Pioneer Desire: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Two

by Ramona Flightner

  Deirdre paused a moment, sipping from her ever-ready cup of tea. “So, you arrived in Fort Benton with a man in pursuit of you?” Deirdre asked.

  Niamh paused and sighed. “I fear it wasn’t as romantic as I made it out to be. Connor and his brother were on the same steamboat, an’ Connor showed an interest. I was a silly girl, with a loving family, an’ I longed for adventure. An’ I thought it romantic that a man promised to another would be so enchanted by me that he’d forget his first love.” Her eyes clouded at her words, as though she had revealed too much.

  Deirdre took a sip of tea, noting an undercurrent of bitterness and regret in Niamh’s words. “What happened?”

  Niamh shrugged and pasted on a cheery smile. “The steamboat couldn’t make it all the way here. We had to dock at Cow Island.” She made a motion, as though indicating the landing site over a hundred miles from Fort Benton.

  Deirdre nodded, as the same had occurred to her earlier this summer.

  “Connor an’ I snuck away in a stagecoach, without any of my brothers or my da. Only his brother,” she murmured. Her gaze was distant. “When my family arrived in Fort Benton a few days later, Da knew nothin’ was to be done but to agree for us to marry.”

  Deirdre took a deep breath. “Your father seems a proud man. Did he like being fooled?”

  Shaking her head, Niamh moved to the stew to stir the pot. “No, but he feared I was with child already.” She shook her head. “My da’s a good man. But I went against everything he had instilled in me. To be cautious. To always have him or one of my brothers with me. And he couldn’t imagine subjectin’ a child to the stain of bein’ born out of wedlock. So we married.”

  “And now you have a child,” Deirdre said.

  “Aye, but Maura came later. After I realized Connor recognized that my father was a man destined for success and hoped to live off my family’s prosperity.” She flushed. “I beg your pardon for soundin’ bitter.”

  Deirdre shrugged. “I wondered why you would be desperate for work, when you had a living husband and your family is the most esteemed in town. You’re committed to make it on your own, aren’t you?”

  Niamh stood facing Deirdre, her body filled with a tenacious determination. “Aye,” she said. “My husband far prefers the saloons or the gamblin’ tables to workin’ with his brother. Cormac is the hard worker. Connor is the layabout dreamer.”

  “Cormac,” Deirdre muttered. “Is he the man who drives the oxen carts?”

  “Aye, the bullwhacker,” Niamh said. “The younger brother, although you wouldn’t know it by how he acts.” She sighed. “What made you come to Fort Benton?”

  Deirdre took another sip of her tea and rose to start mixing ingredients for rolls for dinner. “Oh, a desire for adventure. A yearning to leave all that was familiar behind.”

  Niamh shook her head, as she studied the woman who appeared to be about her age, but she suspected was a few years younger. “Nay, you never run from the familiar if it’s bringin’ you comfort.” When Deirdre remained silent, Niamh smiled. “’Tis all right, Deirdre. We all have our secrets.”

  A few nights later, Ardan left his house and wandered over to the café. He looked inside to see a few stragglers remained at the tables, and he sauntered around to the back door. Tonight, she had left it open to allow the cooling night air to enter. He paused on the bottom step as her soft, sweet voice carried on the breeze. Closing his eyes, he listened until she finished the slow song and moved on to another he recognized as “Darling Nelly Gray.”

  “A cook and a singer,” he teased from the doorway. At her squeal of surprise, he chuckled. “I hadn’t thought one person could have so much natural skill.”

  She flushed and rolled her eyes as she grinned at him. “The baking I learned. The singing I inherited.” She motioned for him to enter, and she swiped at the countertops, not laboring over a dishpan of dirty dishes.

  “Niamh’s helpin’ you then,” he said.

  “She’s a godsend,” Deirdre said. “Not only is she an excellent cook but she never complains about doing all the other tasks that keep a kitchen running.” She sighed with contentment. “How are you?” At his careless shrug, she pointed to a stool and moved to the icebox. “Come. Have a glass of milk and a slice of my cake. You’ve yet to try anything I’ve made.”

