“Because you’re working for him,” Kinan snapped right back.
Fury gave Dylan the strength to lean forward. While Kinan may be right about that, he had no idea the reason why. He had no right to know. “I have reason to hate him more than anyone in this bloody town.”
Waving a dismissive hand, Kinan turned to the door.
“And I would never do anything to harm Deirdre. Never,” Dylan called after him.
“Right, you and Thomas’s mom just rent a house from him, counting on his goodwill to keep a roof over your heads,” Kinan said, voice thick with sarcasm.
A feral sound tore from Dylan’s dry throat. “You’re lucky I can’t get out of this bed, you blaggard!”
Hand on the door, Kinan turned back with a smile. “About that you’re right, because while you’re lying here, I’ll be out proving to Deirdre that I’m the better man for her.”
Dylan let out a humorless laugh. “Keep telling yourself that, while her hands are rubbing ointment into my bare skin.”
The scoffing look of amusement Kinan gave him sent another chill through him. Could the man actually have enticed Deirdre to let him touch her? The look said as much. Dylan grabbed an extra pillow from the bed and pitched it at Kinan. The feather-stuffed missile only hit the door as it closed behind him. The colorful expletives that passed Dylan’s lips helped him push back the excruciating pain his movement had caused, if only for a few moments. The sight of blood seeping through his bandages made him relax back into the pillows after a while. Parchment crinkled near his ear. The blaggard was right; he would get his time with Deirdre, but not because Dylan was too hurt to get back out to the home sites. Because the locked floor safe he had pulled those sheets of paper from held the entire journal, and he had to get it back.
Chapter 21
A soft knock sounded on the door as Deirdre packed the last of her underthings into her suitcase. She sighed and brushed an errant curl from her eyes. Could Dylan be asking for her again already? The very thought made her weary. She’d hardly slept since the accident two days ago because whenever she left, he woke and called for her. Bad as she felt for him, the constant need for her attention was wearing on her. The bone-deep exhaustion made her forget for a moment that he couldn’t possibly be asking for her, considering she was back at the inn. For now.
“Deirdre?” Kinan’s voice drifted through the solid oak. The very sound of it comforted her.
He didn’t ask anything of her, just offered continuous support. It was wrong to compare the two that way right now, she knew. But she couldn’t help it. Exhaustion and heartbreak over the loss of her home were also wearing her down. She hadn’t had time to process it all, to take care of herself.
“Selfish, selfish, Deirdre. Stop being so selfish,” she mumbled to herself.
She closed her suitcase, smoothed her hair as best she could, and fixed what she hoped was a strong look onto her face. “Come in,” she said, forcing some of that strength into her voice.
The door opened. After a long look at her, Kinan’s gaze moved to her suitcase. His shoulders sagged. “You’re leaving,” he all but whispered.
She shook her head, realized he couldn’t see it because he was looking down, and said, “No, not for long, at least. I’m only getting a few things for my short stay at Mr. Fergusson’s residence.”
Kinan didn’t look up. “I see, to take care of Dylan.” Though he tried to hide it, she heard the jealousy in his tone, and worse, the defeat.
Recalling that night on the porch, thinking of how it might have ended, it pained her to hear him sound this way. More so that it was because of Dylan. While she harbored a bit of physical attraction to Dylan, it certainly wasn’t the same as what she felt for Kinan. Kinan respected her, encouraged her, and even inspired her. The connection to him made her feel as though she had known him her entire life, as though they were old friends reuniting. That it had taken her this long to figure that out tormented her no end. Particularly now, when she couldn’t turn her back on Dylan. The man needed her and she owed it to him to be there.
“Yes, he needs me,” she said.
Kinan crossed the floor without making a sound, and took her hands in his. “Just promise me one thing,” he said. The urgency in his tone made her look up. The soft brown hue of his eyes was like the color of earth, the color of home. More than anything, she wanted to stay there, trapped in his gaze.
