The Irish Westerns Boxed Set

by C. H. Admirand

  “Celebrating life?” he mouthed.

  Pearl smiled. “I told the girls that was what usually happened between a man and a woman who are not necessarily married, but at least spoken for.”

  He grinned and called out, “We haven’t gotten started yet.”

  “Well, shoot, Pearl,” Daisy hissed.

  “These trays are heavy,” Amy grumbled.

  Smythe chuckled and pulled the covers up to the edge of his bandaged chest. “Come in, ladies.”

  Pearl sat next to him and he wrapped his good arm around her and she blinked back fresh tears. “I love you, Davidson Smythe.”

  Amy and Daisy stopped in the doorway, each carrying a tray filled with food.

  “Sometimes if you celebrate just right,” he heard Amy whisper to Daisy, “good things happen.”

  Smythe’s heart swelled with love for the woman at his side and the girls she’d taken in. “I love you, Pearl Lloyd, and I still mean to marry you.”

  One of the girls gasped, and he tore his gaze from Pearl to wink at her. “She hasn’t said yes yet, but I can be very persuasive.”

  Amy grinned and Daisy sniffled. Both girls set down their trays on the floor; there was no other surface available. Amy poured two cups of steaming coffee, then added just a dollop of cream and sugar to Pearl’s, but extra sugar in Davidson’s. Just the way he liked it.

  Daisy carried two heaping plates of food to the bed. Smythe inhaled the fragrant scent of crisply cooked bacon, scrambled eggs, and fresh Irish soda bread with what he could see was newly churned butter.

  “I could die a happy man.”

  Pearl grabbed a hold of his chin. “I didn’t spend the last three days toiling over your unconscious body so you could up and die on me—besides, we haven’t celebrated yet.”

  Daisy’s face pinkened, and Amy smiled to herself.

  “She’d better marry me soon, don’t you think, ladies?”

  They burst into laughter, and the bedroom door opened the rest of the way. “Can we come in yet?” Mary asked, pausing on the threshold.

  “Yeah, are you two done celebrating?” Nellie demanded.

  Pearl buried her face against Davidson’s shoulder and he hugged her tight.

  “Pearl’s going to marry me.”

  She pushed away from him. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

  “Not yet, but you intend to,” he finished for her. “Don’t you?”

  She took a sip of coffee, licked her lips, and watched him over the rim of her cup. “Maybe.”

  One by one, the girls gathered around them, sitting on the bed. “Say yes, Pearl,” Amy urged.

  “We do like him,” Daisy added.

  “He appreciates when we do little things for him,” Mary said quietly.

  “Besides, you’ve celebrated, so now you have to marry him.”

  “But we didn’t—” Nellie’s words hit home. It was what Pearl had taught her girls.

  “You told us, if we were very lucky—” Amy began.

  “We’d find a good man to love, who’d love us back,” Daisy added.

  “And we’d want to share ourselves and celebrate life with him.” Mary grinned.

  “You’ve found one, we like him, and you weren’t sleeping in the chair like you did the last few nights,” Nellie added with a grumpy harrumph.

  Smythe burst into laughter, then looked from one expectant face to the next and finally at Pearl. “That settles it. You have to marry me now.”

  “But what if—”

  “Life’s too short for what-ifs.” He kissed the end of her nose, then tapped it with his fingertip. “Say yes. You know you want to.”

  She snorted, trying to keep from laughing, “Oh, very well. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  “You heard her, ladies. There’s no room for wiggling out of our bargain, Miss Pearl. We have four witnesses.”

  Amy filched a slice of buttered bread from Smythe’s plate, while Daisy snagged a slice of bacon.

  Mary asked, “May I have a slice?”

  Pearl smiled and handed her two. “Nellie, do you want anything?”

  “Can I have some whiskey?”

  Smythe choked on the bread he’d just taken a bite of. Clearing his throat, he couldn’t resist. “Have you had it before?”

  Nellie tilted her head to one side. “O’ course.”

  He looked over at Pearl in disbelief, shook his head, then asked, “When?”

