Mrs. Swenson shook her head. “The quilt I’ve been working on won’t be finished until Maggie’s baby is due.” With a hug and wave, she all but shoved them out the door.
“Here’s yer hat,” Jessi mumbled.
“What’s your hurry,” Masterson finished, taking her by the elbow once more.
When she looked up at him, he smiled. “It’s one of Flynn’s favorite sayings.”
“How is Michael?” she asked, genuinely interested. “I haven’t seen him or John since…” She let the rest of the words go unsaid. It probably wasn’t a good idea to speak of one man while walking out with another. Not that she would be out riding with another man if she were back home. Her brother would have a fit if he knew. But her brother wasn’t here, and she trusted Mrs. Swenson’s instincts about Masterson.
Masterson turned out to be an amiable companion and kept up his end of the conversation without making Jessi feel uncomfortable about the fact that they barely knew one another.
By the time they’d reached the river, she knew that William was one of eight children, seven of them younger and all female. As they crossed the river he confessed he was partial to sweets and, in particular, fresh-baked scones.
He clicked to the horse and guided him up the lane to the Turners’ home.
“I’ve one brother and his name’s Dermot,” said Jessi.
“Would you like to borrow a sister or two?”
Jessi thought about it for a moment and smiled. “I’d have liked to have had a sister to grow up with. What’s it like?”
Masterson laughed. “Constant chattering, endless complaining and more hugs than you can imagine.”
“Ye miss them.” Jessi knew it the moment she’d said it.
He nodded, but didn’t look her way; he kept his eye on the road ahead of them.
“When was the last time ye were home?”
His sigh was long, and from the way he hunched forward, she sensed he was thinking about something sad.
“I’m sorry to have caused ye pain, askin’ too many questions.”
He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “It’s been a long time.” Masterson pulled back on the reins until the horse slowed, coming to a stop outside the Turners’ home. While he set the brake, Jessi stared at the house and wondered what it was about it that reminded her so strongly of home.
The pretty redhead she knew to be Maggie Turner stood in the open doorway. The wind blew a few whirls of dust across the doorstep and Maggie stilled. Looking down she murmured and Jessi knew she’d found someone who believed as she did.
“Have ye Wee Folk here in America?” she called out.
Maggie looked up and grinned. “Sure and they must have traveled with ye on yer ship.”
Masterson jumped off the wagon and held out his hands to help her down. Instead of taking her hand, he wrapped his hands about Jessi’s waist and lifted her down slowly, gently, as if she were something precious. It was a new experience for Jessi. Not one of the lads back home would have treated her as if she were fragile, but it might have been because she’d blackened most of their eyes by the time they’d started school.
A bit breathless, she said, “Thank ye, Mr. Masterson.”
“William,” he insisted, setting her on her feet, but not letting go.
When she tried to step out of his arms, he grinned down at her. “Is it a crime to use my given name?”
Maggie chuckled. “It would be back home if she’d only just met ye.”
His brows rose as if her explanation had surprised him. “My sisters would have had a difficult time in Ireland.”
“Did ye know he has seven?” Jessi asked, hoping Maggie wouldn’t condemn her for riding out with a man she’d only just met. Jessi needed a friend close to her own age and hoped to befriend Maggie Turner, not alienate her.
With a hand resting atop her hugely pregnant belly, Maggie smiled softly. “I’ve always thought William had a close understandin’ of what women think and feel,” she said. “Now I know why.”
“Oh!” Jessi said, turning back to the wagon. “I’ve brought the sourdough starter Mrs. Swenson promised ye.”
Masterson’s arms were longer. He reached into the wagon bed and handed the basket to her.
Smiling up at Masterson, she thought she saw a trace of sadness in the man’s eyes. “Is everything all right?” she asked.
Instead of answering, he shrugged again, something he did often. “I’ll see to the horse while you and Maggie visit.”
“I’ll put the kettle on.” Maggie slipped her arm through Jessi’s and called out over her shoulder, “I’ve fresh-baked scones—just the way ye like them with fresh berries and cream.”
