The Irish Westerns Boxed Set

by C. H. Admirand

  “I’ll tell my husband,” she assured the doctor. “He’ll be by after supper to check on our friend here.”

  With a fleeting smile and wave of her slender hand, Bridget swept through the door, a woman on a mission. Reilly started to shake his head, and wished he’d thought the repercussions through before doing so. The room spun in vicious circles, making his stomach churn.

  Falling back against the cushion, he wondered what was happening over at the boarding house. Had Jessi settled in? Had Flynn finally left to seek out the sweet-faced Widow Dawson as promised and started fixing her blasted gate, or had he remembered about their promised load of timber and supplies?

  Weariness engulfed him. Unable to hold out against it, he closed his eyes and dreamt of a slip of a girl with a temper as bold and fierce as her heart.

  “Reilly?”

  The insistent voice roused him from sleep. He struggled to clear it from his head and wished the past few hours had been a dream as well. From the way his jaw ached and head still pounded, he knew it had been real enough.

  “I was starting to worry, my friend.”

  The fog cleared from Reilly’s head at the exact moment Flaherty squatted down beside the couch. “Did Doc have to sew the gash in your head closed?”

  Confused, Reilly felt the back of his head and winced. “There’s no gash.”

  Flaherty nodded. “Your broken jaw looks better,” he said slowly.

  Reilly felt his temper start to grow warm. “I didn’t crack open me head,” he said through clenched teeth, “and I didn’t break me jaw.”

  “Well, then,” Flaherty said, pushing to his feet. “The rumor mill is hard at work as usual and wrong. Only your pride’s been nicked then?”

  Reilly swallowed the harsh reply poised on the tip of his tongue and said, “What’s left of it.”

  “Can you drive the wagon, or do you need me to fetch Flynn and have him drive you back?”

  “Bleedin’ buggerin’ eedjit,” Reilly mumbled. “Didn’t he get the supplies?”

  Reilly wished Flaherty would just to leave him alone. But their working relationship was based on friendship. Reilly knew the man meant well, but he needed time to think. So he could sort through the tangled mass his brain had become from the moment he’d bumped into the sweetest thing he’d seen since leaving Ireland all those years ago.

  “When Bridget came home frantic with worry over our foreman,” Flaherty said with a grin, “I rode back and took care of the wagonload.”

  But Reilly wasn’t listening; he was thinking of Jessi Fahy. Who would have thought she’d be brave enough to follow him across the Atlantic? It boggled the mind at first, and then he remembered she might have been young, but she never backed down from a challenge. Even the time he’d found her shaking atop the Norman ruins and had to coax her down from the height she’d climbed on a dare, one that had terrified her. She never admitted she’d been afraid.

  “Have your wits gone begging?”

  “Aye,” he answered, not really listening. She’d always been a brave bit of a thing. Too brave for her own good, if she’d traveled all this way by herself. His guts churned as he recalled his own perilous journey. What if she’d run into trouble in the back alleys of New York City, or run afoul of outlaws robbing the train or stagecoach she’d traveled west on?

  “Doc!”

  God help him, Reilly moaned. What if the ship had encountered a storm at sea? He’d never have known she’d been on her way to find him…never see her impish smile…never—

  “Reilly.”

  He heard a deep voice calling him, but the fear for what could have happened to his childhood friend paralyzed him. Lost in the turmoil of his own imaging, Reilly ignored Doc and his friend.

  “I’ll be keeping him here tonight where I can watch him.”

  “Do you want me to stay, Doc?” Flaherty asked.

  “I think your wife and your unborn baby need you home more than Reilly and his hard head need you to stay in town tonight,” the doctor assured him.

  “John.”

  Reilly turned, imagining it was Jessi standing in the doorway calling his name. He smiled at her skinny little frame and wild mass of honey hair. “Aye, lass?”

  Flaherty frowned at the doctor. “Maybe you’d best keep him for a couple of days, till he stops seeing things and the swelling in his skull goes down.”

  Doc nodded. “I might,” he agreed. “I’ll send word if I need you.”

  Flaherty motioned for Doc, who walked over toward the open door with him. “Should I send for the woman?”

