about the woman. He ignored all the other feelings she invoked.
John smiled at him like an indulgent father talking to a tantrum-throwing child. “Oh, come now, Liam. You’re an intelligent man. Educated even. If you really gave yourself an honest chance to think about it, I’ll bet you would be surprised to see how many similarities you do share with Faith.”
Liam snorted his disagreement.
John chuckled. “Well, you think about what I said. The more common ground you can find with your new office companion, the better your year is going to go. I’ve got to rescue Grace from her two crazy sisters and get her and Abbie Rose home before dark.”
“You mean three crazy sisters, don’t you?” Liam’s crooked grin expressed his sense of humor.
“I doubt Faith will give anyone much trouble tonight. If I know my wife, she has her sister upstairs in bed with the covers tucked high under her chin and a pot of tea down her.”
Liam’s curiosity was piqued. “Is the woman ill?”
“I don’t think so, but she did faint in the hallway just before I left to meet you. Grace thinks it is all the stress from the trial and such. I’m not so sure, but I’m no doctor. Anyway, I’ll be back in town tomorrow. I’m hauling a load of timber to the Amethyst mine. If you want, I can stop by your office tomorrow. Just in case you need a friend.”
John slapped him on the back and nodded to Charlotte who nearly fell off the customer’s lap she was sitting on. Liam sat at the bar and stared into his empty glass. Could there be something to John’s words?
He pulled out his notepad from his coat pocket and began to write. Liam loved his notepads. He solved all the world’s problems on them. Perhaps, and that’s a big perhaps, he could at least find a little common ground so he and Faith could work together. His only other alternative was to find other employment. He had worked too long and too hard to let a—well, someone like Faith, derail his career.
He threw two coins on the bar and stood. He was a little woozy on his feet.
One of the girls sidled up to him. “Goin’ somewhere, handsome?”
Liam looked down at the garish makeup and hard lines on the woman’s face. Suddenly her face was replaced by coffee-colored skin, blue-black hair, and the darkest, most soulful eyes he had ever seen. The kind of eyes that promised secrets behind closed doors. He shook the image away and peeled the woman off. He needed to get something to eat.
“Yes. I’ve got to get home and get to work.”
“Ah, honey. Don’t go. Not yet. What kind of work could be more important than us getting to know each other?”
The woman’s rot-gut whiskey breath almost made him heave his own intake of the foul stuff.
He grabbed his hat and stuffed it on his head, tucking his notebook back into his coat pocket. He left the disappointed woman standing in the middle of the saloon. He had a lot of work to do before tomorrow morning and he was going to have to dig deep to find the answers he was looking for, if they even existed. Similarities, huh? He might as well get started.
5
Hours after her unfortunate collapse outside the Hanovers’ parlor door, Faith lay in the beautiful bed in her new room and listened to the night sounds of her hosts’ big house. The soft rustling sound outside her window was a gift from the boughs of the big pine rocking in the cool July breeze outside her window. Its fragrant needles flooded her room with an earthy scent.
She sighed at what could have been a very embarrassing moment. Instead, Grace came to her rescue. Again. Her sister convinced everyone it was the excitement of the day combined with an anxious stomach. No one questioned the story, and Mrs. Hanover agreed not to send for Doc Howard. Instead, they all guided her to the dining room and plied her with endless plates of meat, cheese, and bread budding. Only she and Grace knew she had been eavesdropping when Liam’s secret was exposed.
Faith turned under the luxurious bedcovers, punching her pillow into a more comfortable shape. The truth was much worse than she could have imagined. It was devastating. No wonder he couldn’t stand to look at her. Or touch her.
The sheer terror he must have known when he watched his parents murdered by Indians. Her people. He couldn’t un-see that no matter how much time passed.
Whether they were really her people or not, no one would ever know. She didn’t know who her people were. And it didn’t matter what tribe they were from. Society colored all people in brown skin with the same brush. Lethal. Soulless. Savages.
Rolling over in the plush bed, she gazed out the side window overlooking the carriage house. The moon was visible through the lace curtains, sending a silvery glow through the window.