  “When I took sick last winter with a chest cold, Pearl mixed it in with the nasty cough elixir Doc wanted me to swallow.”

  “Ahh.” That certainly explained that.

  “So can I?” she demanded.

  Pearl and Smythe answered together, “No!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Pearl marveled at how life could change so drastically in such a short span of time. A few weeks ago, she hadn’t even met Davidson; now she had promised to marry him.

  Sinking into the hot bath water, she hummed a song slightly off-key, but no one was around to hear her, so she really didn’t care.

  The girls were finishing their outside chores, and Davidson had ridden into town because he was expecting a wire from Runyon, leaving her the luxury of a long soak in the rose-scented water.

  Half an hour later, her fingers and toes were pruney, and she was so relaxed, she could barely stand up to get out of the tub. Forcing herself to do just that, she reached for the folded towel where she’d left it on the kitchen chair and gasped in shock. A man stood on the other side of her back door.

  “I—I beg your pardon, madam,” he stammered, looking away from her.

  She shrieked, clutching the towel to her breasts and sank back into the tub. Water sloshed over the sides of the tub. She ignored it, and demanded, “Who the hell are you?” She hadn’t heard him coming up the steps. How long had he been standing there?

  “Amy said to come up to the kitchen, that you’d be inside.” His voice sounded strained, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable. If the flush staining his slashing cheekbones were any indication, he was as embarrassed as she was.

  “I’ll ask you one last time. Who the hell are you?” She managed to wrap the towel around her without exposing any more flesh and rose from the tub, dripping, but ready to reach for the Colt she kept in the kitchen drawer.

  He didn’t answer fast enough, and she grabbed at the handle and yanked the drawer open. The towel loosened and shifted lower, but she didn’t stop to fix it. She was reaching for her pistol.

  One hand to her breast, holding the towel in place, and one hand holding the pistol aimed at the stranger’s heart, she gathered every last ounce of grit she could find. Lord, when would strange men stop creeping up on her?

  His eyes flashed fire, but he didn’t make a move toward the gun he wore at his hip. “The name’s Runyon.”

  “Damien?”

  Her shocked question must have surprised him as well. “You know who I am?”

  “Only if you are the Damien Runyon from Boston that I’ve heard Davidson Smythe speak so highly of.”

  He grinned, then bowed from the waist. “At your service.”

  She grinned back at him.

  “Do you think you might be persuaded to let go of that gun before you shoot something important to me?”

  She snorted, covering the laugh that bubbled up inside her.

  “Yes. I do believe you might be Davidson’s friend.”

  The tall man frowned. “The gun?”

  She let go of the trigger, leaned forward, and put the gun back in the drawer.

  “May I come in?”

  “Isn’t that why you’re standing at my back door?” She couldn’t believe how dense men from back East were. Why didn’t they just say what they really meant?

  He was grinning again.

  She tried to step over the rim of the tub, but the wet towel got tangled in her feet and she tripped. Her hands shot out in front to break her fall, and Davidson’s signet ring nearly slipped off her finger.

  Sh
e fisted her hand and would have gone down hard, but before she could hit the floor, strong arms steadied her. She looked up into eyes the color of her best whiskey. “Thank you.” Something warm flashed in the depths of the man’s eyes, but she chose to ignore it.

  “If you value life, you’ll let go of the lady and step back.”

  Runyon tensed, but didn’t let go of her. Instead he turned around, bringing her close to his side. “Smythe! Damnation, but it’s wonderful to see you.”

  “Runyon.”

  Davidson didn’t look at all happy to see his friend. Pearl wondered if they had quarreled before Davidson left Boston.

  “I just rode into town looking for your wire.”

  The other man frowned. “Didn’t you get the last one?”

  Davidson stepped into the kitchen and walked over to where his friend still held Pearl against his side. She’d wanted to move, but her left leg was sore where it connected with the edge of the wooden tub.

  “You can let her go now.”

  Amazingly, his grip tightened. “I found her. I’m keeping her.”

  Her gasp of shock was echoed by Davidson’s. “The hell you are,” he growled, grabbing for her.

  “I’d let the lass go, boy-o,” Reilly demanded from the doorway.

