When she had first arrived, asking for directions to the O’Rourke home, she had heard about the store and the warehouse, plus about Kevin’s recent nuptials. Then, at the O’Rourke warehouse, when she found that Seamus O’Rourke had not anticipated her arrival, she had lashed out. She curled onto her side with her arms wrapped around herself. “Fool,” she whispered. “Always allowing fear to fuel you.”
However, in that moment, when she had learned of his son’s marriage, she had thought all her hopes and dreams were dashed. It wasn’t until she had fled and spoken with Mr. Hunt that she realized Mr. O’Rourke had more than one son. “Fool,” she muttered again. She feared Seamus O’Rourke thought her a madwoman and would never want her for one of his available sons.
Although, if his only interested son were the overbearing, pompous one who had spoken with her at the café today, she’d rather remain a widow forever. Shivering as she remembered the deep blue of his eyes, she fought the yearning to be worthy of a man’s concern and regard again. To feel cherished again.
With a disgusted grunt, she breathed in and out to force herself asleep and to still her mind of racing thoughts and free it from flights of fancy. She would be reasonable and self-reliant. Banishing foolish thoughts, she reminded herself the last thing she wanted in her next marriage was love.
Chapter 2
The following day, Ardan worked in the family store with his younger brothers, Eamon and Finn. They were affectionately called the twins because they looked so much alike, thought alike, finished each other’s sentences, and were inseparable. Although Eamon was older, at twenty-two, he did not act any more mature than his twenty-year-old brother. The store was largely their domain, and Ardan knew they were experts at peddling their goods to the men arriving in Fort Benton, eager to travel to the gold mines farther afield in Montana Territory.
Ardan half listened to the twins prattle and extol the virtue of one mining implement over another, while Ardan worked alone to restock shelves. Although he could have had any one of his younger brothers do the task, he needed something to relieve him of his pent-up energy. If the bullwhacker Cormac Ahern arrived soon, Ardan determined he would travel with him to the next steamboat landing at Cow Island, some 120 miles away, to help load supplies onto wagons for their return to Fort Benton. Anything to ease his restlessness.
As he moved around their store, he considered his plan to return to Saint Louis. Last winter had been tolerable because he had had Kevin for company. Ardan was uncertain what he would do were he to travel alone. He had no desire to play endless games of poker, and he knew few people there for him to partake of much society.
Tilting his head to one side, he listened as Buford Hunt spoke with Eamon about having supplies delivered to his café later in the day. After Buford strolled out, Ardan wandered to the front area in a lull between patrons. “If you need someone to deliver supplies, I can do it,” he said. “I’ve nothin’ better to do today.”
Finn stared at him in confusion. “I thought you always said the benefit of being the eldest brother was that you didn’t have to do the menial tasks, like delivering supplies.”
Ardan shrugged and grinned at his brother, who was the spitting image of his younger self. “No, the benefit is that I can decide what I do and don’t want to do.” He winked as Eamon laughed, and Finn rolled his eyes.
A few hours later, Ardan pulled the loaded cart along the dirt path behind the buildings on Front Street until he arrived at the rear entrance to the café. He walked up the few steps and knocked on the door. When no answer came, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. He paused, eyes widening as he beheld the sparkling space. “Wow,” he breathed, as he turned in a slow circle.
“You’re dirtying the floor with your shoes,” said an irritated woman behind him.
He spun and smiled, as he met the equally irritated gaze of the woman from yesterday. “Hello again. Is it Miss or Mrs. Finnegan?”
She flushed, her lips pursed together, before she said, “Mrs. Finnegan.”
“And where would Mr. Finnegan be?” His blue eyes twinkled with merriment, as he noted his presence made her even more irritable.
“In a mass grave in Mississippi.”
He stilled, his smile frozen, as he met her defiant stare. “I beg your pardon, ma’am.” He held up his hands, as though in supplication. “I never meant …” He broke off his apology when he noted no softening in her expression. He waved toward the rear door. “I have supplies.”
She motioned for him to get them and opened the door to a small larder. “If you could bring them in and set the boxes on the table, I’ll sort them out.”
