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

by Ramona Flightner

  “What else did he say?” Ardan asked. He grimaced at the desperate urgency in his tone.

  Cormac scratched at his too-long brown hair and pulled it away from his face. “This Silas, who has the face of a bulldog and the manners to match, said that Deirdre was a tiny woman, reddish hair, and eyes the color of a good liquor.”

  “Feck,” Ardan rasped.

  Cormac lifted his tea, as though it were whiskey, toasting his friend’s assessment of the situation. “I had no reason to keep the dandy from comin’ here. Although I doubt he’ll last a winter. He’s a bit … pampered.”

  Ardan rose and paced to the stove and then back again. “Why warn me, Cormac?” He studied the man who had always been an enigma.

  “You’re family of sorts. I know you don’t like Connor, but you’ve never treated him poorly. Even though you’ve had every reason for how he’s let Niamh down.” At Ardan’s intense stare, Cormac rasped, “Makin’ his own wife work, rather than earnin’ an honest livin’ with me. It’s disgraceful.” He shook his head in disgust, as he thought about his older brother, Connor.

  Ardan nodded. “She loves him. There’s no need to add to her heartache.”

  Cormac shrugged and rose. “I don’t know what you can do, but I hope what I told you helps.” He slapped Ardan on the back and slipped from the kitchen.

  Ardan latched the door and headed up the stairs. Although Deirdre’s ankle was better, he had continued to sit with her until she fell asleep. Something inside him needed to be with her during her unguarded moments, and she hadn’t protested. He pushed open the door to her upper rooms, shutting and locking it behind him. “Deir?” he called out in a soft voice.

  “In the bedroom,” she murmured.

  His breath caught at the sight of her in her nightgown, slipping under the sheets. “You’re beautiful, lass,” he breathed, his worries momentarily forgotten.

  “And you’re daft,” she said, mimicking the soft burr of his voice. She waited for him to settle beside her on top of the covers, frowning when he remained apart from her. “Ardan?”

  He pulled the chair over to sit beside her. He clasped her hand, tracing patterns over her soft skin. “I’ve just heard disturbing news that I don’t understand. I need your help.” He paused. “I need you to be honest with me, Deirdre. Whatever is coming will be faced better if we are honest with each other. And if I’m prepared.”

  She frowned at him and shook her head. “I don’t understand, Ardan. What’s coming?”

  “No, love. Who.” He paused, looking deeply into her eyes. “A man named Silas Fiske.” He kept hold of her hand as she jerked at the name. “And he’s looking for a woman named Deirdre Fiske.” He paused, waiting for her to speak, but the only sound was her breath, sawing in and out of her. “He says he is a man played false by a woman. Robbed by the woman who was to marry him.”

  “He lies!” she gasped, as a tear coursed from each eye. “How did he find me?” she asked. “I used my mother’s name. Not Alonzo’s.”

  “Alonzo was your husband?” Ardan asked.

  She closed her eyes and nodded. “Will you come and rest beside me? Hold me while I tell you what I should have told you before?” She met his gaze, frowning to see it guarded and filled with uncertainty. “I promise you, on everything I hold sacred, I will not lie. I will not paint myself a martyr.”

  He nodded, kicked off his boots, and rested along her back. He wrapped an arm around her belly, tugging her against him, as he buried his face in her neck. “I believe you.” He shuddered at feeling her in his arms again. “Are you promised to him?” he whispered. “Will you leave with him?”

  She wriggled against him, moving so that she turned and faced him. Raising her hands, she cupped his cheeks, her fingers playing through the beard he trimmed but didn’t shave off. “No, my Ardan,” she whispered, seeming to falter as though she were about to say my love. “Never.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’ll listen and not interrupt you.” He rested one arm on her hip, the other was tangled in her hair. “I will not judge you.”

  “I came from Ireland, on a ship in 1848,” she whispered. “I was seven.” She focused on his steady gaze, as though his calm presence grounded her and gave her strength to speak of her past. “My parents died on the ship, and I arrived in America, starving, completely alone, and with no one caring if I lived or died.” She paused. “I went to an orphanage and then to work for a wealthier family.”

