The Irish Westerns Boxed Set

by C. H. Admirand

  “If you’re not going to share, Smythe,” Runyon grumbled, “then at least have pity on the rest of us and stop mauling the woman.”

  Pearl’s lips curved against his. “Are you mauling me, Mr. Smythe?”

  “Not yet, Miss Pearl, but later…” He brushed a kiss across her scarred cheek and tapped the end of her nose. “Definitely later.”

  Runyon coughed to cover his snort of laughter, but Reilly didn’t. He threw back his head and laughed. “Yer a lucky man, Smythe.”

  Smythe nodded. He’d lost one of his best friends, but still had the other. He looked from Runyon to the woman stepping out of his embrace, and knew he was still a very lucky man. He would protect Pearl with his life and would unmask his brother’s killer. Michael would not have died in vain.

  Pearl looked at the group surrounding him. “Inga Swenson just arrived with a crock of beans and four fruit pies.” She paused and looked back at him. “Anyone hungry?”

  Smythe wished he could offer the men more. “I—” he began, looking at Pearl knowing he couldn’t tell her about Stanton. “That is, we, can’t thank you all enough. Without all of you…”

  Reilly patted him on the back and pulled him toward the house and the promised food. “Ye wouldn’t have half a barn.”

  Smythe looked over his shoulder at Pearl and forced a grin. “True, and we all know—”

  “Half a barn is better than none.” Flaherty quickened his step to join him then slowed as they neared the house. He turned to Reilly and said, “Isn’t that the marshal with his hands wrapped around Inga’s sturdy waist?”

  Reilly’s eyes narrowed. “So he’s finally noticed what was right under his nose.”

  Pearl laughed. “I always knew Ben was a smart man.”

  “Who’s Inga?” Runyon wanted to know.

  “She runs the boarding house in town.”

  “Won’t her husband mind—” Runyon began.

  Pearl rounded on him. “Does every woman back East need a man to help her run her life?”

  Smythe’s friend stopped dead in his tracks and opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it and closed it.

  “Wise answer, me friend.” Reilly patted him on the shoulder as he walked on by.

  “You have a lot to learn about our women,” Flaherty muttered, catching up to Reilly. “Save some pie for me!”

  Too tired to wash up and too hungry to care, the men sat on the porch chairs and empty steps while Inga bustled about serving first the beans and thick, dark bread with cups of steaming hot coffee.

  “I thought you said there’d be pie?” Runyon spoke out of the side of his mouth, but Pearl still heard him.

  “After you finish your supper.”

  “What happened to breakfast?” Runyon mumbled, making her laugh.

  Smythe blessed him for it; there would be little laughter come morning, once she discovered he’d gone. “We had that hours ago.”

  His friend scooped a forkful of molasses beans into his mouth and chewed slowly. He looked over at the tall broad-shouldered woman who was talking to Pearl. “These taste wonderful.”

  Smythe grunted. “You sound surprised.”

  “I haven’t eaten beans since.” He paused thinking, then shrugged. “Ever.”

  “What do they feed a man in Boston?”

  “Steaks, stuffed pheasant, duck.” Runyon stopped and looked around at the rugged group of ranch hands and grinned. “But I’d give it all up for another slice of Mrs. Swenson’s brown bread.”

  Her smile was slow, but potent. Smythe jabbed his friend in the ribs and nodded toward the green-eyed man staring daggers at Runyon. “Watch yourself, Runyon,” he warned. “She’s spoken for.”

  “That never stopped us before.”

  “It means more out here, my friend.”

  With another look at the marshal, Runyon wisely backed down.

  Smythe walked over to where Justiss stood and asked, “Any leads?”

  The lawman glared at Runyon one last time and said, “Lincoln was seen heading back into town about an hour before Flynn raised the alarm.”

  “Do you know where he is now?”

  “I’ve a pretty fair idea.”

  “Where?” Smythe could feel his gut begin to roil. He had to put an end to this madness now, before Stanton arrived and finished what he’d begun in Boston.