“What is it?” she asked, ready to promise him nearly anything.
“That in the end, you’ll choose what you need.”
She moved closer, about to melt against him, when a ruckus from outside stopped her. Voices raised in alarm carried up to her second-story window; that of Henry, and… No, it couldn’t be. Letting go of her, Kinan spun and ran from the room. She caught the barest glimpse of fury contorting his face. She ran to the window, needing to be sure. A man in a fine blue suit stood on the turnabout of the inn’s drive arguing with Henry, who kept him at bay with a cane. The man looked ready to shove Henry to the side. Sunlight shone on the black hat of polished leather that sat atop the man’s head. Though its brim hid his face, Deirdre knew who it was from his arrogant stance and sinewy build.
Cursing beneath her breath, she marched over to her armoire and grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows. The angry voices grew louder as she dashed from the room. Kinan’s joined them. Fury fueling her steps and clouding her judgment, she stormed down the stairs and dashed across the foyer. By the time she stepped out onto the porch, she had an arrow nocked and the bowstring drawn back.
Kinan stepped close to Ainsworth, a finger thrusting into his chest. Ainsworth struck Kinan’s hand away.
“I’m not leaving until I speak with her,” Ainsworth said in a voice that radiated danger.
Kinan’s fingers curled into a fist and one foot slid back into a fighting stance. As he moved, Deirdre let her arrow fly. It sank deep into the ground right between the two men, feathered shaft vibrating from the impact. Both men stepped back from it and turned to her. She stared at Ainsworth down the length of another arrow. His hands flew up.
“Whoa now, little lady, I’ve only come to offer my condolences on the fire, and to make sure you’re all right,” he said.
Keeping the arrow trained on him, she said, “I’m hale and hearty, as you can well see. Now, I believe Kinan told you to get off his land.”
Hands lowering slowly, Ainsworth nodded. “And I will. But first, I want you to know you still have somewhere to go; you still have options.”
“You’re right about that, Ainsworth, I have many options. Not even my home burning to the ground will make me consider you one of them,” she snapped.
Her finger itched to let go of the bowstring. With the arrow pointed at his chest, that would be a terrible idea. The man wasn’t wearing a pistol. Hell, he wasn’t wearing so much as a hunting knife, which meant he’d come here expecting hostility and intent on not giving them any cause to shoot him. At the moment, though, Deirdre needed cause not to shoot.
“The West is a rough place for a woman alone, Mrs. Quinn. All the more reason for you to seriously consider my proposal,” he said.
Angling the bow just so, she let the arrow fly. It sank into the ground right between his legs, fletching barely flicking his inner thigh. A little high-pitched noise tore from him as he leaped back. His surprise melted away, turning into a calculating smile. “I don’t mind a feisty woman, not at all. You think about it, for your well-being.”
From the corner of her eye she saw Kinan grin and cross his arms. “I think you better worry about your own well-being, Ainsworth,” he said.
Deirdre nodded and nocked another arrow, this time pointing it just a touch higher. The smug look on Ainsworth’s face slid a little. He walked backward, tipping his hat to her. His heel collided with the raised circle in the center of the drive. With a jolt, he turned and strode back to the gate wh
ere his horse was tied. He climbed over the gate and onto his horse. Heavy gaze fixing on her again, he tipped his hat. A hard kick of his large spurs launched his horse into a reluctant canter.
Laughter erupted from both Kinan and Henry. The old Irishman guffawed until tears ran down his cheeks and Kinan held him up by the arm. Back rigid, Deirdre fetched her arrows. She wanted to join in their laughter, but she couldn’t bring herself to. The last arrow she’d shot so deep into the ground, she couldn’t pull it free. Kinan’s hand closed around hers and helped her. Looking up at him, she realized Henry’s hiccupping laughter was receding as he walked back to the barn. The look of pride on Kinan’s face made her forget all about the elderly man.
“You amaze me every day, Deirdre,” he said.
