The Irish Westerns Boxed Set

by C. H. Admirand

  “Seamus?”

  He looked up at her and then over at Reilly, shaking his head. “Bad news from home. Is supper ready?”

  She placed a protective hand to her stomach and the baby sleeping inside of her. “Would Mick’s stew tempt John to eat?”

  Flaherty looked from one man to the other and shook his head. “I don’t know if Flynn and I will be able to get Reilly inside tonight.”

  “But he shouldn’t be out here drinking,” Bridget protested.

  Flynn looked up at her and tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “He won’t be alone.”

  Reilly held out his glass to Flynn without looking at him. When his friend obliged him by filling his glass again, Reilly brought the glass to his lips and sipped, never once looking at anyone.

  “How long has he been like this?” she asked.

  “Since he got back from town an hour ago,” Flaherty answered.

  Bridget nodded. “Does this have anything to do with the young woman who knocked him off his feet yesterday?”

  Flynn shook his head. “Yes and no.”

  Bridget smiled. “Well, that clears it up perfectly for me.”

  Leaning close to her husband, she whispered, “Do you want me to try to get him to talk?”

  Flaherty shook his head. “Maybe later. He needs some time alone.”

  “But you two are here.”

  “We’re not talking,” Flynn said simply. “We’re drinking.”

  “Then I’ll just leave you three to it.” She turned to leave, but Flaherty stood up and caught her about the waist. “Have I told you today how much I love you?” He kissed her temple and inhaled the sweet scent that was pure Bridget.

  “This morning,” she whispered, leaning into him.

  He hugged her close to his heart, before giving her a gentle shove to help her on her way back to the kitchen. “Remind me to tell you again later.”

  She smiled over her shoulder at him and went back inside.

  “Why didn’t she tell me?” Reilly rasped once Bridget closed the door behind her.

  “Are we back to that again?” Flynn sighed.

  “It seems we are,” Flaherty answered.

  The sound of horses moving at a fast clip had the three of them looking at one another and then rising to their feet.

  “Steady, Reilly.” Flynn helped him to stand. When he was satisfied that his friend wouldn’t fall over, he let go. “Who do you think it could be?” Flynn asked, catching up to Flaherty.

  Rather than answer, Flaherty lengthened his stride, hurrying around to the front of the ranch house, Flynn and, surprisingly, Reilly, close behind him.

  “Miss Fahy?” Flynn called out to her. “Is everything all right?”

  She held her injured hand to her waist but didn’t make a move to get down off of her horse. “I wanted to have a word in private with Mr. Reilly.”

  Reilly rolled his eyes, then groaned. “She’ll be the death of me yet.”

  “I thought you two knew each other,” Flaherty pitched his voice low.

  “Half my life,” Reilly answered. “And all of hers.”

  “Why does she call you Mr. Reilly?”

  Of course Flynn couldn’t leave well enough alone, Reilly thought. His friend just had to walk over to her horse and help her down. “You’ll be more comfortable inside, Miss Fahy.”

  “Ye can call me Jessi. Thank ye for helpin’ me down. I wasn’t sure how to manage it.”

  “How did you mount the horse?” Flaherty asked.

  She turned and smiled at the man who rode with her. “With Joshua’s help.”

  Reilly grumbled a string of curses, not really caring who heard. “A perfect stranger, and she’s callin’ him by his first name.”

  Jessi started to answer him, but Turner stopped her. “Just tell him that he’s mistaken, and we can leave,” Turner said. “I’ve got to get back home.”

  Nodding that she agreed with the plan, Jessi moved closer to Reilly. “May I speak with ye?”

  “Isn’t that what yer doin’ right now?”

  It was her turn to roll her eyes heavenward. “Alone.”

  He narrowed his eyes and glared at her. “Why?”

  “What I have to say might be upsettin’.”

  “Any more upsettin’ than landing on me arse in the middle of town?”

  She brushed her braid back over her shoulder and shrugged. “Ye didn’t land on yer arse and ye know it. Ye landed flat on yer back.”

