The Irish Westerns Boxed Set

by C. H. Admirand

  Mrs. Swenson nodded and pointed ahead. “Do you see the bit of scrub growing out there in the middle?”

  “Aye.”

  “We’ll cross there.”

  “That’s fine then.” Jessi wasn’t exactly afraid of water; she just didn’t like driving through it in a wagon. Truth be told, she’d much rather swim in it. With a heavy sigh, she knew she’d have to ask sooner or later because she wasn’t sure if women would be allowed to swim alone in this strange land. So many things were different here. Thinking of Millicent Peabody, she realized that, although many things were different, there were still more that were the same.

  Jessi watched the way the big animal accepted direction without pause. “Yer horse doesn’t seem to mind the wet.”

  “We’ve been this way more times than I can count, over the years.” Mrs. Swenson handled the reins as easily as she did the distasteful Mrs. Peabody.

  “Do you see that fork in the road up ahead?”

  Jessi shifted on the bench to better see. “Aye?”

  “Once we take it,” Mrs. Swenson told her, “we’ll be just a few minutes from the Turners’ home.”

  The day was bright and the air was soft, but not as sweet-smelling as the air back home. Even so, it was the first day Jessi didn’t feel the bittersweet ache in her heart at having left Ireland. While there was a bit of green here and there, how could she explain to someone who’d never seen the rolling hills of green and the stone fences of her native home—what heaven was? On a day filled with clouds and spatters of rain, the clouds would part and shafts of sun would shine through to dance upon the water. And if you were lucky and caught it just right, you’d see rainbows, too.

  Mrs. Swenson pulled up in front of a humble cottage, and for a moment Jessi thought she was back home. There were chickens pecking at the patch of dirt by the small corral near the barn while a cow lowed softly from just beyond.

  “All they need is a dog, and I’ll be thinkin’ I’m home in Ireland.”

  Mrs. Swenson turned and smiled. “Maggie misses her home, but she’s been here much longer than you. Close to a dozen years.”

  Jessi nodded. “ ’Tis not quite the same. There’s no thatchin’ on their roof, but there’s something magical about their cottage that reminds me of home.”

  Her friend nodded in agreement, set the brake, then jumped down off the wagon and walked around to the other side. “Here,” she said, holding out her hand. “Let me help you.”

  Jessi brushed her hand against the wagon wheel and drew in a long, slow, steadying breath. It would be a few days before she could use that hand again, but she was worried it wouldn’t be fast enough. She’d need both hands to help Mrs. Swenson and to deal with John Reilly.

  The front door opened and a tall man with broad shoulders stepped out first, followed by a smiling redheaded woman, heavy with child. He kept his arm about her, although she didn’t appear to have a waist at the moment. Jessi felt the love the couple had for one another even from the short distance between them.

  “Maggie!” Mrs. Swenson cried, rushing over to hug the woman. “You look wonderful.”

  “She does, but it’s not because she’s resting,” her husband grumbled. Then he turned to look at Jessi. “I’d like to talk to you, Miss Fahy.”

  Jessi tried to contain the shock sprinting through her body at the man knowing her name, and was almost successful. “How do ye know me name?” she asked before adding, “and why would ye be wantin’ to talk to me?”

  Instead of putting the man’s back up as she’d intended, he caught her off guard by laughing. A full deep-throated laugh that Jessi swore came right up from his soul. “Maggie, my darling,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “I’d like you to meet your new friend, Miss Jessi Keely Fahy, lately of County Cork, Ireland.”

  Jessi didn’t know whether to be flattered or afraid. A quick glance at Mrs. Swenson and at the smile on the other woman’s face, and Jessie relaxed. The man was husband to Maggie; therefore, she should have nothing to be worried about.

  “I’d ask how ye know me,” Jessi said, walking over to where the three stood, “but I just remembered Mrs. Swenson mentionin’ that Maggie’s husband used to be a marshal.”

  He held out his hand in welcome. “It’s a pleasure to meet the woman who bested big John Reilly.”

  “I didn’t best him.”

