Pioneer Devotion
The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Six
Ramona Flightner
Grizzly Damsel Publishing
Copyright © 2021 by Ramona Flightner
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its publisher, Ramona Flightner and Grizzly Damsel Publishing. Copyright protection extends to all excerpts and previews by this author included in this book.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. The author or publisher is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Cover design by Jennifer Quinlan.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
15. Sneak Peek at Pioneer Ardor!
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About Ramona
Chapter 1
Fort Benton, Montana Territory; June 1868
Stay away from my daughter.
The words repeated again and again in Dunmore’s mind, as he stared at his horses plodding along the primitive wagon road that would return him to Fort Benton. He ignored the prattling of the man beside him, who was desperate to return to civilization and to leave the wilds of the Territory behind him. Dunmore suspected the man had beggared himself, rather than earning the riches he’d imagined. Dunmore’s coach was full of such men, and he knew he’d have a busy season ferrying them around the Territory. Yet none of that mattered now.
The momentary respite of thinking of something other than Seamus O’Rourke’s edict ended as Dunmore again thought about the conversation he’d had with the man, before leaving his hometown of Fort Benton a few weeks ago. Somehow Seamus had learned of Dunmore’s passionate embrace with the youngest O’Rourke daughter, Maggie. After years of patience on Dunmore’s part, Seamus had extracted a promise of more time.
Dunmore grunted in disbelief. “More time,” he muttered. If there was one thing he never took for granted, it was the guarantee for more time. He sat in disillusioned silence, as images of his beloved Maggie filled his vision. Her impish smile. Her gaze gleaming with triumph when she found a successful treatment to help an ailing family member. The warm glow in her gaze when she stared at him. Taking a deep breath, he banished his memories of their embrace. Of her kisses. He knew, if he thought of them, he’d never honor his promise.
He only hoped Maggie would understand.
* * *
Maggie O’Rourke stood at the kitchen sink, washing dishes, as she helped her mum prepare supper. She brushed at a strand of loose auburn hair, tucking it behind her ear, and tried to focus on the song her mum sang. At twenty, Maggie was the youngest child of Seamus and Mary O’Rourke, although both of her parents had younger children from other spouses—after her parents had been separated upon their arrival from Ireland twenty years ago. However, today Maggie had no desire to focus on the past, and she hummed, reveling in the shared camaraderie with her mother.
Casting a furtive glance in her mum’s direction, Maggie was deeply thankful no conversation was required of her, as her mind was filled with thoughts of Dunmore. A stagecoach driver, he was a close family friend. She hoped Dunmore would return soon, and she would see him again. Be held in his arms again. Flushing, she admitted her deepest hope to herself. She wanted to kiss him again.
She glanced in her mum’s direction once more, quietly sighing with relief that her mother wasn’t focused on her. Maggie didn’t know how she’d explain her sudden blush. Although she attempted to think about anything or anyone else, her every thought was of Dunmore. How had he become so much more than a friend?
Since she had moved into her father’s house almost three years ago—discovering that her father hadn’t abandoned her and her mum, meeting nine siblings she never knew she had—Dunmore had been a frequent visitor. A trusted family friend, he had taken a keen interest in her and in ensuring she was well. At first, she believed it was because he saw her as her brothers did—as a kid sister to care for. In the past year, she had acknowledged his feelings ran much deeper than that.
To her shock and delight, she discovered hers did too.
Murmuring to her mum about the need for eggs, Maggie slipped outside to go to the chicken coop. While in the yard, she allowed her thoughts to run free, reenvisioning the moment a few weeks ago when she had visited Dunmore in the livery. She had thought to invite him to dinner, before he left on his latest sojourn into the Territory. Instead she had discovered passion.
Holding a hand to her heart, she closed her eyes, as she imagined she could feel his large callused hands again caressing her cheeks with reverence. The look of unabashed joy and devotion in his gaze. The feel of his lips as his touched hers. Unwittingly her fingers traced her own. She’d never imagined a man’s lips could be so soft.
Catching her breath, she opened her eyes and cast a furtive glance around to ensure no one had seen her. Her father would have called it a waking dream, but she had no desire to explain her vision.
She heard the laughter and chatter of her younger brothers approaching, and she walked with a determined step to the chicken coop. She smiled and waved at them, as they rounded the corner of the house, thankful they hadn’t arrived a few moments earlier. With a deep breath, she attempted to push away her thoughts of Dunmore, but he always remained at the periphery of her mind, teasing and taunting her.
When she reentered the kitchen, her three youngest brothers were busy setting the table, as they continued their constant chatter.
Bryan, the youngest of all, was almost thirteen, and he relished telling a good tale. He was in that in-between stage of not quite a boy but still far from a man. His green eyes always sparkled when he attempted to tell a tall tale, and he loved nothing better than a good laugh.