“I can help you, Mrs. Finnegan,” Ardan said, as he watched her with unveiled curiosity.
“There’s no need. I’ve organized kitchens before, and I have a system.”
Understanding he had been summarily dismissed, Ardan returned outside to begin lugging in her cooking supplies. He set everything on the butcher block table in the middle of the large kitchen and then crammed his hands into his pockets. “May I do anything else to help you?”
She firmed her mouth and then nodded. “Yes. I know no one in town, and Mr. Hunt has made himself scarce today. The only time I’ve seen him, I gave him a list of supplies I needed. Other than that, I have no idea where he is.”
“Ah, as to that, ma’am, I suspect he’s savorin’ his free day.” His fingers tapped on the tabletop. “He’s most likely at the Sunrise.”
“Sunrise occurred hours ago, Mr. O’Rourke,” she said, her brows furrowed with confusion at his blatant misunderstanding.
“No, ma’am,” Ardan said, a chuckle as his eyes twinkled. “The Sunrise is the most popular saloon in Fort Benton. I heard Buford tell Eamon and Finn at the store that he would go there before heading … elsewhere.” He flushed and shook his head. “I wouldn’t seek him out again today.”
“Eamon and Finn?”
“Two of my brothers. They run the family store. You should call me Ardan, as there are so many of us O’Rourkes that you’ll never keep us straight.” He winked at her, and his smile broadened as her shoulders straightened so much he thought she’d topple backward.
“Mr. O’Rourke, I’m certain I don’t need—” Her protest was interrupted by a pounding on the front door. She turned to stare in that direction but did not go to answer it. She paled as the pounding intensified.
“Are you well, lass?” Ardan asked. When she shivered as though in fear, Ardan marched from the kitchen through the empty café and to the front door. He yanked it open and glared at the two men standing on the opposite side. “What?”
“We want us some food,” said the taller of the two, a rifle slung over his shoulder, as he attempted to push Ardan aside.
Ardan stood his ground and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not today. A new cook arrived, and the café’s closed ’til tomorrow. Find somewhere else to eat.” He saw them exchange a glance and took a step forward. “Try anything, and I’ll report you to the sheriff.”
He watched them saunter off, muttering under their breaths about uppity Irishmen, waiting until they were a fair distance away before he shut and locked the door again. He ensured the notice informing patrons that the café was closed was readily visible before returning to the kitchen.
Pausing at the entrance to the kitchen, he frowned when he didn’t see Mrs. Finnegan. However, he heard muttering in the larder and poked his head in. “Trouble?” he asked, as he saw her kick at a heavy ceramic jar.
“Did you ever eat here?” she demanded.
“Not since the Tompkinses left town and sold it to Buford, although I’ve considered it a few times.”
She gave a huff of exasperation. “I’m surprised Mr. Hunt’s cooks didn’t poison the whole town. He could have started an epidemic with the rancid food I’ve found.”
Ardan paled at the thought and shook his head. “Do what you must to prevent such a thing, Mrs. Finnegan.” He ducked his head rather than meet her inquisi
tive stare. “What was supposed to be in that large jug?”
“I think it’s a butter churn, but it’s so foul smelling that it makes me ill.”
Ardan picked it up and carried it outside, with her on his heels, ignoring her protests. “I’ve nothin’ better to do today, and you need some help if you are to set this place to rights by mornin’.” He nodded in the direction of the front door. “Those were hungry men lookin’ for food. I imagine they’ll be lined up tomorrow early, waitin’ for a meal. I’d pray you can cook as well as Buford claims.”
She fisted her hands on her hips and shook her head, although her eyes shone with intrigue and appreciation. Letting out a deep breath, she said, “Thank you … for your help, Mr. O’Rourke.”
“Ardan. Seven more Mr. O’Rourkes are in this town, not counting Da. Nine male siblings total, if you count my two half brothers who Da has adopted as his own. Reserve your Mr. O’Rourkes for my da.” He winked at her and set off with her butter churn. “I’ll be back,” he called over his shoulder.