  “There’s no need to go to any fuss, Deirdre,” he complained, although he had already sat and was eyeing the cake with lascivious intent.

  She laughed. “You can’t fool me!” After cutting him a generous slab and pouring him a glass of milk, she sat beside him. She frowned when he grimaced at his first bite of the yellow cake with powder-sugar glaze. “You don’t like it?” She sat back, perplexed at such a possibility.

  “No,” he said, as he grabbed his plate and held it away from her, as though she were about to snatch it from him. “’Tis a little piece of heaven itself, and I don’t understand how you can sell it for so little.” He saw her flush with pleasure at his words and smiled at her before taking a sip of milk.

  She relaxed, enjoying watching him eat her food. “I had to improvise. I don’t have all the spices I’m used to here. If I’m to be here next year, I’ll need your father to order spices for me.”

  Ardan instinctively tensed at her mention that she might not be here the following year. He lowered his fork, as he feared any food might get stuck in his throat. “Where would you go?” he asked, clearing his throat. He took a sip of milk and attempted to act nonchalant as he fought panic.

  She shrugged, appearing not to notice the dismay her words caused. “I’m not sure. If things don’t work out with Mr. Hunt, perhaps I’ll go to Helena or Virginia City.” She rose and moved to ensure the remaining cake was covered. “Nothing’s keeping me here.”

  Ardan choked, biting back words he knew he had no right to say. Finally he rasped, “You’d be missed.”

  She stared at him a long moment, her gaze ensnared by his as he rose and slowly approached her.

  “The men would lament the loss of my cooking for a few days,” she said in a quavering voice, in an attempt to elicit a chuckle or a smile.

  He shook his head, his expression serious. “I’m not talkin’ about the men. Or Buford the buffoon. I refer to Niamh. To my mum.” He paused as he came to a stop in front of her, his hands reaching forward so his fingertips caressed hers. He watched her swallow. A flush rose up her neck, to her cheeks, until she seemed to glow in front of him, and his breath caught at her beauty. “To me,” he breathed.

  He leaned forward and was inches away from kissing her when he heard heavy footsteps approaching and lurched away. He spun to the sink, dumping clean pots into it so he had something to do with his hands and to ignore Buford at the same time. Paying no attention to Buford’s prattle, he finally noticed the room was quiet.

  Looking around the kitchen, he found Buford was absent. But so was Deirdre.

  Ardan walked to the door leading into the café, noting Buford out front, locking the door. All lanterns had been extinguished for the night, and the curtains covered the windows. He turned into the kitchen, latched the back door, and walked on his toes up to the second floor. He peered into the living room, coming to a halt at the sight of Deirdre staring out at the Missouri in the waning evening light.

  “’Tis always a beautiful sight,” he said. He smiled as she yelped and faced him.

  “I thought you’d leave,” she whispered. At his shake of his head, she watched him with wide eyes as he approached her. “Why are you here?”

  “We have unfinished business,” he said in a deep, impassioned voice. A satisfied glint flashed in his gaze when he saw her shiver at his words. “Don’t act as though you don’t feel this, Deirdre.”

  “Just because I feel something, it doesn’t mean anything has to happen,” she said. However, she had inched away from the window, moving in his direction.

  He waited, not wanting anyone from the street below to witness him upstairs with her. “Come here, lass,�
� he cajoled. His blue eyes shone with passionate tenderness. When she was a pace away from him, he raised his hand as though to pull her to him. Instead, he traced his fingertips over her arm to her wrist and then back up again to her shoulder. “I want to feel you in my arms, Deirdre. But I want to know you want to be there too,” he whispered.

  Her gaze was filled with a tumultuous yearning as she arched into his touch. “I shouldn’t,” she breathed. “But I’ll dream of you tonight, no matter what we do.”

  “Lass,” he rasped, cupping her silky cheek in one of his callused palms.

  They each took the last step separating them, their arms entwining around each other’s necks, as he lowered his mouth and she stood on her toes. Their lips met, tongues tangled, and he pulled her tight against him as he spun her until she was pressed against a wall. The kiss deepened, with his hands roving over her clothes, caressing and soothing aches she hadn’t realized she had.