  “Don’t be modest now,” Maggie said with a grin. “Himself needed to come down a peg or two, and isn’t it grand that it was yerself?”

  With one hand lying protectively on her belly and the other reaching out, Jessi couldn’t help but be charmed by the woman. “If I decide to forgive the man,” Jessi answered, briefly, grasping Maggie’s hand, “which I haven’t, I might be tempted to do it again.”

  Intrigued, Maggie leaned close and asked, “And why might that be?”

  Jessi swallowed the lump of emotion and whispered, “He said some awful things to me yesterday.”

  Maggie nodded and patted her back. “Don’t be frettin’ about our Mr. Reilly. He’s a strong man and can take care of himself.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried about him.” Even as she said the words, Jessi knew they weren’t true. Instead of the dark-haired handsome young man she’d dreamt of for so long, he’d changed. He had grown taller and broader and put on muscle. Lord help her, he was devastatingly beautiful.

  “Aren’t ye now?” Maggie smiled at her. “Well, then, ye won’t be concerned at all that they found the man wanderin’ around by the stables early this mornin’ half out of his mind, mumblin’ about crumbling towers and Mrs. Feehan’s cat.”

  Tears filled Jessi’s eyes and spilled over before she could sniff them back in. She whirled around and headed back to the wagon. “May I borrow yer wagon? I promise to drive it slowly and not damage it.”

  Mrs. Swenson shook her head. “You’ll need two hands on the reins if you’re to get back to town in one piece.” She turned toward Maggie’s husband, “Joshua, I’ll stay with Maggie and visit. Would you drive Jessi into town and drop her off on your way to see Ben?”

  The man smiled, and Jessi felt as if the angels were smiling on her as well. “If ye’ll not mind, I do need to see John.”

  Turner nodded. “Just give me a minute,” he said. “I need my wife to promise me she won’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

  Jessi shook her head at him. “Can’t ye see she’s huge with yer child and can’t possibly be gettin’ into any trouble?”

  “You don’t know my Maggie very well.” The big man chuckled as he wrapped his wife in his arms and kissed her tenderly. “Your word, Maggie.”

  Maggie smacked him on the side of the head and then kissed him again. “Aye, ye brute,” Maggie said, laughing. “I promise.”

  “It was a pleasure to meet ye, Maggie,” Jessi said. “But I’ve got to go. May I come back to visit ye?”

  “Any time,” Maggie reassured her. “I’ll be housebound for the next couple of weeks and will be pinin’ for company.”

  “Jessi,” Mrs. Swenson called out as Turner was helping Jessi up into the wagon.

  “Aye?”

  “Keep your hands to yourself,” she chided. “I don’t think Mr. Reilly would survive another blow to his pride.”

  “What makes you think that I’d hit him again?”

  “Promise me, Jessi.”

  There was no getting around it. If she wanted to go into town to see what happened to John after she left him last night, she had to give her word. “Aye, Mrs. Swenson.” She sighed. “I promise.”

  “See that ye bring Jessi back in time for the midday meal, Joshua.” The teasing tone was gone. Maggie sounded serious.

  Instead of answering his wife as Jessi expected him to, he asked, “Will there be scones and butter cake?”

  Maggie glared at him, but then smiled when she said, “Aye, ye poor starvin’ man. Now be on yer way before the lass frets herself sick.”

  Turner helped Jessi up into the wagon
and then settled himself on the seat beside her. Grinning down at his wife, he added, “Save some cake for me.”

  Jessi shook her head at him, wondering yet again why her parents couldn’t have shared just a smidgeon of what sparkled between this married couple. “Do ye value yer life so little then?” she asked. “I’ve heard ’tis either a brave or very foolish man who riles a woman when she’s carryin’.”

  He turned toward her, and from the way his bright green eyes danced with amusement, Jessi sensed that he and Maggie shared that rare kind of love that could withstand the many trials and tribulations life would toss in their path.

  “Are you worried about me?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve only just met ye, but ’tis the truth I might be.”

  Turner turned the wagon onto the bit of road that would lead them back to the river. “Sometimes a moment is all it takes to form a friendship that lasts a lifetime,” he said quietly. “My Maggie has been blessed with female friends, but could always make room for another.”