Her room was beautiful. The very one she would have picked if she had been given the chance. Located at the back of the house, there was no noise from the street traffic like the ones Hope and Charity had chosen. They said they chose the front rooms because the noises reminded them of Rosie’s. Faith was clueless why anyone would want to be reminded of that place, even if it was the only home they had known for nearly eight years. It was the place where the mayor’s son tried to—enough of that.
Charity and Hope competed with one another as if their lives depended on the outcome. Arguing. Shoving. You would swear the girls didn’t have a lick of sense. And, as usual, Grace acted as their mediator until, finally, everything was settled.
Faith smiled in the dark. Frankly, it seemed like an awful lot of commotion and energy trying to beat each other at something that didn’t matter much. What mattered to Faith now was to stay out of trouble and try to become invisible. Who knew? Maybe someday she could make enough money to start her own business. Buy her own place. Be accountable only to herself.
She shook her head and adjusted her bedcovers. Who was she kidding? No one was going to leave her alone to be a successful business woman. Every time she stepped out of her comfort zone to try something new, someone shoved her back down where they thought she belonged.
She needed to get some sleep. She hadn’t slept much last night, worrying about the trial, and tomorrow was going to be overflowing with a different kind of stress.
A sense of dread covered Faith like a funeral shroud. She would be in the same office as the angry Mr. O’Brien nearly every day for the next year. Could she face him now that she knew the reason for his rage? She really had no choice, but how could she make up for something so atrocious and not of her doing?
Her heart ached at the thought of wanting someone so much and knowing he would never want her in return. Was this what the poets meant when they wrote about unrequited love and heartache?
Faith lay in the dark and watched the moon climb higher into the night sky. It was a beautiful sight to behold. Without the lights of Kansas City to dim their glow, the stars shined more brilliantly than she had ever seen them. There must be a million of them twinkling against the midnight-blue tapestry of the Colorado sky. It was as if they were welcoming her to her new life.
A faint breeze stirred the curtains through the slit at the bottom of the open window. It was July, but the night air in the mountains was still cool enough to require a layer of blankets.
Faith loved the clean, fresh air of Creede. She would be forever grateful to be out of the saloon she and her sisters called home for so long. And out of the back alleys where anything could happen. And did.
She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. But, as always, the images of the man who attacked her came back to taunt her. She wished she could take that evening back.
Perhaps if she had stayed downstairs a little bit longer. Or taken the grand sta
ircase instead of the narrow one at the back of the saloon employees took when they wanted to get from the main salon to the second floor without being seen.
Faith had known the man was drunk. One didn’t work in a saloon for eight years without learning to tell when a person was drunk or sober. And he wasn’t even a man. Not really. He had been an immature, spoiled young man with a grown man’s desires.
Punching her pillow again, she turned on to her back and stared at the ceiling. Tears stung her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to shoot him. She had done everything she could think of to thwart his intentions.
But when he forced himself into the room she shared with her sisters and shoved her onto one of the beds, ripping her sleeve and running his hands up her legs, she knew she had no choice.
Rosie O’Malley, the owner of the Red Slipper Saloon and the only mother figure any of them could remember, had given them a gun for protection. They kept their shared gun in the cabinet of the chamber pot. Faith was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get to it with the man’s weight pressing her against the mattress.
She’d remembered what Rosie had told them. “Kick them in the low hanging fruit if you want to knock ‘em to their knees. Works every time.” So Faith kneed her drunken assailant and left him writhing on the floor. For about five seconds. Once he recovered, he was angry. Very, very angry and not in the mood to listen to reason.
Faith had managed to grab the gun and threatened him with it, hoping against hope he would just go and leave her alone.
But he’d sneered at her as he grabbed his crotch and staggered to his feet. “You little heathen hell bitch. I’m gonna teach you a lesson about respect.”
Faith closed her eyes, trying to chase the images of that night back into the shadows where they lurked. But she could never quite forget the man’s shocked expression and drunken, blood-soaked slobber when she pulled the trigger and the bullet hit him square in the chest.
Faith Page 3