  She shrugged with embarrassment. “Anyone with money would have seemed wealthy to me. I wore rags. And I’d stopped talking after the death of my parents.”

  She paused for so long, Ardan whispered, “What happened?”

  “The family had two sons. One was handsome but always seemed a bit full of himself. The other was good-looking enough but kind. We became friends. He talked with me, teased me, and treated me like a friend. He taught me to read, even though his parents thought it was something a beggar from Ireland had no need of.” She flushed at the bitterness in her voice. “After unpleasantness at their home, and against his parents’ wishes, we ran away to marry.” She smiled at the memory. “He had money saved from a trust from his grandmother, and we settled in Baltimore. I was a decent cook, and he was always cheerful, so we started a café. We were happy.”

  Her eyes clouded. “Too soon the Civil War broke out. He wanted to do his part. Insisted the war would be over in a matter of months. He never imagined the rebels would have the supplies or the will to fight for years.” She sniffled. “He died in 1863 during the Battle of Vicksburg.”

  “Oh, love,” Ardan whispered, kissing her head.

  “I kept the café running, but it was hard. When he left, he didn’t know I was with child. I thought to surprise him when he returned in a few months. The months turned to years, and he never returned to meet our Lydia. And then she died too. From rheumatic fever.” Tears coursed down her cheeks.

  “And this man?” He swiped at her tears. “This Silas?”

  “He’s Alonzo’s brother. He returned from the War, wounded and bitter and insistent that I was his because I’d been Alonzo’s. He wanted my café. My home. Me.” She shuddered. “I encouraged him to visit his parents in Philadelphia, who had already mourned the loss of one son, and, while he was away, I sold the café and fled. I remembered your father’s advertisement for a mail order bride and decided to travel here. Who would think to follow me to Fort Benton? Who would want to?”

  “He must believe you worth quite a bit of money to have traveled all this way to find you,” he murmured.

  Her laugh held no humor. “I spent almost everything I earned from the sale of my home and business on the ticket to come here. I had only a few dollars in my pocket when I bluffed my way into a job with Buford. I’m not worth much, Ardan.”

  He made a noise of disagreement, clasping her face between his fingers. “Never speak of yourself like that, my love. You are priceless. Your worth doesn’t come from the money in your pocket or the family or the connections you have. It comes from who you are.” He touched her heart. “From how deeply you can love.”

  “Ardan,” she breathed, “I don’t want to hurt you.” Another tear coursed down her cheek.

  “Then don’t,” he said in a soft voice, as he leaned forward and kissed her. “Be brave with me. Face your fears with me. For we have the same fears, my love. But I know I don’t want to walk this earth without you by my side.”

  She sobbed, pushing herself forward into his embrace.

  He sighed, holding her close, although he couldn’t help but notice she didn’t say the words back.

  She didn’t promise to always walk beside him too.

  Chapter 6

  All hell broke loose the next day. Ardan sat at the butcher block table, watching as Niamh and Deirdre worked. Although they usually chatted about customers or ideas for recipes, today they were silent, only Deirdre’s humming breaking the monotony of their chores. At the slam of the café’s front door, Deirdre stiff
ened, and Ardan sat up straight.

  “Why does the sound of a slammin’ door always make you nervous?” Ardan asked. He couldn’t wait for her response as shouting reverberated through the café to the kitchen, and he rose to investigate.

  He walked through the largely vacant café, as it was midmorning, to see a peg-legged man gesticulating as he spoke in a haughty voice, as though suffering to speak to someone so inferior to him. Ardan remembered only too well that tone and accent from the short time he had spent in New York City with his family. Ardan had hoped any acquaintance with that type of man—who believed himself superior to all he met—had ended when the family moved from New York City. Ardan sighed as he studied the dandy and realized such men would inevitably find their way to Fort Benton too.

  Ardan stared at the man in a dust-covered black suit with a cranberry waistcoat and flamboyantly tied neckcloth that served no purpose other than decoration. Shaking his head, Ardan wondered how long he’d last in his fancy clothes as the day warmed. “Buford?” Ardan asked as he approached.