Masterson groaned. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind and run away with me?”
Maggie’s lilting laughter settled about them like a hug. “Much as I’ve missed yer handsome face, me husband might not understand.”
Masterson was chuckling softly as he unhitched the horse and led him over to the water trough by the barn.
“Ye’ve lightened his heart,” Jessi said. “I’m afraid I asked him something that made him sad.”
Maggie nodded. “Ye must have asked him about his home.”
Startled, Jessi nodded. “Aye, that I did.”
“Watch where ye step now,” she warned. “There’s Wee Folk here and about.”
Jessi obliging curtseyed to a swirl of dust that swept across the doorstep before she entered. It was never wise to ignore the gentry.
Stepping inside the Turners’ home was like walking into Mrs. Reilly’s kitchen. The scents that surrounded her had her blinking back tears. Drawing in a deep breath, she drew in the aroma of home. Warm scones were piled on one plate, soda bread waiting to be sliced on another. “If ye had peat for the fire, I could close me eyes and imagine meself back home,” Jessi confessed.
Maggie put the kettle on the cookstove and walked over to where Jessi stood just inside the door. “Come in then,” she offered. “And we’ll speak of home.”
Jessi couldn’t say why the thought of sharing a bit of home with Maggie brought tears to her eyes. But Maggie understood and didn’t say a word, she simply gathered Jessi close and held her through the worst of her tears.
The kettle was whistling by the time Masterson knocked on the door and came inside. “Is everything all right?”
“Jessi needed a good cry,” Maggie said by way of explanation.
Masterson nodded. “Someone always needed a shoulder to cry on when I lived home.” He smiled as if the memory was pleasant.
“Yer shoulders are certainly broad enough to handle the weight of more than one woman crying on ye,” Maggie said, handing Jessi the handkerchief she kept handy since she first discovered she was expecting.
Jessi wiped her eyes, grateful that Masterson hadn’t commented on her weakness like Dermot would have. From the way he watched her, she wondered if he wasn’t waiting to either ask her something or tell her something that troubled him. Maybe he would on the ride home.
“Yer a dear woman, Mrs. Turner.”
“After ye’ve cried all over me, ye’d best be callin’ me Maggie.”
The three were smiling as Maggie poured hot water into her crockery teapot to steep. “If ye’ll fill the man’s plate with some scones and then pass the berries and cream, we’ll not hear another word from him until his plate’s empty.”
Masterson smiled and held out her chair. “Your husband wouldn’t want you to overdo.”
Maggie nodded. “Yer a dear man, William.”
He snorted. “Tell that to Reilly.”
Jessi’s head snapped up at the mention of John’s name. “How is his head?”
Masterson coughed to cover what Jessi suspected was a laugh. “His bruises are healing nicely.”
“I would have thought they’d be healed by now.” Jessi wondered if he hadn’t been following Doc’s strict instructions and said as much to Masterson.
When the man looked down at hi
s plate and fiddled with the fork instead of lifting it up, she wondered what he didn’t want her to know.
Before she could ask, Maggie spoke. “Ye’d best be tellin’ the lass. She’s a right to know.”
Masterson’s gaze met Jessi’s. “And why would you say that, Maggie?”
“ ’Tis plain as the nose on yer pretty face that she cares for the man, havin’ spent all of her life knowin’ him.”
“Is that the only reason?” he asked, looking at Maggie.
“For heaven’s sake,” Maggie grumbled. “Just tell her what happened the other day, or I will.”
Fear for the man she loved constricted Jessi’s throat, making it impossible to speak or swallow.
“Now ye’ve done it,” Maggie said, rising up to rub Jessi’s back. “Just breathe,” she whispered. “ ’Twill pass in a moment.”
Jessi nodded and concentrated on breathing in one deep breath after another until the tension in her throat eased and she was able to swallow.
“Take a sip.” Maggie nodded at Jessi’s teacup.