Deirdre stared after Ardan as he carried the heavy churn, as though it weighed no more than a feather. She attempted, and failed, to ignore the way the muscles in his shoulders and back flexed as he moved. For a large man, he was too graceful for his own good. “For my own good,” she mumbled to herself.
Rather than stand on her stoop and stare after him like a lovesick girl, she entered the kitchen and latched the door after her. She stared around the kitchen with satisfaction. Every surface sparkled, and she knew she could serve nourishing food with pride tomorrow.
Ignoring yet another knock at the front door, she put away the new supplies as she planned the simple meals she would prepare for tomorrow. Uncertain of how many men she would need food for, she thought it better to plan for too many than too little. A near constant knock had sounded out front, as though men were attempting to see if any food scraps were to be had. However, none had come to the back door except Ardan.
She flushed as she remembered how she had reacted when Ardan had been here at the initial pounding on the front door. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath to still her racing heart. A knock never upset her, but the sound of a fist demanding entrance brought back her worst memories. Memories she wished she could forget.
Shaking her head to clear it of her reverie, she pulled out a cloth to swipe down the counters one more time. Unable to prevent it, her thoughts returned to Ardan. His effortless strength as he brought in crates of supplies or hefted the butter churn. The twinkle of amusement in his gaze and then the remorse when he realized he’d misspoken. Although she wanted to dislike him, she feared he would be a hard man to hate.
“You don’t have to hate him,” she muttered to herself. “Just avoid him.” With that, she attempted to focus on her remaining tasks, although her gaze frequently flitted to the back door, awaiting his return.
Ardan walked away from the café’s back door, uncertain how he would clean out the butter churn. He half considered going to the store and seeing if they had another one there, but this was a solid ceramic piece, and he thought it would be a shame to destroy it. “Maggie!” he called out, as he saw his youngest sister sitting on the back steps of his parents’ house. She looked like a younger version of their mother, with her auburn hair and build, although her eyes were their da’s startling cobalt blue. “Want to help me with a project?”
She rose and met him near the chicken coop, only a hint of trepidation in her gaze. “What do you have there, Ardan?” she asked. She bent forward to better look at the churn, and her nose wrinkled as she backed up a step. “Did something die inside it?”
Laughing, Ardan shook his head. “No, but ’tis a right mess. Mrs. Finnegan is putting the café to rights, and I delivered her new supplies today. She was working on this, an’ I thought I’d help her.”
Maggie gave him a searching look before motioning for him to wait. After entering the house, she exited with a bar of soap, a long wooden spoon, and two towels. By the back door, she grabbed a shovel. “Come. Let’s go to the small stream, and see if we can wash this out.”
“A shovel, Maggie?” Ardan asked, as he walked beside her.
“To bury that vile stuff inside. I fear it would kill the chickens!” She fought a smile as he laughed.
He slung an arm over her shoulder, carrying the churn against his side. Maggie was his youngest sister at nearly eighteen, and he had thought her lost to them. As lost as his mum. However, last month, he had discovered that not only had his mother survived his sister’s birth after their arrival from Ireland to Montreal in 1847 but so had his wee baby sister.
He had spent nearly eighteen years, praying every night for his dead mum and sister, only to find them in town, planning to travel to Virginia City. Beaten and bruised, both his mother and his youngest sister had escaped living with a violent man who now looked for gold deep in the Territory. Ardan prayed their tormentor never returned, for Maggie was finally overcoming her fears and turning into the confident, spirited sister he had always imagined her to be.
Allowing Maggie to lead them away from town, he relaxed as he enjoyed his time with his youngest sister. The impatience he had felt earlier in the day had dissipated, and he relished having a purpose. Even if it meant dealing with a churn filled with rancid butter. The ability to aid Mrs. Finnegan also filled him with pleasure, although he ignored that thought and focused on the robin’s-egg blue sky, the horsehair clouds, and the gentle breeze ruffling his hair. “I should have insisted you wear a hat,” he said.