  Doc shook his head. “I’m on my way over there now,” he confided. “Apparently she hurt her hand earlier.”

  Flaherty’s eyes danced with humor. “Would that have been when her knuckles connected with Reilly’s jaw of granite?”

  “Granite?” Reilly muttered. “China’s what me ma always claimed.”

  Doc and Flaherty exchanged a solemn look. “It’s a short ride to my ranch. Bridget has Mick and all of my hands to look after her. I’ll come back if he needs me.”

  Reilly heard the last comment and shook his head. “I’ll not be needin’ the likes of you, lad. ’Tis a fair slip of a lass that has me head muddled and me heart sore,” he mumbled as he drifted off to sleep.

  “They always do,” Flaherty muttered. Looking at Doc he asked, “Do you want me to fetch someone to sit with him while he sleeps?”

  Doc shook his head. “I don’t expect to be gone that long.” When Flaherty hesitated, Doc reassured him. “It’s not his jaw, but his head that’s made out of granite. Your friend will be fine. Just give him a day or two.”

  Satisfied, Flaherty nodded and left.

  * * *

  Bone-tired, Jessi gripped the side of the wooden tub with one hand and pushed to her feet. Rubbing the soft towel all over her now-scrubbed-and-lavender-scented skin made her feel clean for the first time in days. Grateful for the full bath and not just a splash of water on her face and hands, she’d taken the time to wash her hair. It would take a while to dry, but as Mrs. Swenson had reminded her, she already had supper simmering and wouldn’t need help for another hour or so.

  True to her word, Mrs. Swenson had helped her unpack and shaken the wrinkles from the three dresses she’d brought with her from home. Jessi had Mrs. Reilly to thank that she even owned such pretty things. After she agreed to go to America, the woman had disappeared into her bedroom and returned with three soft bolts of cloth. They must have been dear and meant for the daughter Mrs. Reilly had longed for but never had until Jessi Fahy had started dogging John’s every move.

  Knowing the real reason Mrs. Reilly had helped her sew the dresses, sleeping gown and under things made her failure seem all the greater. Jessi hadn’t been swept up into John Reilly’s waiting arms. He hadn’t kissed her as he’d promised. A thought flitted through her beleaguered brain: Had he only intended to kiss her if she stood on Irish soil?

  She swiped a hand at the tears gathering in her eyes. She’d not shed one more tear over the man. He wasn’t worth it. In spite of her words, her heart knew the truth, though her head wasn’t ready to accept it.

  John was worth it.

  Flexing her sore hand, she drew in a sharp breath as pain shot through it. Cradling it in her good hand, she wondered if the hot water inflamed it, or if she’d injured it permanently. Lord above, she hoped not. How would she earn her keep if she hadn’t the use of her two hands?

  “I’ll see if she’s finished with her bath.” She heard Mrs. Swenson say a moment before the woman knocked on Jessi’s door.

  “Doc’s here to see to your hand. Do you need help getting dressed?”

  Jessi wrapped the towel tighter around her. “I might.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Yes.” Stepping back, Jessi tried to smile when the older woman slipped inside and shut the door behind her, but couldn’t manage it.

  “I’ve helped Doc a time or two when he’s had female patients,” Mrs. Swenson
reassured her. “Let’s get you dressed so he can take a look at your hand.”

  Jessi nodded, and before she could think to be embarrassed, Mrs. Swenson had helped her into her under things and was slipping a petticoat over her head.

  “How lovely,” the older woman said, admiring the thin embroidered linen. “You’ve a clever way with a needle and thread.”

  Jessi’s smile was swift and sad. “ ’Tisn’t my work,” she replied. “ ’Tis himself’s mother who helped me with me trousseau.” Once the words were spoken, they couldn’t be taken back.

  “Ah,” Mrs. Swenson said, cupping Jessi’s chin in her callused hand. “Mrs. Reilly?”

  “Aye,” Jessi admitted. “Not that it did me an ounce of good. He’s not thought about me once in the entire time he’s been gone.” She blinked back the tears pooling in her eyes, holding fast to her decision not to shed another tear for the man.

  “Are you sure about that?” Mrs. Swenson asked. “A man’s actions don’t always reveal what is in his head or his heart.”