  Reilly saw red. He clenched and unclenched his hands, imagining wrapping them around Jessi’s slender white throat. But the need to squeeze stopped him cold. Looking down at his hands he cringed. They were big and rough. Glancing over to where she stood, he knew he’d never lay a hand on her in anger. He might dream about it, and imagine it, but he’d never actually touch her while the temper was on him.

  Unlike a certain young woman who couldn’t control her own evil temper.

  “Now, Jessi,” Flynn began, after seeing the way Reilly held himself perfectly still. “Reilly has heard the bad news you came all this way to tell him. I wouldn’t go taunting him just now.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Turner said, dismounting. “Reilly didn’t stick around long enough to find out he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion.” He turned to Jessi. “Tell him.”

  Jessi walked right up to Reilly and placed her good hand on his arm. “Yer mother is just fine. She gave me the family Bible as a gift.”

  Relief swept through Reilly like the first breeze of spring, fresh and pure. “She’s not dead?”

  Jessi paled. “I’m sorry ye misunderstood, but I wasn’t feelin’ meself when ye left Doc’s. I hope ye didn’t suffer long.”

  Reilly looked over at Flynn and Flaherty, both of whom were watching the young woman standing in front of him. She was close enough to wrap his arms around. The temptation was great, but he resisted, taking a step back.

  Her words were still trying to soak in through his whiskey-laden brain. When they did, he grabbed a hold of her upper arms and demanded, “Why would me ma give ye the family Bible?”

  Jessi stared up at him as if he were a glass of water and she’d been dying of thirst. The impact settled low in his gut and moved south, hitting him where he never expected. Fighting for control, he told himself that she was just a child. Not the object of a man’s desire. His head might acknowledge that fact, but his heart and body refused.

  “Why indeed?” she echoed. “Thank ye for yer time, Mr. Reilly,” she said. “I’ll just be goin’ back to the boarding house now.”

  Reilly’s brain was still fogged with the bottle of the Irish that Flaherty kept on hand. Between that and his body’s reaction to Jessi’s nearness, he was slow to move.

  By the time he’d protested, she was already mounted and on her way, and only Flynn was still standing beside him.

  “Why the devil would me ma give it to her?” he demanded of Flynn.

  “Why do you suppose?”

  “It was to go to the first one of us who wed—” Reilly’s brain finally clicked into gear. “She wouldn’t have.” But now that he stopped to think of it, his mother certainly would have. “She planned it well, Flynn.”

  “Who planned what?”

  “Me own mother,” Reilly said, disgusted with himself, first for not thinking of it yesterday, and his mother second for thinking he wasn’t capable of choosing his own bride. Hell, he wasn’t ready to get married—was he?

  “What about the Bible?”

  Reilly nodded to the bottle Flynn had set down on the front porch steps. Flynn picked it up and handed it to him. Titling his head back, Reilly took a long hard pull of the alcohol before coming back up for air. “Do ye remember me ma’s last letter?”

  Flynn nodded. “It had us both salivating for weeks anticipating the treats she’d be sending from home.”

  Reilly handed the bottle back to Flynn who took a pull on it. “Have ye noticed how tiny Jessi is?”

  “A man wou
ld have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to notice that fair lass.”

  “A simple yes or no would have been fine,” Reilly grumbled, grabbing ahold of the bottle and finishing it off.

  “Well, what difference would it make if your friend was tall or short?” Flynn demanded.

  “Because me brother Aiden always said Jessi was light as a feather.”

  Flynn’s blank look changed to one of horror. “I’d bet Flaherty’s next bottle of whiskey that your mother thinks the lass is sweet.”

  When Reilly nodded, Flynn added, “Do you mean to say your own mother sent you a bride from back home?”

  Their gazes met and held, and for a moment neither one spoke. When Flynn started laughing, Reilly took exception and clubbed him on the back of the head with his fist.

  Flynn laughed harder. “She’s certainly picked a fine bride for you.”

  Reilly let go a string of curses.

  “She’s got the face of an angel, a tongue that could clip a hedge and a—”

  “Wicked right cross,” Reilly finished for him. “I know. I taught her.”