  Runyon stood his ground. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Lord, there are far too many men in this kitchen,” Pearl grumbled. “Can’t a woman even take a bath in peace?”

  Reilly’s face flushed a bright red; he’d finally noticed the empty tub and looked over at her. He closed his eyes and started counting.

  Runyon leaned close to her and whispered. “Why is he doing that?”

  Smythe grinned. “He’s going to give himself a chance to control his temper before he takes you apart.”

  “Why would he want to do that?”

  “Because, ye English dog,” Reilly said, advancing on him, “ye haven’t let Pearl go yet and I’ve asked ye nicely.”

  Reilly’s fist snaked out and connected solidly with the other man’s chin. Runyon’s grip on Pearl loosened, and she slipped free.

  “What is wrong with you, Mr. Runyon?” she demanded.

  He groaned and shook his head, looking over at the Irishman. “Nice punch.”

  Reilly swore and drew his arm back ready to throw another punch.

  “No!” she called out. “Wait!”

  All three men stopped and looked at her. “This is my kitchen, and I refuse to let anyone brawl indoors.” Seeing identical looks of astonishment pass over their faces, she insisted, “Take it outside.”

  Grabbing the towel to keep it from slipping down, she tossed Davidson a look over her shoulder. “You can thank your friend for saving me from falling on my head, then if you must, you can hit him, too.”

  “If he saved yer pretty neck,” Reilly said slowly, “then why can Smythe hit him?”

  She grinned up at him. “Because Davidson obviously wants to pound on someone, and you haven’t just seen me naked!”

  “Sonofabitch!” Davidson launched himself at his friend and knocked him off his feet. Runyon reached up and pulled Davidson down with him.

  “Outside!” Pearl yelled, shoving one booted foot out of her way and kicking at another.

  “Damnation, Smythe!” she heard Runyon swear. “That hurt.”

  Before Reilly could pick Runyon up and shove him toward the door, Pearl called out, “Open the door first, if you please!”

  The Irishman smiled. “Ye just don’t want me to have a bit of fun, do ye?” But he did open the door before tossing Runyon outside.

  When Pearl heard him hit the porch, she sighed. “Thank you, John.”

  He grinned at her. “Smythe? Ye comin’?”

  Davidson groaned, pushing to his feet. “If you were any kind of friend, Runyon, you wouldn’t have hit a wounded man.”

  Runyon moaned from where he sat on the porch rubbing his chin. “Wounded in heart or body?”

  Smythe and Reilly laughed. Pearl swore they all had rocks for brains. She turned and left the three of them to sort out their differences while she got dressed. Her peaceful afternoon soak was obviously over.

  * * *

  “Never say that you’re going to marry that armful?” Runyon’s words arrowed through him.

  “Why ever not?” Smythe demanded rising to his feet. “I asked her, and she said yes.”

  Runyon’s eyes got a faraway look in them. He put a hand over his heart and whispered, “She’s a goddess, and I was hoping…”

  Smythe wanted to hit Runyon all over again. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, my friend.”

  “Give her a chance to get to know me,” Runyon urged. “Then if she still wants you, I’ll walk away.”

  Reilly threw back his head and laughed. “Listen to the two of ye. Fightin’ over a good woman like herself. It’s she who should be doin’ the choosin’, not the likes of ye.”

  Smythe would definitely not be asking Pearl to choose between them. “She already said she’d marry me.”

  “But I haven’t had the chance to ask her yet,” Runyon insisted.

  Smythe cuffed him on the back of the head. “Were you always this perverse?”

  Runyon grinned. “No. I’ve taken lessons from you.”

  Smythe smiled, and Reilly got up from where he had been sitting on the porch steps. “Much as I’ve enjoyed yer company lads, I’ve work to do.”

  Smythe rose and walked with him over to the corral.

  “Watch yer back,” Reilly warned.

  “What have you heard?” Runyon demanded, coming to join them.

  “Has the marshal arrested anyone yet?”

  “For what?” Runyon demanded.

  Smythe and Reilly said in chorus, “For the shooting.”

  “Who got shot?”