  “I’m certain sure,” Jessi answered, though it hurt her broken heart to admit it.

  “Have you asked him?”

  “Now why would I be doin’ that?” Jessi demanded. “He didn’t even recognize me!” Sorrow reached up to pull her under, but she refused to let herself go back into that dark pit of despair reserved for the black hours of the night when she should be sleeping.

  “You might be surprised,” Mrs. Swenson said.

  Something about the way she was looking at Jessi had her fiddling with the threads she and Mrs. Reilly had worked into the neckline of the fine linen of her shift.

  “I’ve decided not to waste another night dreaming about the man.” And she wouldn’t. She’d rather go without sleep until she was too exhausted to dream.

  Mrs. Swenson picked up the dress Jessi had set aside earlier and helped her put it on and then helped her fasten it closed. “The fabric’s so lovely.”

  “Mrs. Reilly has a loom, and when I’d finished me chores, I’d go over there and help her weave the flax we’d beaten into fine linen.” Just saying it had a new ache filling her. Why had she not thought about how much she’d miss John’s mother?

  “She must have been a wonderful friend.”

  “The best,” Jessi agreed.

  “It must have been her idea then.” Mrs. Swenson said, helping Jessi with the last button.

  Not quite sure what she was talking about, Jessi asked, “What was?”

  Mrs. Swenson smiled at her. “You traveling all the way to Colorado to be with the man you’ve spent the last few years pining over.”

  “How would ye be knowin’ that?” Jessi asked, unsure what to do now that the truth had been told. What if John found out? What would he say? What would he do?

  “Only a woman in love would brave the Atlantic Ocean and more than half of this country to be with a man,” she said, watching Jessi closely.

  “I…I can’t help it if I love him,” Jessi whispered. “But from this moment forward, I won’t.”

  “Love him?” Mrs. Swenson asked.

  Jessi nodded. “I’ve forgotten him already.”

  “Have you?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well, then, you won’t be minding, then, if the Widow Dawson sets her cap for him.”

  Jessi spun around so fast, her head spun. “If she thinks she can have me man, then…” Her voice trailed off as she realized what she’d said. Lifting her chin high, she met Mrs. Swenson’s knowing look. “I may still love him, but he’ll never know it, and I’ll go to me grave without ever telling him.”

  Mrs. Swenson nodded. “That would be your choice, though I believe it would be a foolish one.”

  “Ye don’t even know me. How can ye say I’m the one who is foolish?”

  “Aren’t you the one who got on a ship to cross the ocean?”

  “Aye,” Jessi answered, wondering just what the woman was up to.

  “And aren’t you the one who then got on a train?”

  “Aye, but—”

  “And finally traveled by stagecoach just to see John Reilly?”

  “Haven’t I just said as much?” Jessi asked. “Although I don’t see what difference that makes, since I’ve decided not to love him.”

  Mrs. Swenson shook her head. “Don’t you realize you can’t help whom you love?”

  “I can stop.”

  “You can’t. I tried for the longest time.”

  “What happened?” Jessi asked as Mrs. Swenson helped her twist her damp hair into a braid.

  “Someone much wiser helped me catch his eye.”

  A glimmering tear shone bright. Jessi blinked, wondering if such a thing was possible. Could she catch John Reilly’s eye? “Why would ye want to, if the man wasn’t smart enough to notice ye on his own?”

  Mrs. Swenson smiled. “Because sometimes a man needs a nudge in the backside before he notices what’s standing before him.”

  Jessi remembered Mrs. Reilly saying something similar. Aiden had been against her leaving and had, in fact, sided with Jessi’s mother and brother. But she hadn’t listened to her mother, Dermot or Aiden. Her plans were set and her mind made up. She was going to get her man.

  Remembering how sure she’d been that he’d only been waiting to see her again to make up his mind that she was the woman he needed, she shrugged. “What if he doesn’t want me?”

  Mrs. Swenson chuckled. “If you’re brave enough to face what you’ve already come up against just getting here, you won’t be giving up just because the man your heart’s set on is too blind at the moment to notice you.”

  “Ye sound as if ye’ve experienced the same thing.”