  Jessi nodded. “ ’Tis the truth. I’m missing me friends from home, but Maggie and Mrs. Swenson are both lovely women.” Falling silent, she watched Joshua Turner as he drove. The reins rested lightly in his hands, and Jessi knew he was well used to the chore. “Do ye ride a horse as well as ye handle the reins?”

  He glanced at her and then at the river up ahead. “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t ride.”

  Not wanting to admit they were moving just a bit too fast for her, but growing more uneasy by the moment, she finally asked, “Will ye ever be slowin’ down?”

  He eased up on the reins as they approached the riverbank. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Miss Fahy.”

  “Ye can call me Jessi.”

  “Then why do you call Inga Mrs. Swenson?”

  “ ’Tis out of respect for the woman. Besides,” Jessi answered, “she’s much older and deserves me respect.”

  He smiled. “I wouldn’t let her hear you say that.”

  Jessi turned to face him, “She’d be upset that I respect her?”

  He shook his head. “No, because you think she’s older than you.”

  Jessi laughed. “But she is and therefore deserves—”

  “Respect.” He finished for her. “I agree, but as a friendly warning, don’t mention her age. Women don’t like to be reminded of that.”

  Jessi huffed, trying to sort out what he was trying to tell her. “I’m a woman and I don’t mind.”

  Turner grinned at her. “You must be all of eighteen and not peculiar about your age yet.”

  She sniffed and tossed her head. “Ye’d be wrong, then.”

  He glanced at her, waiting.

  Jessi drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I’ll be nineteen come September.”

  He smiled, but wisely didn’t comment, and Jessi’s opinion of the man rose a notch. After they crossed the river, Emerson would be on the other side of the rise in front of them. Knowing she had time to speak to Maggie’s husband without being interrupted, she asked, “Why did ye think it grand that I’d gotten the better of John?”

  Turner turned to look at her. Instead of the answer she expected, he asked her a question. “Why was it important for you to knock him on his back in front of the whole town?”

  She didn’t owe the man an explanation but decided to give him one anyway. “I’d just traveled across a body of water bigger than I’d dreamed possible, on a ship that had me pukin’ up me guts the entire voyage. Then I got on a train and traveled west only to find out I’d need to travel by stagecoach to get to Colorado.”

  Jessi paused to get her emotions under control, because for some reason this man’s opinion mattered to her. “And when I arrived and saw John Reilly for the first time in six years—” She had to stop to blink back tears as the humiliation of that moment returned to torment her. He hadn’t remembered her, didn’t recognize her and then hadn’t even told her how wonderful it was to see her.

  “And then you stepped down off the stage and punched him in the jaw,” Turner finished for her.

  She laid a hand on his forearm. “That’s not how it happened.”

  “It’s what I heard.” He watched her like a hawk would his prey. The intensity of his stare bothered her, but she wouldn’t let him know it.

  “I got off the stagecoach and was waiting for the driver to hand down me bags. Then himself bumped into me, nearly knocking me on me ar—um…on me backside.” Jessi glanced at her companion to make sure he hadn’t been bothered by her nearly using improper language in front of him.

  He was watching a point on the road up ahead, but nodded that he was listening. “And then?”

  “He said, ‘Excuse me, ma’am.’ ”

  “And then you hit him?”

  “No!” Was Maggie’s husband trying to get her riled?

  “All right, after he apologized for bumping into you, what happened?”

  The wagon wheel rolled over a bump, jostling her into Turner. The pain rolling through her reminded her of the folly of letting her temper speak for her. “Don’t ye see?” she asked. “He didn’t know me. After six long years waiting for him to come back home, he’d changed his mind, so Mrs. Reilly and I decided that I’d travel here to convince him to come back.”

  “I gather from the way Reilly spent the night at Doc’s that your way to convince him was to give him a concussion.”

  It wasn’t the words so much as the way he’d said them that had her stiffening her spine, ready to blast him with the sharp edge of her rising temper. “I’ll have ye know—”

  “I’m just stating the facts, Jessi,” he said, interrupting her. “It’s what I was trained to do as a U.S. Marshal.” He glanced at her. “Some habits die hard.”