He took the arrow from her, leaned in close, and slid it into the quiver on her shoulder. As he lowered his arm, he brushed his fingers slowly across her cheek. She leaned into the touch, not caring if anyone was looking.
“Did he mean a proposal of the business kind, or personal kind?”
She made a sort of growling noise. “Everything is business with that bastard. I think he burned our homes down so I would feel like I had no other choice.”
“Than to marry him?” Kinan’s question held a deadly calm to it.
“Yes. He proposed to marry me in exchange for giving up his pursuit of Cat’s and Sadie’s lands.”
“That son of a bitch. I will hang him from the uprights of the entrance to his own ranch,” Kinan growled.
Deirdre lay a hand on his arm. “No need. I’ll come up with a way to make him hang himself, never fear.”
Brows lifting, Kinan laughed again.
“What?” Deirdre asked.
He put an arm through hers and started to lead her back to the inn. Leaning close enough she could feel his breath on her neck, he said, “There you go, amazing me again.”
Chapter 22
Five days after the fire, Deirdre finally broke down and rode out to her property. Dylan had improved more each day, his strength clearly returning faster than he let on. But Deirdre saw through his attempts to keep her close. The first two days, she and Sadie had changed cold compresses on the worst of his burns every few hours. The third and fourth day they wrapped them with ointment-soaked bandages. Though Dylan had remained kind and gracious to them all throughout it, he only wanted Deirdre. All that time to think about what she should be doing at the home site drove her half mad. On the fifth day, she’d had enough.
The warm afternoon air made her open her cloak after less than a mile. It was as though the fire had warmed all of California, despite it being December now. She passed a group of aspen trees that she had come to think of as the marker between her land and Sadie’s. Her gaze cast out beyond them. Even though she knew she couldn’t see Sadie’s home because of the hill, she couldn’t help but look. From what Rick said, Sadie’s home had sadly fared about the same as hers, though it retained more of its walls. Rick’s freeman friends had fought that fire and the one that threatened the small cabin on Cat’s property.
It pained Deirdre deeply to think of Sadie losing another home. When her husband died in the war, the state had repossessed her home. Being not only a woman, but black on top of that, meant she couldn’t own property. Deirdre hated the situation with a ferocity that had gotten her thrown out of more than one state office as she tried to fight the decision. Things were supposed to be different here. Sadie was supposed to have a home, a fresh start where she might be happy again. They all were.
The scent of charred wood reached her before she crested the hill. She blinked back tears and dug deep for her strength. The silhouette of a man standing at one of the support logs of her home halted her tears. Waves of fury and fear made her fingers fumble as she lifted her skirts and drew the pistol holstered to her thigh. Her hands shook so bad she couldn’t pull the hammer back. She was glad for that when she was finally able to see through her rage. Kinan stood there in only a pair of breeches, scraping the charred bits of wood carefully away from the support log. He looked amazing, like an ancient god from one of his tapestries. He saw her and froze.
Slow, so as not to drop it, she lowered the pistol. “I’m sorry. You surprised me. I didn’t know anyone would be here,” she said.
Though it meant lifting her skirts, she holstered the pistol. For one, she didn’t want to drop the blasted thing and have it go off. For two, she’d been ready to show Kinan all that lay beneath her skirts a week ago. Seeing him bare-chested, sweating, and laboring over what remained of her home, she realized she was still willing, very willing. But right now was not the time to indulge in her desires.
“I have good news,” Kinan said.
His gaze fixed on her legs as she holstered her pistol, longing shining in his eyes. The joy she felt over his attention faded when her gaze moved back to the skeletal remains of her house.
“Good news?” she asked in a doubtful tone.
She walked up to what remained of her porch. It wasn’t much, especially considering the pile of burned wood someone—presumably Kinan—had cleared away. Now that she truly looked, she realized a large amount of cleanup had occurred while she’d been taking care of Dylan.