Jessi did as Maggie bade and was finally able to speak. “Someone would have told me if anything happened to John,” she said. “Wouldn’t they?”
Maggie patted her hand one last time, then took her seat again. “Of course we would. ’Tis not as bad as ye think.”
Masterson watched Jessi like a hawk, but didn’t say a word.
“Are ye tryin’ to make me daft?”
He shook his head. “I’m wondering if you’re what’s wrong with Reilly and Flynn.”
“Something’s wrong between them, ye mean,” Maggie said.
“What happened?” Jessi had to know.
“The day you stopped by to speak to Reilly, he and Flynn had a knock-down, drag-out fistfight.”
“Over what?” Jessi asked.
Masterson shrugged. “Neither one will say.”
“Well, then,” Maggie said, taking a bite out of a scone topped with cream. “Ye’ll just have to find out and tell us.”
Masterson shook his head. “How am I going to do that?” he asked. “Since they’re both being closemouthed about the fight?”
Maggie shook her head. “Can ye not see that ye’ll have to get them both drunk and then ask?”
Masterson took a huge bite of scone and sighed. “All right,” he said. “But it’ll cost you.”
Maggie grinned at him. “I already know the price ye’ll be askin’. How many batches will it cost me?”
Masterson smiled, licking the cream from the corner of his mouth. “Two—fresh from the oven.”
She slapped her hand down on the tabletop. “Done.”
The door opened and Maggie’s husband walked in. He looked from his wife to Masterson and then Jessi. “Have I interrupted any important plotting?”
“What makes ye think I’d be plottin’ anythin’?”
He walked over to where she sat, placed a hand protectively on her belly and kissed the top of her head. “Because, my darling wife, I’ve lived with you long enough to know when you’re up to something.”
“Have I a spot on me nose?”
He nodded. “A bright green one.”
She laughed and he hugged her. “Can’t you leave Reilly alone?” Turner asked Jessi.
Jessi’s jaw dropped open. “Why would you say that?”
Turner looked at Masterson and shrugged.
“Me darlin’ husband used to be a marshal. He’s terribly brilliant.”
Turner laughed and reached for a slice of soda bread. “I was smart enough to marry you before you got away.”
Maggie patted his arm and leaned back against him. “If ye say so.”
Masterson looked out the front window and got up. “Weather’s coming,” he said. “We’d best get you back to town.” Turning to Maggie, he held out his hand. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Mrs. Turner.”
“Sure and ye be welcome, Mr. Masterson.”
Jessi shook her head, and Turner laughed. He said, “They’re being formal for my sake. I know the moment my back is turned, she’ll be calling him William and he’ll be asking her to run away with him.”
Jessi had to ask, “And that doesn’t bother ye?”
Turner placed a hand on Maggie’s shoulder and shook his head. “She loves me almost as much as I love her.”
Maggie laughed. “ ’Tis the other way around, ye daft man.”
Jessi smiled at the both of them. “Thank ye for everything.”
Maggie nodded. “Come back and see me and we’ll speak of home.”
Jessi’s eyes filled again, but they were tears of joy. She’d found another friend she could confide in, one who would understand how she felt and who believed as she did in the Wee Folk. “It would be me pleasure.” She turned to Masterson. “I’m ready.”
The ride home was as quiet as the ride out had been filled with talk. Jessi hoped that she’d have another opportunity to ride out to see Maggie Turner before her baby arrived.
“Do ye think it’ll rain before we get back?” Not that Jessi was concerned, but Masterson seemed to be preoccupied with worry, if the number of times he looked up on the ride home were any indication.
“Maybe by a few minutes.”
“Yer serious?”
He nodded. “Storms out here can be dangerous. The land is flat, and storms build up a lot of energy.”
She looked up at the clouds, but didn’t see anything to worry about.
“Have you ever seen a fork of lightning strike the ground?”
She shook her head. “We’ve lots of trees by me home. ’Tis more open out here.”
He clicked and worked the reins so the horse picked up the pace. “I’ll drop you off at the boarding house.”