  Buford, flushed red as a beet and on the verge of a stroke, stood toe-to-toe with the newcomer. Ardan suddenly realized if he was annoyed with the yelling man, Buford, a Southerner, would be irate. “He claims he can steal her away.”

  “No one is stealing anyone,” Ardan said. “Who are you, and what do you claim?” He stood tall and calm, although he fought an internal panic.

  “I’m Silas Fiske, and I’m here for my recalcitrant sister-in-law, Deirdre Fiske. Although I’ve heard she goes by the worthless beggar name of Finnegan.”

  “’Tis a proud name,” Ardan said, emphasizing his accent, as though daring the man to contradict him.

  “It’s the name of an inconsequential immigrant who should never have had the temerity to marry into a family such as mine.” He stood tall, forgetting his disability, and nearly toppled backward as he lost his balance. He flushed with mortification as Ardan grabbed him to keep him from tumbling to the floor.

  Buford stood tall, pushing out his small paunch until it bumped into Silas, causing him to stumble back a step. “I don’t know a Deirdre Fiske.”

  Silas snickered. “But you do know a Deirdre Finnegan. You recently hired her to run your backwater café after she couldn’t get a respectable man of this town to marry her. She’s as pathetic as ever and just as unlovable.”

  Ardan gripped Silas by the collar of his shirt, lifting him to the tippy toes of his boot. “I’d remember that you’re the newcomer to this town and that few will agree with your vile opinions.” He met Silas’s glare with a gaze filled with ire. “Deirdre is a respectable member of our community, and you are the unknown. Your fancy accent and pompous clothes mean little here.” He released Silas and took a step back.

  Silas ran a hand down his jacket and stared from Buford to Ardan in disdain. “Money always talks, even in such a trivial town as this.” He pointed to the door at the back of the café, leading to the kitchen. “Will you allow me to speak with her, or would you prefer me to accost her when she is unprepared and without such gallant defenders?” His voice dripped with disdain.

  Ardan let out a long breath and then nodded. “Follow me.”

  Deirdre stood with her hands on the wooden table, her gaze focused on the doorway. She had heard them talking and then uneven footsteps approaching the kitchen doorway. “Silas,” she whispered as her brother-in-law stepped into view. Although Ardan loomed behind him, she only focused on Silas and the covetous hatred in his gaze. “You’re here.”

  He took a step toward her, his limp pronounced. He had a wooden peg leg from the knee down on his left side, after he lost part of his leg to gangrene in the Civil War, and his jaw tightened as she noted his limp. His dishwater-blond hair was greasy, his dark-brown eyes filled with fiery emotion. “Yes. Did you think a cripple couldn’t travel? That I wouldn’t follow you after you stole what was mine?”

  She shook her head in confusion. “I’m the widow. I had the right to sell our property and to travel wherever I wanted to.”

  “Widows have little rights,” Silas said. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that. Did Alonzo leave a will?” he asked. When he saw Deirdre pale, he said, “You were entitled to, at most, one-third of his property. You stole the remainder from his family.” He looked at her with derision. “I always knew you were a scheming thief.”

  “No,” Deirdre whispered. “I was his wife. The mother of his child.”

  He gave a snort of disgust and rolled his eyes. “A likely story. My mother said she never met the thing. That you made such a claim so that you’d believe you would feel a greater entitlement to Alonzo’s money and estate.”

  Deirdre shook. “No, I had a baby. A beautiful girl. Lydia.” Her breaths emerged as gasps. “Who can travel in wartime?” She tried to focus on Ardan, staring at her with love and devotion, but she felt like she was in a dark tunnel, becoming narrower. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and her heart raced.

  “You’re a thief and a liar, and I’m here for restitution,” Silas intoned. “If you can’t pay back what we are owed, then I’ll take you with me.”

  “No,” Deirdre gasped, taking a jerky step away from the table. She only calmed when Niamh laid a soothing hand on her arm. “Never. I’ll never leave with you.”

  “Not even to see Alonzo again?” Silas murmured.

  Deirdre stilled, her eyes wide, as she felt her world spin. Shaking, she accepted the stool Niamh eased her onto and sat, thankful she had the fortitude not to faint. “He’s dead.”