  Flynn paused for a moment staring off in the direction Jessi and Turner had gone. “If you don’t marry the lass,” he said, “I will.”

  “Like hell ye will,” Reilly growled, plowing his fist into Flynn’s unsuspecting face.

  To give the man credit, Flynn had always been able to take a punch. He came up swinging and plowed his fist into Reilly’s stomach.

  “What’s going on?” Masterson, one of the ranch hands, asked on his way past the two men brawling on the ground, battering one another with fists, elbows and knees.

  “We’re not sure,” Sean answered, wincing at the hit Reilly took to the side of the head. “Do you think Flaherty knows these two are fighting?”

  “The stock’s been fed and watered,” Sean’s brother Thomas said, catching up to them. “I thought we were on our way in for a slice of Bridget’s currant cake.”

  Masterson nodded to the two men still pounding the daylights out of one another. “Should we ask Flaherty to break it up?”

  “Why don’t we do it for him?” Sean asked with a wicked gleam in his eye. “He’s probably inside trying to coax his lovely bride away from the kitchen so they can be alone now that the chores are done for the day.”

  While they watched, Flynn took a hard jab to the ribs and curled up into a ball.

  “What did you have in mind?” Masterson asked, watching Reilly roll onto his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath.

  “Cooling them off.”

  “How?” Masterson wanted to know.

  “Bridget asked me to empty her wash water when I had time,” Sean replied with a grin. “I’ve time now.”

  Masterson shook his head. “How many loads of laundry did she do in it?”

  “Does it matter?” Thomas asked, heading toward the back of the house hard on his brother’s heels.

  The three of them listened to the groans of pain and curses and knew they had to stop the fight soon before one of them killed the other.

  “Grab the other side.” Sean and his brother hefted the tub of dirty water and carried it around front. Before Reilly and Flynn knew what hit them, they were soaked and cursing the Murphy brothers.

  Masterson nodded. “Well done,” he said. “That should do the trick.”

  “What in the hell did ye do that for?” Reilly demanded, struggling to stand.

  “I’d only just gotten the better of Reilly,” Flynn complained. “I was winning.”

  “Like hell ye were,” Reilly ground out.

  “Like hell I was,” Flynn countered, taking a step toward Reilly.

  “If anyone expects dessert, they’d best wash up first,” Bridget announced from the front porch steps.

  “What are we havin’?” Reilly called out, shoving Flynn so the man stumbled. Satisfied that he’d gotten the better of his friend, he turned toward the well pump, only to be tripped up by Flynn.

  “If you two don’t stop beating on each other,” Bridget bit out, “neither one of you will be eating one crumb of my currant cake.”

  Reilly stopped a hair’s breath away from punching Flynn. “Currant cake?” Putting an arm around the man he’d spent the last half hour beating, Reilly smiled, then winced.

  Flynn pushed him hard enough to have Reilly stumbling. “Is there fresh cream?”

  Bridget raised her eyes heavenward and sent a silent prayer to God to please give her strength. “Yes, but if you push one another one more time, neither one of you will be getting the cake or the cream.”

  “I think she means it, Flynn.” Reilly said, helping Flynn instead of tripping the man.

  “She’s been spending too much time with Maggie.” Flynn nodded at the slamming door. “It’s the Irish in the lasses,” he said solemnly. “They can’t help their tempers.”

  “What am I going to do about Jessi?” Reilly asked, stopping by the pump, bending down to let cold well water pour over the back of his head and neck.

  “What do you want to do with her?” Flynn asked. One look from Reilly and he chuckled. “There is that, but won’t you have to marry the lass first?”

  “Are you suggestin’ that she’s the kind of woman who’d—”

  Flynn didn’t let Reilly finish. “I’m not suggesting anything, and you know it.”

  Reilly cupped his hands beneath the spout and splashed it on his face. “ ’Tis best ye know where ye stand.”

  Flynn shoved Reilly out of his way and bent down to the let the cold water ease the worst of his aches and pains. “If you have feelings for the lass, why don’t you tell her?”

  Reilly rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I didn’t know I had feelings for her.”

