The Irish Westerns Boxed Set

by C. H. Admirand

  “May I help you?” a booming voice called out from behind her.

  “Mr. Emerson,” she said. “I’m Margaret Mary Flaherty.”

  The flash of surprise, followed by an unreadable glint in the rotund man’s eyes, unnerved her. While she calmly explained what she needed, she noticed something in the man’s gaze that seemed sinister, almost malevolent. The feeling passed as the man came forward, hand extended, to greet her.

  Nerves, she thought.

  “If you’ll just come right this way, Miss Flaherty.” He ushered her toward his office at the rear of the bank. “We can conduct our business in private.”

  For some reason, the proprietary touch of his hand at her waist made her skin crawl. She shivered involuntarily, but he didn’t seem to notice. He opened the door to his office, motioning for her to precede him.

  Once she was seated, he asked, “What may I do for you?”

  “I need to send a wire to my bank in New York City to transfer funds,” she said, striving for a congenial tone.

  “That will not be a problem,” he said solicitously. “I’ll need the name of the bank, your account number, and the amount you wish to handle.”

  After handling the details, she felt better. She was now prepared to return the money her brother had so generously sent to her at a time when she was certain he needed it more. She wanted it to be a surprise, while at the same time she was determined to see that he accepted the money.

  After signing the appropriate documents, she looked up and caught the man’s glare of anger. It changed quickly to one of indifference. Her instincts had not been wrong. She had not imagined the dark feelings emanating from the man.

  “I’ll see to this immediately.” He got to his feet.

  Obviously her cue to do the same, so she rose to her feet. “Thank ye for yer time,” she said, though it pained her to keep the smile plastered on her face.

  All the way back to the ranch, she wondered what reason the banker could have for his dislike of her. But the only reason she could come up with was the fact that she was an immigrant. She had received similar treatment before. After all this time, it shouldn’t bother her, but it did. She didn’t even know the man, but she was long used to the disdain from those who considered themselves to be the upper class—the wealthy.

  On the ride back to the ranch, she could feel William’s eyes on her, but rather than ask what he thought, she kept her feelings of unease and distress to herself. Instead she focused on looking forward to losing herself in the routine of cooking for the men who stuck with James through the good times and bad.

  ***

  Hugh Emerson’s hands clenched and unclenched for the third time while he stared down at the name before him.

  The woman had been here, seated right across from him, but he could do nothing. He had no choice but to let her go.

  “The wrong woman,” he rasped. The gunman he sent to Milford to take care of Ryan’s sister had shot the wrong woman!

  “She has red hair,” he grumbled. “Freckles. She’s short and plump!”

  ***

  “Maggie?” Mick called out running toward her as William was helping her down out of the wagon.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked, the young man stopped to catch his breath.

  “It’s my ma—she’s burning up!”

  Hastily thanking William for taking her to town, Maggie hurried into the house after Mick. The door to the room his mother was using stood open. She followed him inside.

  “Open the window, like a good lad,” she told him, while she laid a hand to the frail-looking woman’s brow. Her skin felt hot and dry.

  “I’ll need ye to fetch some clean cloths from the cupboard in the kitchen and cool water from the pump for me.”

  He ran to do her bidding and was back before she could wonder how long it would take him. “There’s a good lad,” she said softly.

  Maggie dipped a length of cloth in the cool water and wrung out most of the water before smoothing it across the pale woman’s brow. Turning the cloth over, Maggie smoothed it across the woman’s cheeks and neck, drawing out more heat. While she continued the motions of wetting the cloth and wringing it out, Mick watched her every move.

  “Can ye tell Jamie I’ll be late starting the noon meal?”

  “But me ma—”

  “Will be just fine,” she assured him, motioning for him to go and do her bidding.

  “Who are you?” a raspy voice asked, calling Maggie’s attention back to her patient.

  “I’m Jamie’s sister.”

  “Maggie?”

  “Aye,” she said softly. “I guess he’s been waitin’ for me.”