  The older woman nodded, tying the bottom of Jessi’s braided hair with the length of ribbon she’d brought with her.

  “Oh.” Jessi said, “ ’Twas the marshal who needed the nudge.”

  Mrs. Swenson smiled, and Jessi could swear it was as if the woman had swallowed sunshine. “Ye must have loved him somethin’ fierce.”

  “I did…and I still do.”

  “Was it worth it?” Jessi asked. “Ye know, embarrassin’ yerself to get his attention?”

  The secretive smile was one she’d recognized on more than one of her married friends back home, and Jessi knew it had to do with what passed between a married man and his wife. “When did he ask ye to marry him?”

  Mrs. Swenson bustled about the room and didn’t answer her.

  “I’m sorry,” Jessi said. “ ’Tis none of me business.”

  “The marshal’s a busy man,” Mrs. Swenson said.

  Jessi was sorry for the hurt in the kindly woman’s eyes, as Mrs. Swenson made excuses for the man who’d yet to do the right thing and ask the poor woman to marry him.

  “Would ye say yes if he asked?”

  The older woman’s eyes met hers. “In a heartbeat.”

  “Well, then,” Jessi began, “what if we make a bargain?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  Jessi shrugged. “If I agree to stay in town and see if I can get John’s attention, would ye agree to tell the marshal how ye feel about him?”

  The woman blushed a deep rose. “He knows how I feel.”

  Jessi couldn’t quite look Mrs. Swenson in the eye. “Not that way,” she said, exasperated. “Would ye tell him what’s in yer heart? Would ye tell him that ye can’t draw a breath without wishing he’d love ye enough never to leave yer side?”

  Mrs. Swenson stared at her for the longest time without speaking. “Is that what you’d tell John Reilly?”

  Jessi bit her lip. “Well, not right away,” she admitted. “I’d have to get him to notice me first.”

  Mrs. Swenson laughed. “I’d be willing to bet he’s already noticed you.”

  “Not that he’s said as much to me,” Jessi mumbled. “He hasn’t told me he’s missed me. Hasn’t told me he couldn’t wait to come back home and collect that kiss he promised me.”

  “Ah
,” Mrs. Swenson said. “So he made a promise to you before he left.”

  “Aye,” Jessi admitted. “I’d be the first lass he’d kiss.” After a long moment of silence, she asked, “Do ye think he’d been planning on kissing someone else after me, bein’ as how he said I’d be the first?”

  Mrs. Swenson seemed to be thinking about Jessi’s question. Finally she shrugged. “I think you should ask him.”

  “Maybe I should.” Jessi waited a heartbeat, then said, “All right. I’ll stay and help ye cook and clean and try to get John Reilly to notice me if you’ll—”

  “I’ll see what I can do to help you,” Mrs. Swenson said, “and work up the courage to tell Ben I’m not afraid of his job and that I’d like to marry him, even if it means leaving my boarding house.”

  “Would it?” Jessi wanted to know.

  “It could,” Mrs. Swenson said. “A federal marshal has a territory that he has jurisdiction over. Sometimes he’s in one place for a couple of months, but more often than not, he’s on the road traveling.”

  “Could ye make a home for him here?”

  “If he’ll let me.”

  “Fine then,” Jessi said, holding out her hand to shake on the deal, remembering too late that it was her injured hand.

  When the room finally stopped spinning, Mrs. Swenson had Jessi sitting on the bed while she fetched the doctor from her front parlor.

  “You keep that wrapped and don’t use it,” Doc told her when he finished his examination.

  Jessi sighed. “Aye, and thank ye for tendin’ to me poor hand.” She waited a moment before adding, “As soon as I can use it, I’ll be making yer favorite dessert—whatever that might be.”

  Doc’s eyes twinkled. “I’m right partial to cake.”

  “Cake it is, then,” Jessi said, smiling for the first time since the kindhearted Mr. Flynn had made her laugh earlier. “I’ve a special recipe with me,” she added, “for Mrs. Reilly’s butter cake.”

  “Let me guess,” Mrs. Swenson said. “It’s one of John’s favorites?”

  “Aye, but he’ll not be getting a bit of it until he apologizes.”

  “I heard he already had.” The doctor seemed puzzled.