  When he broke the kiss, he smiled as she gasped for air but did not arch away from him. Instead she leaned into his touch as he kissed down her neck. “You’ve skin like satin,” he rasped as he nibbled at her earlobe. “God, how I want you, Deirdre.”

  He stilled as he felt her stiffen at his softly murmured words. “Lass?” he whispered. “Shh, you’re safe. You’re well,” he said, as he eased away from her, his hands running over her arms again as they had in the kitchen. “I won’t hurt you.”

  She stared at him with wide eyes, panting and gasping as tears coursed down her cheeks. “No,” she rasped. “Never again. I will not care again. I will not!” She pushed at him. “Go! Leave my home. You’re not welcome here.”

  “Deirdre?” Ardan asked, raising a hand to run over her head to soothe her. It was a movement he’d seen Da do numerous times with Mum, and it never failed to soothe his mum. Instead Deirdre batted at his hand, refusing his touch.

  He took a step back, pushing his hand through his hair as he looked around her living space, at a loss for how things had ended so poorly. “I ask your pardon for letting you know of my desire.” He clenched his hands at his side. “But I will never ask your forgiveness for, nor regret, kissing you.” After one long torment-filled stare, Ardan spun on his heel and left her home soundlessly.

  When he stood a fair distance from her house, he paused to stare at the stars. When that failed to calm him, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths. The memory of holding her in his arms would not abate. The feeling of her soft skin, her moan as he deepened the kiss, filled him with unremitting desire. “Feck,” he muttered, as he let out an uneven breath. After all the promises he’d made himself, how had this woman turned his life upside down in only a few weeks?

  Deirdre sank to her knees as Ardan left. His words, I will never ask your forgiveness for, nor regret, kissing you, echoed on endless repeat in her mind. She heard the passion in his voice, the lovely lilting hint of Ireland. She smelled his subtle cologne and the scent of sweat, musk, and soap that was all Ardan. The feel of his strong hands holding her. Molding around her curves as though she were beautiful.

  “Why?” she asked the quiet room. After a moment, anger began to replace the agony, and she rose, retracing his steps to lock the back door and then the door at the top of the stairs. She clung to her anger so as not to have to confront the tumult of emotions he had wrought.

  “You’d leave me too,” she said through her tears, as she moved to her bedroom, stripping off her dress. “You’d abandon me too.”

  A sob escaped, and her anger proved no match for her anguish as she fell onto her bed, curling around a pillow. Memories of her husband, Alonzo, flooded back. His bright smile, filled with love and adoration on their wedding day. His promises for a wonderful future, as they opened their café. His determination to fight for the Union, ignoring her fears.

  She cried and cried, repeating the litany, “No matter what they say, they never stay,” until she finally tumbled into a restless sleep.

  Chapter 4

  The following morning dawned bright and hot. No breeze stirred the air, and even the songbirds had quieted, as though the heat had exhausted them too. Ardan worked in the warehouse, sweat dripping down his back and off his forehead. He relished any work to keep his mind off the previous night’s encounter with Deirdre. Pausing, he swiped at his brow with his shirtsleeve, unable to think of anything other than the moment he took Deirdre in his arms to kiss her. The absolute joy in his soul to hold her close to his heart.

  Ardan turned at the noise with an expectant smile, irrational hope filling him that the woman bursting into the warehouse was Deirdre. At the sight of Niamh, his smile faded, and he turned back to what he had been doing. Staring at a box, as he acted like he was cataloging something.

  “Ouch,” he yelped, as she slapped him on his arm. “What was that for, Niamh?”

  Her eyes gleamed with ire, as she stood with her hands on her hips.

  He knew her well and knew she was itching to belt him again.

  “How could you, Ardan? I thought you’d be a good friend to her, and all the while you saw her as another lonely widow?”

  “What?” he gasped, as he rubbed at his arm. His arm didn’t hurt, although her words dug into him like spikes, and he wanted something to do with his hands.

  “You sweet-talked her and then tried to ease her into bed?” she whispered in an irate voice.