  “He’s been worried.”

  “Can ye sit up? I’ll give ye a bit of water.”

  Maggie helped her sit up and take a drink. “Mrs. O’Toole—”

  “Please call me Bridget.”

  “Bridget, have ye had this fever long?”

  She shook her head.

  Maggie noticed the unhealthy pallor of Bridget’s skin, and the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Besides that, the poor woman seemed to be wasting away, nothing but skin and bones. An idea came to Maggie. Though she’d not seen the ravages of starvation firsthand, she’d listened to each and every story of those who had.

  “When was the last time ye ate yer fill?”

  The woman looked away from her. Maggie guessed if Bridget had not been flushed with fever, the woman would have flushed with guilt.

  “Young Mick is the picture of health,” Maggie said slowly, pretending to try to reason out what she’d already surmised.

  “Aye, he looks so much like his Da—” Bridget turned to look at Maggie. “I don’t suppose I’m fooling anyone but myself,” she said tiredly. “Am I?”

  “Me own parents would have starved themselves, if it meant me brother and I would not go hungry. I’m not goin’ to tell ye ye’ve made a mistake, when I’d do the same if Mick was me own.”

  “Thank you for understanding,” Bridget said slowly. “The doctor doesn’t agree with me. He refused to see me again, unless I start eating more.” Her voice sounded strangled. “But I’ve gone so long without, I can’t eat without getting sick to my stomach.”

  “At least I know what to do. Me parents lived through the worst of the famine back in Ireland,” she said, looking out the window. “They were luckier than most.”

  “I’ve heard tales, such sad stories of waste and want,” Bridget said softly, reaching a hand out to Maggie.

  Maggie grasped the thin hand in her own and squeezed it gently. “We’ll start with a bit of bread soaked in broth, a little at a time, five to six times a day.”

  “But I can’t eat—”

  “Ye will, I know ye can. Trust me to help ye.”

  Bridget nodded her head.

  “First we have to cool ye down and get some water back into ye. I’ll make up some strong tea—I forgot, we have no tea.”

  “Mick can go into town for some.”

  “Maggie?” she heard her brother call from downstairs.

  “Aye, coming.”

  She gave Bridget another few sips of water, then helped her to lie back down. “Ye must rest now. I’ll be back with the bread and broth.”

  “How can I thank you or Jamie?”

  Jamie is it?

  “Not at all,” she said. “I’ll be back after I see to their meal.”

  On the way downstairs, she smiled to herself. Her brother was in for a shock when his houseguest started putting on weight. If her guess was right, once Bridget’s cheeks filled back out and her color came back, she’d dazzle Jamie with her beauty. But more than that, the woman obviously had feelings for her brother. Poor man, she thought with a laugh. Maggie rubbed her hands together, anticipating the day when her big brother was knocked off his feet by the frail beauty upstairs.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Right after the mid-day meal the following day, she heard loud voices coming from the barn. She poked
her head out the back door and listened.

  “Where’s Ryan?” a familiar deep voice demanded.

  Joshua!

  Forgetting everything but the fact that he’d come back, she picked up her skirts and ran down the steps, nearly tripping over her own feet to get to the barn.

  “He’s in town,” she heard Reilly answer.

  “I need to speak to him—”

  “Joshua!” Maggie called out, her breath clogging in her lungs after one look at him. Heaven help her, she was desperate for him to look at her.

  He nodded at her, but she couldn’t see his face. The angle of the sun, and the brim of his hat, hid most of his face in shadows.

  His stiff stance told her something was wrong. “Can I help—”

  “I need to speak to Ryan,” he said brusquely.

  His tone hurt. The fact that he wouldn’t look at her wounded her deeply. With all that had passed between them, she couldn’t just let it go. “He’s paying a call on—”

  “I don’t have time to be sociable.”

  As if that said it all, he turned his back on her.