“The support logs are viable and intact. The fire only scorched them,” he said.
While this was good news, Deirdre couldn’t bring herself to be happy. The skeleton of a house would not satisfy the government as a dwelling. Ainsworth would make sure of it.
“You don’t look happy. What’s wrong?”
Her gaze moved to the snow-covered hills, a sight that depressed her as much as her shell of a house. “Cofield says the snow means our wagon won’t make it over the hills with any more timber. He said it could be as long as April before we can get more. We’re going to lose our lands.” The words made her want to break down and weep, but she didn’t—she wouldn’t.
Her body had other ideas. Her legs gave out and she sank to her knees. Screaming in frustration, she slapped her palms against the sooty earth. Pain from the impact reverberated up her arms. The heat of the fire must have baked the ground. The smooth, hard surface felt like ceramic, or adobe. Kinan knelt beside her, a hand on her back. He murmured comforting, encouraging words, but she didn’t hear. Her fingers splayed across the ground, feeling the contours hardened by the fire. An idea began to form. She sat up straight and blinked her misty eyes.
“It has grown unseasonably warm,” she said.
“Not really. Actually, this is typical for this area. This valley stays much warmer than the hills above it,” Kinan said.
“How long does it usually stay this warm?”
Shaking his head, Kinan resumed rubbing her back. “All winter. But Deirdre, the hills are much colder. Cofield is right about the snow up there, I’m sorry.”
Gaze fixed on the hillside directly behind her home site, Deirdre rose to her feet. “Is your grandfather still visiting?”
He moved between her and the hill. The planes of his defined chest brought her back to herself. “Yes,” he said, drawing the word out and making it into a question.
She took hold of his hands. “Do you think he can show me how to make adobe?”
Kinan’s eyes widened and a smile crept slowly across his face. Whooping like a savage, he lifted her by the waist and spun her in a circle. She laughed like a young lass. He soon set her back on her feet, took her face in his hands, and pressed a kiss to her lips.
All too quickly, he drew back. “Yes, I think he can, you brilliant woman!”
They both burst out laughing as he picked her up and spun her around again. When he set her down again, he took hold of her hand. Before she could say anything, he took off running down the hill. “Let’s go get him right now!”
Hand in hand, they dashed down the hill.
Chapter 23
As Deirdre had hoped, the hill behind her home s
ite turned out to be excellent soil for making adobe. The main support structure helped, but they still needed more framework. Juniper branches turned out to be suitable, since they would really only act as something to which to adhere the adobe. With Felipe’s guidance, work marched on at a good pace during the dry days—which were blessedly plentiful. They used bricks they made, and mud that hardened quickly into clay. The fireplace was the first thing they built, and they kept a roaring fire going in it at all times to help warm the house so it cured faster.
Rick’s spy kept tabs on Ainsworth, who had left to move his cows out of the hills for the season. The arrogant bastard assumed they were doomed, since he had burned down their homes and the hills were impassable to wagons. In two weeks, the roof and outer walls were restored.
Trowel in hand, Deirdre surveyed the first of the inner walls to go up; a dividing wall containing an arched opening that lay between the foyer and the main hall. The design of the home was unlike anything she’d ever seen, but she found it appealing. It would end up being an open floor plan with minimal interior walls once they finished. Big as the house was, the interior would take months more. But she was all right with that. Already it would satisfy the government as a proper dwelling. Next week, they would start on Sadie’s home, and if the beautiful weather held, they’d have the roof and outer walls finished before the end of January.
The sound of Cat and Sadie talking drifted to her moments before they entered the room.
“There you are. Are you still working? Honestly, Deirdre, you need to take a break,” Cat chastised.
One hand rubbing the very slight bump of her belly, Cat walked over and sat in the chair by Deirdre as if taking her own advice. Deirdre set down the trowel on the archway.
“Looks to me like you’re the one who needs a rest,” she teased. She looked to Sadie. “You’re not letting her overdo it now, are you?”
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