Henri, slightly older than Bryan, would turn fourteen in the fall. His chocolate-brown eyes were filled with mischief, as he enjoyed goading Bryan to tell outlandish stories.
Oran, at fifteen, was more serious, like their da, Seamus, although he always enjoyed their adventures. The men of the town had learned not to take on even the three youngest O’Rourke brothers when they were together, for they were fiercely loyal to each other.
Maggie had long ago learned to listen to their chitchat, as she picked up interesting tidbits about the goings-on in town that she would never have discovered otherwise. She smiled when she heard that Janet Davies, Kevin’s wife’s horrible aunt, was in a rage because one of her dresses was accidentally bleached and now resembled polka dots.
Maggie stilled when she heard their offhand comment that Dunmore had returned. “He’s back?” she asked in a whisper, a dish towel in her hands. “He’s really back?”
Henri stared at her with confusi
on and shrugged. “Oui,” he said. He’d never taken to saying “aye,” like his siblings, and preferred the French word from his childhood. Although fully accepted into the O’Rourke family, his father was not Seamus but Mary’s second husband, Francois. “He was at the stables.”
Maggie took a deep breath, as she attempted to feign indifference. She knew she had failed when her mother cast her a furtive smile.
“I think you should invite him to supper, Maggie darlin’,” Mary said, with a wry smile. “He’s not had a proper meal in too long. An’ I’m certain he’s desirous of our company.”
“You wouldn’t mind?” Maggie asked, unable to hide her eagerness.
“What’s one more?” Mary ran a hand over her daughter’s arm. “Go, love.”
Beaming at her mother, Maggie set down her towel and slipped off her apron. Impulsively she pulled her mum close for a hug. “Thanks, Mum.”
Racing away, Maggie ran out the front door, before forcing herself to walk with a measured pace in the livery’s direction. Now that it was early June, the small town was filling with recent arrivals from the steamboats. Soon it would feel as though Fort Benton was bursting, as every room at the hotel and the boarding houses would be full. However, the men gave her a wide berth. They understood that she was Seamus O’Rourke’s daughter and that she had ten brothers who would mortally injure any man who harmed her.
Pushing aside any thoughts of violence, she hastened her step in the direction of the livery. It stood a short distance away from the busy main thoroughfare that hugged the levee, where the steamboats docked. The stable master said he preferred to have his business away from the constant hubbub of town, as the noise was not good for the animals. Maggie suspected it was because he wished he could be a hermit. She’d yet to see him mingle with anyone in town for longer than a two-minute conversation.
Maggie poked her head into the livery, her smile blooming at the sight of Dunmore’s favorite horses in the stalls. She crept forward, holding her hand out for them to sniffle at her fingers. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she murmured, as she ran her fingers over their velvety heads. “I didn’t think to bring a treat.” She giggled as one butted her shoulder, bumping her back a step and catching her off guard. Maggie shrieked, and her arms flailed out, as she fell backward.
Rather than toppling onto the hard, unforgiving stable floor, she landed with a thud against a broad chest. “Oof,” she gasped, peering behind her to meet Dunmore’s amused gaze. “Philip,” she whispered. “I had hoped you were back in town.”
She gazed at the man who fascinated her. He was taller than her father, with a lanky build, although she had just felt how strong he was, as he caught her. Her fingers itched to trace through his silky locks, which he had trimmed while he was away, and she yearned to feel the scrape of his beard against her soft skin.
He eased her upright, his hold on her gentle and softer than a caress. “You knew I was. You were flirtin’ with my horses.” His lips quirked into a smile, as she blushed. He brushed a hand over her cheek, pushing strands of auburn hair off her cheek. “You’re well, Miss Maggie?”
She frowned at his address of her, taking a step closer to him. Her frown turned into a glower when he backed away from her. “Why are you avoiding me?”
Dunmore shook his head. “I ain’t avoiding you. I’m standing right in front of you.” He waited, his gaze filled with patient understanding that she interpreted as mockery.
“Then why are you not holding me in your arms?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“You know the answer to that, Miss Maggie,” Dunmore said, a fierce intensity lighting his gaze.
“It meant nothing to you,” she whispered, her healthy, delighted flush fading to a horrified pallor. “I was nothing but …” She broke off, as she backed up, holding her hand out to him as he now stepped toward her. “No,” she rasped. “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. I’m a fool.” She spun on her heels, racing toward her family’s home, her delight in seeing him again turned to ash.
* * *
Dunmore watched Maggie race away, his hands fisted, as every instinct in him yearned to chase after her and to kiss her senseless. To prove to her that the last time he had held her in his arms had not been a ruse. That he adored her above all others.