  He flushed red, righteous anger filling him. “Listen closely, Niamh. I didn’t interfere with your ill-formed choice of husband. I’d be thankful if you granted me the same courtesy.”

  She shook her head as she stared at him in disillusioned wonder. “I thought you noble. Good. Like the type of man I would want Maura to choose.”

  “And I am,” he said in a low voice. “I did nothin’ more than kiss her, Niamh. I’m not some man who goes around findin’ widows to seduce. Don’t you know me better than that?”

  She stepped closer, meeting his anger and disappointment with her own. “And didn’t you know better than to toy with a woman mourning her husband? Or did you believe that you, the wonderful eldest O’Rourke brother, would be such a consolation that she shouldn’t have need of her grief any longer?”

  Ardan shook his head and backed up a step. “I can’t believe you, Niamh.” His blue eyes shone with pain and regret as he stared at her. “You’ve known her a few short days, and yet I’m the devil in all this?” He turned away for a moment before facing his sister again. “One day you will realize that your discontent with your present situation does not give you the right to abuse the rest of us. We’ll only take so much, Niamh, before we’ve had enough.”

  She flushed beet red before storming from the warehouse, leaving Ardan alone, lost to his thoughts.

  Ardan sat on an empty crate, his gaze distant, as his mind swirled with Niamh’s angry accusations and the thought that he had done irreparable damage to his friendship with Deirdre. He closed his eyes and sighed at calling what he felt for her so insipid a term as friendship. However, he instinctively shied away from calling it anything more. Although he yearned to go to the café, to tease her and to talk with her, as he had done for the past few weeks, he knew that what had occurred the previous night had changed everything. For the first time in his life, he had acted rashly without considering the consequences.

  However, he knew what he had told her was true. He would never apologize for and would never regret kissing her. The moment had been wondrous, while it lasted. Frowning, he wondered why it had ended so precipitously. Didn’t Deirdre like knowing he found her attractive? That the man kissing her was moved to near madness at having her in his arms?

  Kevin and Declan approached, and Kevin kicked Ardan’s foot. “What’d you do to Niamh to have her spitting nails at you? I’ve always thought you were her favorite—but not today.”

  Ardan rolled his eyes at the second oldest O’Rourke. “You know you’ve always been her favorite,” Ardan said with a half smile, although his heart wasn’t in their ritual teasing.

/>   “What happened, Ardan?” Declan asked. His attempt at taming his wild appearance had failed, and his hair and beard were as unkempt as ever. “I know it can’t have anything to do with Maura.”

  “No,” Ardan said, with a quick shake of his head. “Never.” He rubbed at his forehead. “Niamh’s upset because of somethin’ to do with Deirdre—Mrs. Finnegan.” He waited as his brothers jabbed elbows into each other’s sides as he stumbled over her last name.

  “And what would have upset the fine Mrs. Finnegan?” Kevin asked with a twinkle in his hazel eyes. “Could it have something to do with the fact I saw you stumblin’ out of her place long after the café was closed last night?”

  “Feck,” Ardan muttered, swearing under his breath. “I hope few others saw that, or they’ll think she’s fair game.”

  The teasing faded from Kevin’s expression, and he focused on his brother. “Are you all right, Ardan? You’ve had a dalliance here and there with a widow in the past, and it’s never affected you.” He frowned as Ardan rose and paced away from them, until he stood staring out the back window of the warehouse.

  “I never want to marry,” he said in a low voice. “Never want to wait, as the days pass, for her to leave me.”

  He heard a thud but ignored the sound, his attention focused on a scene only he could see. “’Tis why I’ve never wanted a serious relationship. A kiss here or there. A wee flirtation but nothin’ that would ever lead to heartache.” He breathed softly as he added, “Heartbreak.”

  Kevin strode silently over, so that he leaned against the wall, facing his brother. “What happened?”

  “I thought her the most annoyin’ woman that day,” Ardan murmured with a smirk, as though reliving when he had first met her. “But the most intriguin’ too. I never wanted to stay away for long. And I wanted her to succeed. ’Twas as though her success was mine, aye?”