“I don’t mind walkin’ back from the stable with ye.”
“It’s not safe,” he said simply. “And I promised to see you safely home.”
Touched that he would be so earnest at keeping his word, she laid a hand on his arm. “Yer a good man, William.”
He turned his head to stare at her. “Thank you, Jessi. I hope you still think so the next time we meet.”
She was left to wonder what he meant, since they’d arrived at the boarding house as the first rumbling of thunder sounded in the distance.
“Ye be careful goin’ home.”
He nodded, flicked the reins and drove off.
“Well, how was your visit?” Mrs. Swenson asked when Jessi walked into the kitchen.
“Ye were right about yer friends, Mrs. Swenson.” Jessi walked over to where the woman stood by the stove and pulled her into a fierce hug. “I’m lucky to have ye as me friend.”
Mrs. Swenson smiled and said, “Then don’t you think it’s about time you started calling me Inga?”
Jessi laughed and felt the better for it. “Thank ye, Inga.”
“You’re welcome, Jessi.”
“Did you know that Michael and John had a fight the other day?”
“Really? What about?”
“Maggie and I tried to find out, but William didn’t seem to know.”
“William?” Inga prodded.
“Aye,” Jessi smiled. “He is a dear man.”
“Tell me more?” Inga smiled and waited, but Jessi shook her head. “There’s not much to tell. We talked of family, the weather and food.”
Inga smiled. “William’s favorite topics.”
“Somethin’s troublin’ the man.”
“Did you find out what?”
“Not yet, but I might the next time I see him.”
Inga smiled. “So you plan to see him again?”
Jessi nodded. “How else will I find out if he’s been able to use alcohol to ply the truth from John and Michael about their fight?”
“You have had a busy day.”
“Maggie’s a wonderful woman.”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“So are ye, Inga,” Jessi said softly.
Inga blinked, but Jessi still saw the tears fil
ling her friend’s eyes. The woman cleared her throat and wiped her hands on her apron. “Are you hungry?”
“Let me wash up and I’ll help set the table. How many will ye have tonight?”
“Mrs. Greene is bringing the Widow Dawson and her daughter, so it’ll be the six of us.”
“Marshal Justiss is back in town?”
Inga’s smile was radiant. “He is.”
“So we’ll be havin’ yer famous beef with biscuits and gravy, and apple pie for dessert?”
“How did you know?”
“Aside from the delicious scent?” Jessi asked. “The marshal is partial to yer apple pie.”
“Ben could use someone like you when he’s puzzling out a problem.”
“I’d be happy to help.” Jessi wondered if she’d ever get the opportunity to pay either Inga or the marshal back for their kindness when she needed it most.
“Do ye think Doc would like a hand with his patients?”
Inga brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’m sure he would. What did you have in mind?”
“Well,” Jessi said slowly, thinking it through before she spoke. “I’m able to help more here, but I still have time on me hands, and would like to pay Doc back for his help.”
The crack of lightning had them both jumping, but the scent of burning wood coming in through the window had them running out to the porch.
“The stable!” Inga cried. “I’ve got to find Ben and tell him,” she said. “He’ll organize a bucket brigade.”
“I can help,” Jessi said following after her. “I’ve a way with animals.”
“Come on, then.”
They were halfway to the stable when the rain began to pour, but as quickly as it started, the rain stopped. “Mr. Peterson?” Jessi called, but no one answered.
Pulling open the stable door, she gasped. The stable’s owner lay face down in the straw. She and Inga each grabbed an arm and tugged him outside.
“Go and get the marshal,” Jessi urged. “I can handle horses.”
“But they’re afraid of fire.”
Jessi nodded. “ ’Tis universal. The horses back home were, too.”
“I’ll help,” Inga said. “We’ve got to get the horses outside before the fire gets any closer.”
They heard shouting in the distance and knew help was on the way. “If ye get the black,” Jessi said, “I’ll get the roan.”
The Irish Westerns Boxed Set Page 84