  “Pearl,” Smythe snapped.

  While Reilly answered, “Yer friend here.”

  Runyon looked from one man to the other while his face grew taut with rage. “It was the same person, wasn’t it?”

  Smythe looked at Reilly and then at his friend. “We don’t know for sure, but we think it might be.”

  Runyon drew in a deep breath and stared right at him. “I’ve news.”

  Smythe tensed, waiting for the blow that he sensed would send him to his knees. “You found Michael’s killer?”

  Runyon shook his head.

  “Who’s Michael?” Reilly demanded.

  Smythe ignored Reilly and nodded, accepting that he’d have to talk about it. “He was my brother.”

  “He’s dead then?” Reilly asked, not budging until he’d heard the whole story.

  “Yes,” Smythe said woodenly.

  “Murdered.” Runyon’s one word had a thin shard of icy rage splintering into the darkness of Smythe’s soul.

  “Who did it?” Reilly asked.

  “We don’t know for sure,” Runyon said, rubbing a hand across his face.

  “I thought you had work to do, Reilly,” Smythe said.

  Reilly stared at him. “It can wait.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the corral fence, and Smythe knew he wouldn’t be leaving just yet.

  Runyon sighed. “There are one or two suspects.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Is it always this hot out here?”

  Smythe smiled at his friend. “You get used to it.”

  Reilly shook his head. “I haven’t yet, but I can swear on me mother’s good heart that it’s not as hot here as it is in Texas.”

  Smythe rubbed his hands over his face and rasped, “I need a drink.”

  “Have ye any Irish left?” Reilly asked.

  “You’re Irish, aren’t you?” Runyon demanded.

  Reilly rolled his eyes and nodded at the other man. “Not very bright for a Boston man, is he, Smythe?”

  “He means Irish whiskey, Runyon.”

  “Well, do ye?”

  “I think there is some left. Come on inside.”

  Reilly hesitated. “There�
�s news from town as well.”

  Smythe stopped in his tracks. “When were you going to tell me?”

  Reilly flushed a bright red. “It slipped me mind.”

  Runyon’s grin was wide. “She’s a beautiful woman, Smythe. Does she deserve you?”

  Reilly answered for him. “He tried to take her ranch.”

  “I thought you bought a ranch?”

  “He thought so too, but there’s a little matter of the deed and the Committee for the Betterment of Emerson involved.”

  Smythe shook his head; once Reilly was on a roll, there was no stopping him.

  “If you have the deed, Smythe—” Runyon began.

  “That’s just it,” Reilly interrupted. “He does.”

  “Well, then, the ranch is his.”

  “But someone stole Pearl’s deed,” Reilly told him.

  Runyon’s brows shot up. “Interesting.”

  “Not as interesting as the fact that the head of the committee’s son was the one who stole it.”

  “If you know who stole the damned thing, why haven’t you had him arrested?”

  “It’s complicated.” Reilly held the door open and waited for Runyon and Smythe to precede him.

  “Stealing is stealing and should be punished.”

  “Yer not Irish are ye boy-o?”

  There was no mistaking the dark look that crossed Reilly’s face. Smythe knew he was remembering something from his past.

  “Whiskey?”

  Reilly blinked and nodded.

  Runyon pulled out a chair, and noticed the tub was still there.

  “I suppose we should empty the tub.”

  Smythe clenched his jaw, remembering the scene he’d walked in on. “Just what were you doing with your arms around my woman?”

  Runyon cleared his throat and grabbed one side of the tub. “Lift the other side and I’ll tell you.”

  Before Smythe could bend and lift the other side, Reilly pushed him out of the way, grabbing a hold of the tub. “Ye’ll rip out Doc’s handiwork.”

  Smythe held the door, and the men walked the tub over to the edge of the porch and carefully poured the water on the flowerbed.

  “Roses?” Runyon asked after inhaling deeply.

  Smythe wasn’t about to be distracted by his friend. He glared at Runyon. “Well?”

  “I asked one of the girls if anyone was inside.” He paused and looked at Smythe. “I meant you. I didn’t know anyone else was here.”