  Maggie drew in a breath to cover the anguished moan that almost slipped past her guard. She would not give the man the satisfaction of knowing how much his rejection hurt her. He threw all that she wanted to offer back in her face, treating her like a complete stranger! Destiny or not, a woman could only take so much. Stiffening her spine, Maggie turned back toward the house, her chin held high, her heart in pieces.

  ***

  Joshua heard Maggie’s retreating footsteps, but didn’t trust himself to turn around and watch her walk away.

  “No need to be cruel, Marshal,” Reilly said, scowling at him.

  “I have a job to do—”

  “If ye weren’t trying to help Jamie find the rest of the rustlers, I’d knock yer teeth down yer throat.”

  Joshua eyed the shorter man, taking in the breadth of the man’s stocky frame. Going up against Reilly would be like hitting a brick wall, he thought, but worth it if it would help him blow off the frustration that had been dogging his heels since he’d watched James Ryan sweep Maggie into his arms. He had a job to do, which now included finding out who was behind the attempt on Maggie’s life, and her kidnapping, before he could allow himself to think about a future with the distracting woman.

  “Magg—Miss Flaherty mentioned that her brother Seamus was having difficulty with Emerson over at the bank, similar to Ryan. I need to speak to him about it. I think I can use Flaherty as another claim against Emerson.”

  The look on Reilly’s face changed from anger to astonishment, then wonder. “I don’t think ye can use Flaherty.”

  “If I can find him, I know I can convince him to add his claim to Ryan’s.”

  Reilly look over at Maggie’s retreating form and shook his head. “Ye can’t use Flaherty’s claim as another against Emerson.”

  “Why not? If Emerson is trying to pull the same game on more than one man—”

  “Ryan is Maggie’s brother.”

  “Maggie’s brother’s name is Seamus,” Joshua said slowly, wondering why the man who worked for Ryan could be so confused.

  “Aye and Seamus is Gaelic for James.”

  “James,” Joshua whispered. “Then Ryan’s not Maggie’s intended?”

  Reilly gave a shout of laughter. “He may love his sister, but he’s a fine upstandin’ Christian man, and don’t hold to no—”

  But Joshua had already jumped down off his horse and headed toward the ranch house at a dead run.

  “Maggie!” he called, as he hit the bottom step of the porch.

  The kitchen door banged shut on his hand, as he tried to slip through, creasing three fingers. He swore under his breath and pushed against the dead weight holding the door shut.

  “Maggie, let me in!” he demanded. But the door wouldn’t budge. She must be pushing hard against the door to keep it closed.

  “Maybe Miss Flaherty doesn’t want you bothering her,” a deep voice called from behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to find out who stood there. It didn’t matter which one of Ryan’s men stood there, he wasn’t leaving until he’d talked to Maggie, face-to-face. The wooden barrier between them would not keep him from her. He needed to touch her. His hands started to shake anticipating it. Joshua was man enough to admit he was desperate to hold her.

  “She will once she hears what I have to say.”

  “I don’t have time to be sociable, Marshal Turner!” came Maggie’s muffled reply. Her weight still held the door closed. One quick shove and it would open, but he didn’t want to do that. He wanted her to open the door and let him in.

  “Seems to me like she’s not interested.”

  “I can handle this meself, William!”

  The door was slowly opening, even though he could tell she was putting all of her body weight against it. She was weakening.

  “Maggie, let me in,” he asked softly. “I need to talk to you about Seamus.”

  “What’s me brother got to do with anything?”

  His patience snapped the same moment the thought struck him—her brother! Her connection to James Ryan was the reason behind the attempted murder and kidnapping! He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks. Now that he knew what direction to go in, he could concentrate on the problem at hand—one Margaret Mary Flaherty.

  He wouldn’t wait to be asked. He’d be an old man if he did. The sound of her feet sliding across the floor as he muscled the door open was deeply gratifying. She’d soon learn how to control that fiery temper of hers. If she didn’t it would be his pleasure to teach her how to rein it in.