  “So you think,” Silas said. “He was devastated to realize you’d sold everything and left. That you tried to escape from his family.”

  She shook her head side to side, as her hands wrapped around her middle. “Not your family. You.” Her mind raced at all Silas implied. “Leave. Leave me to think.”

  “Think about this, Deirdre Fiske,” Silas said, using her lawful married name. “You abandoned your husband when he needed you. Never fear. He’s heard all about your disdain of injured men from me.” He tapped his peg leg. “He’s in Saint Louis, waiting for you. Wishing his arms were around you. Instead you’re here, in some backwater town, cozying up to an Irishman, peddling goods to miners.” Silas shook his head. “Seems your heritage shone through.”

  Deirdre stared at Silas in horror, as he mockingly doffed his hat, pushed past Ardan, and stormed out.

  After a moment of stunned silence, she dropped her head forward and waited for tears that never came. Instead she sat in a cocooned numbness, impervious to the voices around her. To Ardan’s gentle strokes down her back. To anything but her renewed misery.

  Ardan shared a long look with Niamh and approached Deirdre with caution. Although he wanted to offer her support in any way possible, he had no desire to hurt her. To cause her to further turn inward and away from him. “Deirdre,” he murmured, “ignore the café today. Take time to think through what just happened.”

  He frowned as she rose, brushing past him as though he were an annoying gnat, and pulled out a bowl which she slammed down so hard it cracked.

  “Love, you can’t use that. It’s broken.”

  When she burst into tears, he pulled Deirdre into his arms and rocked her. Hoping that Niamh would take over today, he glowered after his sister as she ran from the kitchen. Ignoring everything around him but the woman in his arms, he kissed her neck, held her close, and whispered his love for her in her ear.

  “Don’t,” she gasped. “Don’t say such things. Not now. Not now that I might …” Her voice broke, as tears continued to pour out. “I might have betrayed him.”

  His hold on her tightened, when she would have eased from his embrace. “No, love. Think. Think,” he repeated. “Consider all Silas said and didn’t say. Remember what your husband was like. Determine truth from lie.”

  She pushed at him again, her eyes ravaged from her crying spell. “I can’t do that in your arms. I need time away from you.” She shuddered out a breath. “I feel stif
led.” She stood frozen in the kitchen, her gaze downward, and her arms wrapped protectively around her middle.

  “Stifled?” he repeated. Stumbling back a step, he focused on the clatter of footfalls up the back steps, thankful for the interruption. “Mum, Maggie,” he breathed. He cleared his throat, wishing he could as easily calm his roiling emotions. He looked to Niamh with appreciation.

  “We heard we were needed,” Mary said with concern. “Are you well, Deirdre?” Mary asked, as she ran a hand over Deirdre’s arm. “I can see you’re not.” She pulled the young woman into her embrace, holding her close. “Don’t worry about a thing today. We’re only too glad to help. Why, just today, Maggie an’ I were bemoanin’ we had too little to do.”

  That earned a chuckle from Deirdre, and Mary smiled. “See, lass? Nothin’s so awful you can’t laugh.” She brushed at her cheeks. “All will be well. Give it time, and it will sort itself out.”

  Ardan watched his mother soothe Deirdre, as he had been unable to, and a kernel of resentment took root inside. He wanted her to turn to him. To find comfort with him. He ran a hand down his mother’s arm, careful not to touch Deirdre again. “I’ll leave you to work.” He strode from the room, eager to find his brothers and father, to hear their words of wisdom.

  Ardan sat on an overturned crate in the warehouse, staring into space, as he thought about her brother-in-law’s arrival. Ardan resented she hadn’t turned to him for aid. That she had sought comfort from his mum and her work rather than him. He had hoped his love would banish her fears and that she would see what was obvious to him: Silas was a snake, and there was little chance her husband was truly alive.

  He closed his eyes, as he considered her predicament. He thought of Da. If he had suspected Mum were alive, Ardan knew his da would have raced to wherever she was purported to be to search for her. That was love. That was commitment. He pinched the bridge of his nose. How could he fault Deirdre for showing her first husband such devotion? He hated that he was so jealous of it.