“I should have remembered,” Maggie said with a giggle. “Come. Let’s get this chore done, and then I’ll find some shade.” Like Kevin, Niamh, and their mother, Maggie had a tendency to burn much faster than the rest of the brothers, who looked like their da.
After following a small path through waist-high burnished-gold grass, they approached a small stream. Maggie handed Ardan the shovel and pointed for him to dig a hole away from the water. He watched as she nearly retched when she lifted the lid off the churn.
“Oh, this is disgusting,” she gasped. She turned her head away, taking deep breaths of fresh air. “How could someone not know this was festerin’ away?”
Ardan smiled at his sister, as she sounded more like his Irish siblings and their parents every day. He had begun to suspect she had a knack for picking up accents and mimicking those around her, and worried she had originally learned that skill to deflect notice of herself by the abusive men who had raised her. Pushing aside that concern, he motioned for her to hand the churn to him, and he took it from her, dumping it upside down.
His smile faded as he saw his sister watching him with a curious expression. “What?” he asked.
She shrugged. “You’re smiling more,” she murmured. “When I first came to the house, you were always serious and almost never smiled. Now you laugh and grin at least once a day.”
He scowled at her, pausing in running water through the churn in his attempt to clean it. “I’m not an ogre, Maggie.”
She shook her head and hitched up her skirts as she rushed into the creek. Gripping his arm, she shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. It’s like you’re finally allowing yourself to enjoy life, Ardan. Since we came back.” She paused and dropped her head. “I’m being foolish.”
“No, lass, you aren’t.” He closed his eyes. “More joy has been in our house in the past few weeks than in the past eighteen years combined.” He opened his eyes, revealing the longing, hope, and terror within. “’Tis wondrous and terrifyin’ at the same time.”
Maggie nodded. “I know. What happens when I lose you all again?” she whispered.
He took a step toward her, water sloshing at his feet and spraying her skirts. He gripped her shoulder with a free hand and gave her a gentle squeeze. “No, Maggie. You’ll always have someone. There are too many of us for you to ever be alone again.” He waited until the panic receded from her gaze and then nodded. “Come. Let’s finish this work before you look lik
e a ripe tomato.” He smiled again as she giggled at his teasing.
Working with Maggie to clean the churn for the next forty-five minutes, they chatted about any topic that interested her. However, one topic she never discussed was their sister Niamh. Their eldest sister, married to the lazy Connor Ahern since her arrival to Fort Benton, had never reconciled with their mother, and had yet to fully welcome Maggie either.
“What’s Mrs. Finnegan like?” Maggie asked, as she stood in the stream with her skirts tied around her knees, shaking the water around inside the churn.
“Prickly,” Ardan said without thinking, which earned an intrigued stare from his sister. “Doesn’t like to accept help, even when she needs it. A widow.”
“Oh, the poor woman,” Maggie said, as she swiped at her forehead and effectively doused herself with stream water. “I should just give up and jump in the stream right now for a bath.” She laughed at her soaked clothes.
Ardan took the churn from her and took over scrubbing the inside again. He knew that it would soon be cleaned out and ready to use. “She thought Kevin would be waitin’ here to marry her.”
Maggie’s eyes rounded in shock, as she gaped at her eldest brother. “You’re not joking.” At his quick shake of his head, she held her palms to her cheeks. “Oh, what did Da do?”
“Nothin’,” Ardan said, as he started on the final rinse of the butter churn, half smiling at her calling their father “Da.” She used to intentionally call him “Father,” as though to keep herself separate from her other siblings. And to keep their father at arm’s length. “Seems she acted like a madwoman, saying she’d been ‘duped by a duplicitous fiend, and, if there were any justice in the world, she’d never have to hear the name O’Rourke again.’” He chuckled.
Maggie couldn’t stop a fit of giggles. “And then you delivered her supplies today.”
“Aye, ’twas a surprise to find her there as the new cook, but I took that opportunity to inform her nine other O’Rourke men besides me were in town, not counting Da, and she should call me by my first name. Thought she’d faint when I told her the total number of O’Rourke men here.”
Pioneer Desire: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Two Page 3