  “Marshal!” he heard Reilly calling him, but he ignored him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Seamus is your brother?” Joshua advanced slowly, backing her into a corner until she had no choice but to tip her head back and look up at him.

  “What of it?”

  “And James Ryan, who is he to you?”

  Maggie tilted her head at him, narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin in a defiant stance. “Why should ye care?”

  “Ahh, Maggie,” Joshua said softly. “I’ve been trying to stay away from you—but I can’t. I’ve tried to put you from my mind and concentrate on my job—but I can’t.”

  He reached out and snagged one of her hands.

  “Ye’ve done a fine job of it, Marshal,” she bit out, trying to pull her hand free.

  “I thought Ryan was your intended.”

  “But he’s me brother!”

  He watched the murderous glint in her eyes soften. He held both of her hands in his, and gently rubbed his thumbs across her palms. He felt a shudder go through her. He stroked her palms again. She shuddered again. He almost grinned.

  “I thought you were traveling West to be married.”

  “To me brother? Are ye daft?” Maggie’s eyes were round with shock.

  “I didn’t know James was Seamus,” he said quietly, pulling her into his arms.

  “Marshal, Ryan’s gone into town,” Reilly called out from the back porch.

  Maggie resisted at first. He expected it. He didn’t add any more pressure, but held firm until he heard her sigh, and felt her melt into his embrace.

  “I almost lost my mind, when he wrapped you in his arms, calling you his Maggie,” he confessed, nuzzling his face in her silken hair.

  “But I am his Maggie—his sister Maggie.” She laid her head against his chest.

  It felt so right, having her lean against him. “I know we haven’t known each other long.” He pressed another kiss to the top of her head. Breathing deeply, unable to resist, he drew in her sweet scent. Lavender and rain would always remind him of the long ride back to the ranch with her bundled in his arms.

  “The first time we met, I was drawn to you.” He kissed her forehead. “Your courage was beyond anything I’d imagined a woman could possess.” He placed a kiss on the tip of her nose.

  “He’s going to confront Emerson with his proof,
” Reilly said, bursting into the kitchen, startling them apart.

  Joshua hugged Maggie hard against him for a heartbeat while his brain changed gears, and he focused on the danger Ryan faced if he confronted Emerson on the banker’s own territory.

  He slowly nodded. “How long has he been gone?”

  “Only a half hour or so,” Reilly answered.

  “Is Jamie in trouble?” Maggie asked, taking a step back from his arms.

  “I know a shortcut to town,” Masterson called out from the open door. “I’ll ride with you.”

  “I’d rather you stayed to guard Maggie.”

  “You don’t know Emerson,” Masterson ground out. “You’ll need a man you can trust at your back.”

  Joshua groaned. He knew he was out of time, so he relented. “Let’s go.”

  “Joshua!” Maggie called out as she followed behind him.

  He paused, one foot in the stirrup about to swing up into the saddle.

  “Be careful,” she urged him, laying a hand to his knee. “I—”

  The sound of shots being fired suddenly galvanized him into action. He settled in the saddle and pulled his rifle out with one hand and his Colt with the other. Both weapons were cocked and ready to fire when five men came riding up the lane, guns blazing.

  “Get down!” Joshua shouted to Maggie.

  He saw her hit the ground out of the corner of his eye, then wheeled his horse to face the men racing toward them. This was it, the first test. He would not fail Maggie. He planned on spending the rest of his life protecting her, holding her—loving her.

  With a single-mindedness that had seen him through more than one ambush, he took aim and shot the gun out of one man’s hand.

  Then he winged another, and started aiming for a third, when he heard a rifle being fired from somewhere behind him.

  The man he was aiming at fell out of his saddle and hit the ground. He didn’t stop to see who had fired. He needed to concentrate on his next target, the big man who had been riding at the center of the group.

  Once he had the man in his sights, he began to fire off one shot after another with his Winchester. The man’s hat flew off his head, then Joshua took aim and peppered the ground in front of the gunman’s horse. The black beast reared back on his hind legs and threw the rider from the saddle.