  “Don’t you want to know who else was seen riding into town around the same time?”

  Smythe met the lawman’s intense gaze, waiting.

  “Jake Burnbaum.”

  Pearl dropped the plate she’d been about to hand to him.

  Smythe’s eyes met hers, and he knew she was afraid of the man. If Burnbaum had been the one to set the fire, he’d kill him with his bare hands.

  The sound of a wagon had them all looking up.

  “Bridget?”

  Flaherty stalked over to where his wife was setting the brake. “What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

  “Helping.” She tied off the reins and slowly stood.

  “Are you ill?” Smythe couldn’t believe she’d come all this way to help if she were ill, then he remembered. “You’re the one who is going to have a baby.”

  She positively beamed at him while her husband helped her down from the wagon. But Flaherty didn’t let go of her once she was on her feet. He wrapped a protective arm around her.

  Patting her husband’s face, Bridget smiled and said, “Some people think a woman should be wrapped in cotton batting until the baby is born.”

  Smythe set his worries aside and focused on the group around him. He knew he was totally out of his depth, and looked over to where Pearl had been standing. Too late he remembered her reaction to the marshal’s words.

  “I think Pearl needs me.” He didn’t wait around for anyone to say different. He stalked up the steps inside and burst into the kitchen.

  “Pearl?”

  * * *

  She spun around to face him, unable to hide the fact that she’d been crying. Why did he have to follow her now? She would have been fine in another few minutes, once she’d gotten control of herself.

  She turned back to the stovetop, thick towel in her hand, and grabbed the steaming pot of coffee. “Be right with you.”

  He reached around her and took the pot from her hands. “You should be resting.”

  “I rested earlier.” How could she possibly rest when every time she closed her eyes, she remembered the horror of those burning walls and that crumbling roof?

  Smythe set the towel on the table and put the pot on top of it. “What if I were to rest with you?”

  Her heart fluttered, and she looked up at him. “That would be nice, but there are too many people here. We’d never get the chance to be alone.” She pushed the disappointment aside and brushed her hands on her skirts. “Besides, I have a feeling the marshal has something he wants to discuss with us.”

  Smythe brushed his big hands over her cheeks. She closed her eyes and drank in the pure pleasure of being touched, cherished by this man. His hand swept along the mark the bullet had left on her cheek. Her eyes shot open. He hadn’t mentioned her scar since it had started to heal. Would he care that she was no longer pretty?

  “What has you worrying now, Pearl?”

  She ducked her head. “As if I didn’t have enough to worry about already?”

  He lifted her chin up and pressed his lips to her flawed cheek. “Don’t hide from me, and please don’t hurt alone.”

  “Who said I was hurting?” Pushy, bossy, impossible man.

  He drew her to him and held her as if she were a fragile bit of china. “Your eyes tell me, when your lips won’t.” He bent his head and stole a kiss.

  Her resolve would melt if he were tender with her now. She started to push away from him, but he locked his arms around her.

  “You need me, and I’m not going anywhere until you admit it.”

  Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She had a world of things she wanted to say to h
im, but his eyes—Lord, his eyes begged her to trust him.

  “You know how I feel,” she began, her face turning clammy. Was it nerves or a delayed reaction to the fire?

  “Do I?” he asked, watching her like a hawk about to pounce on unsuspected prey.

  Sweat began to bead on her upper lip and behind her knees, and her stomach started to roil.

  Her churning belly turned upside down, and the coffee she’d just sipped started coming back up.

  Pearl covered her mouth with her hands, but before she could bolt from his arms, he swept her off her feet and carried her outside. While he held her, she emptied her stomach of every last bit she’d eaten since the fire.

  Exhausted, drained from the violent retching, she sagged against him. A cup was thrust into her hands and she was ordered to drink. “But I don’t want to.”

  “Drink,” he insisted.

  Pearl gave in and sipped. The water was cool, refreshing, but before she could swallow more than a mouthful, the cup was yanked back.