  “I didn’t mean to punch him.”

  “So you did punch him.”

  “Well, of course I did.”

  “But you just said that you didn’t—”

  Jessi didn’t let him finish. “I said I didn’t punch him the moment I stepped down off the stage.”

  “Ah.” Turner grinned and clicked at the horse, coaxing him to a faster pace to make it up the rise into town. “But you did hit him.”

  “Aye,” she whispered. “I wanted to wait to use me secret weapon, but don’t ye see?” she asked. “I was tired, hungry, and heartsick that all me wishin’ and hopin’ hadn’t made a bit of difference to the man. He wasn’t in any hurry to get back home to see me, because he didn’t even remember me.”

  Wiping the tears from her lashes, she sniffed the rest of them back. “So I punched him.”

  “And knocked him right off his feet,” Turner said. “Impressive feat for a woman of your stature.”

  “What’s wrong with me size?”

  “Not a thing,” he said with a smile. “My wife is shorter than you, but she’s got an admirable mean streak a mile wide.”

  Mollified, Jessi shrugged. “Well, then, what would be the problem with me knocking him on his arse?”

  “Didn’t you see him fall onto his back and hit his head?”

  Jessi drew in a breath and held it for a moment before slowly exhaling. “That would explain why he was befuddled.” Turning to Turner, she admitted, “I didn’t stick around to see what happened to the man after I connected with a solid right cross, just the way he’d taught me when I was six years old.”

  “Why would you want to know how to fight at such a young age?”

  “Me brother Dermot, Aiden and John all did, so I wanted to learn.”

  “Who’s Aiden?”

  “John’s older brother.”

  “But why would you ask John to teach you to fight instead of your own brother?”

  Jessi shook her head. “Dermot tried to lose me when they’d run across the fields. He didn’t want me taggin’ along.”

  Turner eased up on the reins as they approached the edge of town. “So what you’re getting at is John had the patience to teach you because you weren’t his sis
ter?”

  “Ye do understand then.” She beamed at him. “I can’t tell ye me secret, but know that I was provoked and totally within me rights to deliver the blow.”

  Wisely, Turner kept his thoughts to himself.

  Maggie’s married to a fine man, Jessi decided. Thinking about what Turner had said earlier, she asked, “Does everyone in town think me a hoyden?”

  He chuckled. “It would depend on whom you ask. Would it matter to you?”

  She lifted her chin high. “Not in the slightest.”

  “Good, because that’s Millicent Peabody up ahead outside the mercantile.”

  Jessi recognized her from the woman’s impromptu visit that morning. She cringed. “She’s not a nice woman.”

  Turner agreed immediately. “Neither is the former head of the committee, Sarah Burnbaum.”

  “I’ve heard the name mentioned,” she admitted. “But I’ve no quarrel with them. Why would they want to make trouble for me?”

  He sighed. “When their committee was allowed to meet, they’d end up making more trouble than good. They have certain standards that they think the townspeople should aspire to.”

  “And if ye don’t meet these standards?”

  “They try to convince you that Emerson is not where you want to live.”

  “And the local law is all right with that?”

  “Not by a long shot. But up until they tried to swindle Pearl’s ranch out from under her and set fire to Pearl’s barn, there wasn’t anything criminal behind their attacks.”

  “I hope whoever burned her barn is spendin’ time behind bars.”

  “Actually, Pearl fought to keep the culprit out of jail.”

  “Was the woman daft? If she knew who lit the fire, why wouldn’t she want to see the person responsible thrown in jail?

  Turner tipped his hat to Mrs. Peabody and guided the wagon toward the stable. “She swears Sarah Burnbaum didn’t realize her own son was inside the barn when Sarah had set it on fire.”

  “But wasn’t Pearl inside, too?”

  “Yes, but Pearl said that really wasn’t the point. Besides, Pearl felt Sarah would punish herself far more than the law ever could, knowing that Sarah had nearly killed her own son in her attempt to drive Pearl out of town.”