Instead he stood as still as a pillar, as the woman he loved ran from him. He swallowed, battling against a bitterness he never thought to feel toward a man he had always admired. Although Seamus had promised he would discuss his concerns with Maggie, it was evident he never had. And now she had the impression Dunmore wanted nothing to do with her. That he had used her. That he had trifled with her.
Swearing, he spun on his heel and stormed to the tack room for his hat. After retrieving it, he departed, marching out of the livery and away from town. Too much of the town was owned by an O’Rourke, and Dunmore had no desire to meet with another O’Rourke today. Not when he felt like committing murder.
He walked away from town, upriver, on a faint path with waist-high grass all around him. After a half mile, he paused and found a rock to perch on, as he studied the river and the cliffs across from him. Rather than noting the beautiful scenery, he saw Maggie, as she gazed at him with hope and adoration. He closed his eyes, as he recalled holding her in his arms. The sweetness of her kisses. The difficulty in letting her go.
Rubbing at his head, he knew Seamus was correct in being concerned for his youngest daughter. Although world-wise in ways, she was only twenty years old. At thirty-one, Dunmore knew he was older than her family would like for her.
He had agreed to wait one more year. “One more year,” he said in a low growl. He didn’t know if he would still be sane by then. Nor did he know if Maggie would still want anything to do with him by that point.
* * *
“Maggie, my girl!” Seamus O’Rourke called out, as she raced away from the livery. A tall man, he moved with lithe grace. His black hair grayed more each day, and the increasing number of fine lines at his mouth and eyes were due to the laughter and the joy in his home, ever since Mary and Maggie had returned three years ago.
She spun to face her father, swiping at her face as another tear fell. “Da,” she croaked out. “I … I find I’m allergic to hay.” She sniffled and clamped her jaw tight to prevent a sob from bursting forth.
“Or allergic to somethin’ in the stables?” he muttered, as he pulled her into his arms. “What has you weepin’ so, lass?” He kissed her on her head, as she collapsed against him, cushioned against his chest.
“Oh, Da,” she whispered in a broken voice, “he doesn’t want me.”
“What?” Seamus whispered. “Dunmore?” He eased her away to stroke his fingers over her wet cheeks. Staring into her striking blue eyes, he smiled. “I’m certain ’tisn’t true, little love.”
“I know it is,” she cried out. “He wouldn’t touch me. Wouldn’t hold me.” She flushed, as she ducked her head. “Forgive me, Da. It’s unseemly to speak like this with you.”
Seamus studied her, frowning at her defeated posture. He hadn’t seen Maggie like this since she first arrived at his house, when she had been afraid of her own shadow. Since she had discovered her place in the O’Rourke family, she had bloomed into the strong, passionate, opinionated woman he’d always envisioned she would be. “I’m sorry, love,” he murmured.
She jerked away, stepping back a pace, as she brushed at her cheeks. “Aye,” she said in a low voice. “I should never have been such a fool. I know what men want.” She spun away, racing for the large O’Rourke home.
Seamus followed her, his gaze intent, as he ensured she arrived safely. Although nearly a year had passed since they had received the warning that Jacques Bergeron remained intent on harming Maggie, Jacques had yet to appear. During the almost eighteen years that Seamus had been separated from both Maggie and Mary, Mary had married Francois Bergeron and had borne him two sons. After Francois’s death, she had continued to live with Francois’s brother, Ja
cques, as he supported her and her children.
Now Jacques remained in the Territory, working as a miner, although he was also a successful trapper. Even though he was technically uncle to Henri and Lucien, Seamus would never consider Jacques family. Not after he had abused and terrorized Mary and Maggie, before they returned to him. With a sigh, Seamus knew he must remain vigilant, for a man like Jacques would eventually return. And he’d have his sights set on Seamus’s beautiful daughter.
With a frown, he pushed aside concerns about Jacques and focused on the current predicament. Seamus rubbed at his forehead, knowing he had failed his daughter. He needed to speak with her about Dunmore. He only hoped the damage his promise had wrought was not permanent.
* * *
Lorena O’Rourke walked to the levee, her gaze alert, as she looked for the man rumored to have returned to Fort Benton. She knew her husband, Declan, and the entire O’Rourke family would be delighted upon Captain A.J.’s return, and she too looked forward to his reunion with everyone. However, she needed to speak with him privately.
Married not even a year to Declan, she had never experienced such joy as the moments she spent with her husband. Although almost every day was passed in each other’s company, she never tired of speaking with him. He had as inquisitive a mind as she did, and she hoped he would understand her need to search alone today.
When she stood amid the bustling men, working to diligently stack crates and attempting to find some semblance of order, she interrupted a pair, before they returned to the steamboat for another load. “Excuse me,” she said.
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