  Her belly ached and her throat was raw from the smoke and the retching. Exhaustion claimed her as her eyes drifted closed.

  She felt him slide his hands behind her knees and lift her once more. Her protest was weak, but all she had the energy to muster, “I’m not going to rest.”

  “I know, sweetheart.”

  The endearment touched her heart. She snuggled against the strength of him and whispered, “You kept your promise.”

  “Which one?”

  “The bucket brigade.”

  She felt him nod and needed to tell him the rest. “You’d never hurt me.”

  He didn’t jar her as he carried her up the stairs. She could feel him kneel on the edge of the bed as he gently laid her on it. Tired beyond belief, but needing him to understand, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Jake split my lip and nearly broke my jaw.”

  He ground his teeth together, and as she watched, his face lost all expression. Not for the first time, she envied his ability to keep what he was feeling buried deep and worried that he was hiding something from her.

  Brushing the tips of his fingers across her eyebrows, he asked, “Why are you telling me this now?”

  She reached for his hand. “I love you, and I trust you.”

  The razor-sharp edge left his dark eyes, but not the anguish. He nodded. “I depend on both.”

  “I wanted to tell you about what Jake had done, but the girls were outside.” Pearl sniffed as a tear escaped. “I didn’t want Samuel to know.”

  “The boy should know so he can—”

  She needed Davidson to understand. “He didn’t want to come back here after the deed went missing. What do you think he’d do once he’d learned about what his father did to me? Why his mother hates me?”

  Davidson sat down on the bed beside her. “He’s an honest young man, Pearl.”

  “Amy needs him.”

  He slid his arms around her and urged to lay down with him. “Flaherty would probably give him a job.”

  Pearl smiled snuggling close. “They’re getting married.”

  “With or without his parent’s consent?”

  She sighed, “Without.”

  “Good.”

  Her eyes shot open. “Good? How is that good?”

  His smile came from deep inside him. “Then they’ll have to depend on each other for everything.” His kissed her forehead and pulled her closer. “Go to sleep.”

  She didn’t want to, fighting to keep her eyes open. “I’m not sleepy,” she drawled as her eyes drifted shut and her breathing evened out.

  “Rest then,” he urged.

  She gave in. “All right,” she said, before drifting off to sleep.

  * * *

  Pearl woke with a jolt. Brushing hair from her eyes, she rolled over to discover she was alone. “Damn that man.”

  Looking out the window, she could tell it was already mid-afternoon. There were chores to see to, meals to be prepared, and men to skin alive.

  She scooted off the bed and walked over to the washstand. She used tooth powder and cleaned her teeth. The horrid taste in her mouth was finally gone. Splashing cool water on her face went a long way toward refreshing her. Unfortunately it cleared her mind as well.

  “I can’t skin him,” she realized. “He’s only trying to take care of me.” No one else had tried to, or wanted to, for a long, long time.

  Grabbing her tangled waves, she finger-combed them and twisted her hair up on top of her head. She found a few pins on her dresser top and shoved them into place. A few strands slipped free, but the topknot mostly stayed put.

  “Time to find out what the marshal has to say.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “You look better.” Davidson met her halfway up the stairs. She narrowed her eyes at him when she saw the tray in his hands. “You tricked me.”

  He shrugged, then warned her, “Don’t think I won’t do it again.”

  She drew in a breath. He had the audacity to agree with her? “You admit it?”

  He grinned. “Are we going up or down?”

  “I am going down.” She tried to push past him, but he wouldn’t be budged.

  “You have to kiss me before I let you pass.” He noticed the way she was eyeing the tray. “And don’t even think about spilling this tray. Nellie drizzled the honey over this buttered bread. Mary poured your tea.”

  She leaned toward him and brushed her lips across his lightly, gently, teasingly. Her pulse skittered. “Mmmm, you taste like apples.”

  “I had a slice of Inga’s apple pie.”