  Flynn snickered. “You developed them after she knocked you on your arse?” Before Reilly could hit him again, Flynn danced out of the way. “You know I’d never let a woman come between us.”

  Reilly nodded. A woman never had, until now. “And?”

  “If you don’t want to court Miss Fahy, then I do.”

  Reilly’s gut clenched and his stomach burned as Flynn’s words cut through him. “What about the Widow Dawson?”

  Flynn smiled. “She’s a well-propertied woman.”

  “And?” Reilly prompted.

  “She’s got a pretty little daughter, about the same age as Emma.”

  They both looked toward the ranch house and smiled at one another. “Flaherty’s a lucky son of a bitch,” Reilly said.

  “And he knows it,” Flynn said.

  “But how do ye feel about the widow?” Reilly had to know.

  “She’s comely,” Flynn admitted.

  “Is it the fact that she has a daughter, then?” Reilly wondered.

  Flynn shook his head and said, “She’s not Irish.”

  “Ye say that like it’s a crime.”

  “It’s just that it didn’t matter until Jessi Fahy stepped down off the stage and you bumped into her and all hell broke loose.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Reilly said.

  “What does your gut tell you?”

  Reilly look at Flynn and shook his head. “I can’t get past the need to kiss her senseless.”

  Flynn grinned. “There is that, but what else?”

  Reilly raked his hands through his wet hair. “Why would my own mother think I need help choosing a bride?”

  Flynn shook his head. “Mothers think they know what’s best for their children.”

  “I’m not a child.”

  Flynn agreed. “Was there something you’re not remembering about what happened before you left home?”

  Reilly paused to think about it. Finally he said, “Jessi and me ma were close to tears and begged me not to go.”

  “But that didn’t stop you,” Flynn said.

  Reilly fell silent. After a few moments, the faraway look in his eyes changed and he looked as if he’d been hit on the head. “I think I just figured it out.”

  “
What?”

  “I might have made a promise.”

  Flynn snorted. “Were you drunk or sober?”

  “Sober,” Reilly answered.

  “What did you promise?”

  “That she’d be the first lass I’d kiss when I got home.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t mean your mother.”

  Reilly snorted. “Ye’d be right.”

  “Do you think the lass remembered after six years?”

  Reilly thought about it for a while before answering. “She’s got a memory like an elephant.”

  “And she’s female,” Flynn added.

  “There is that,” Reilly said, looking up at his friend.

  “You’ve a black eye, Flynn.”

  Flynn snorted. “You should look in a mirror, my friend.”

  “Are you two coming in?” Masterson called out from the front porch.

  “Aye,” Reilly answered. “We’ve just been washing up.”

  “Bridget’s waiting dessert until the two of you show up.”

  “Coming,” Flynn called out, shoving Reilly out of his way.

  “You’ve yet to best me in a fair fight, Reilly.”

  Reilly shoved him back. “I’ve been going easy on you, Flynn.”

  “Get your arses in here, or there’ll be hell to pay,” Flaherty called out.

  “Coming,” Reilly answered.

  “Be right there,” Flynn said.

  “Do you think they know we’ve been fighting?” Reilly hoped they didn’t, because he really wanted a slice of the moist, delicious cake Bridget Flaherty had baked, but he wasn’t sure.

  Flynn laughed at him. “Did you hit your head again today?”

  Reilly glared at him. “No, why?”

  “Never mind,” Flynn said. “I’d bet the ranch that if Bridget didn’t look out the front door and see us, then she heard us.”

  “Should we apologize?”

  Flynn tilted his head to one side. “Are you sorry you threw the first punch?”

  “I didn’t throw the first punch,” Reilly said. “You did.”

  “Didn’t,” Flynn insisted, shoving Reilly out of the way as they walked into the house.

  “Did,” Reilly shoved back, walking into the kitchen. From the look on Bridget’s face, they weren’t out of trouble yet.

  Thinking she didn’t believe he’d washed his hands, and hoping to distract her from her earlier threat to deny them dessert, Reilly elbowed Flynn and they both held up their hands for her to inspect.