  His eyes darkened with desire, making her head spin. She put an arm out to steady herself.

  His sigh was loud enough to wake the dead. “Why don’t you go back upstairs? I’ll call you when the girls have supper ready.”

  She lifted her chin up and slipped past him. “I already told you, I’m not tired.”

  “Pearl—”

  “But I am hungry, if you’ll follow me downstairs.”

  He grumbled, but followed her back to the kitchen. He set the tray on the table. No one seemed to be around. “Where is everyone?”

  “I let Mary and Nellie ride back to the ranch with Bridget. I thought the change of scenery would do them good.”

  It would. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

  “Daisy and Amy were trying to convince the marshal to let them go with him to question Jake Burnbaum.”

  He grinned at her. “That’s what Marshal Justiss asked them.”

  Relief flooded her. “So he didn’t let them go along?”

  “No one gets around the marshal.”

  Marshal Justiss opened the back door and strolled inside, and asked, “Pearl, how are you feeling?”

  She sat down to hide the fact that her legs were still shaky. “Fine,” she took a fortifying sip of hot tea. “Better every minute.”

  He walked over and squatted down in front of her. He looked her over from head to toe, rose back to his feet and pronounced, “Liar.”

  “How dare you!”

  “Eat a slice of that nice bread, Pearl,” the marshal suggested. “It’ll close your mouth while I tell you what’s going to happen around here.”

  She shot to her feet, but Davidson caught her before she could take a step. He firmly pushed her back down onto the chair. “Are you going to sit and listen to Marshal Justiss, or are you going to be difficult?”

  She ripped a piece of bread off the slice and chewed. Lord, she wanted to hit something—namely one green-eyed, know-it-all lawman.

  Satisfied she would stay put, Davidson moved to stand beside her. “Tell her what you found out.”

  The lawman nodded. “It seems a man by the name of Lincoln showed up around here a few days ago.”

  She swallowed and said, “We already know that.”

  Davidson shoved another bit of bread into her mouth and she had to either chew it or choke on it.

  The marshal nodded. “He’s working for a man na
med Stanton, who is originally from England, but lately has been living in Boston.”

  She looked at Davidson. “Isn’t he your—”

  “Cousin,” he finished for her.

  “What does this Lincoln want with you?”

  Davidson put his finger to his lips, motioning for her to be quiet.

  She sipped more tea and waited for the marshal to continue.

  “Apparently, Mr. Lincoln knows more than he is willing to tell.” The lawman paused. “But I do know for a fact that he was in the vicinity when Smythe was shot the other day, and the day you were shot.”

  Pearl’s throat tightened. She brought her cup to her trembling lips and forced herself to take a sip of tea. It didn’t help. The lump was still in her throat.

  She wanted to know, had to ask, “Did he admit to the shootings?”

  Marshal Justiss shook his head. “Not yet, but I’ve got him cooling his heels over at the jail right now, thinking about how much more he’d like to tell me.”

  Davidson’s gaze met Pearl’s. His look fierce when he asked, “Why do you think he would want to shoot you?”

  She shrugged.

  Davidson bit out, “I’m sure the marshal will find it has nothing to do with me personally and everything to do with my brother’s half of the inheritance.”

  The lawman leaned back against the doorjamb. “Did you ever think maybe it had more to do with you than your brother?”

  Davidson stiffened before admitting, “No.”

  The marshal pushed away from the doorway and started pacing the room. “Didn’t you say that your brother was riding your horse?”

  Pearl watched the emotions flit across Davidson’s handsome face. She hurt for him.

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you think he took your horse?”

  “Michael wasn’t always patient, and mine was saddled and ready to go first.”

  It sure sounded logical to Pearl, but the marshal was shaking his head no. “Try again.”

  Davidson paced at the opposite end of the room from the marshal. If she continued to try to watch the two of them, she’d be dizzy again. She focused on the cup clenched in her hands.

  “You aren’t suggesting that my brother was in on the attempt on his own life, because that would be ludicrous.”