Pioneer Longing: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four

by Flightner, Ramona

  She nodded. “Yes. He gripped my arm, although I might have made it worse when I wrenched it away from him.”

  “Don’t exonerate him, Bee. He has no right to touch you. Ever.” His blue eyes glowed with his sincerity and passion. “Whoever is allowed close to you is always your decision. Whoever touches you is always your decision. I’m sorry he provoked such sorrow in you again.”

  She smiled, her pride evident in her tone. “I hit him with my cane. Thwacked him in his shin, so he backed up a step and yelped.”

  He chuckled, his hands softly brushing over her hair and shoulders. “Good. ’Twill teach him to think twice before he approaches you again.”

  She pressed closer, wrapping her arms around him again. “Why did you come home? I didn’t think I’d see you until tonight.”

  “Maggie was worried,” he whispered. “I know this will make you believe we’re overprotective, but she meant well.”

  “I’d never be upset with her because she’s concerned about me,” she said. “I’m not used to warranting such consideration.”

  “You’re my wife. You will always be worthy of our care, love.” He held her close, soothing her and himself. However, he couldn’t banish the sensation that something more had upset her. Nor could he dispel the disappointment that she had failed to share it with him.

  * * *

  Eamon stood in the back of the store the following morning, staring into space. All he could envision was Phoebe, standing on the riverbank, with her bully of an uncle threatening her. Hurting her. He gripped his hands as he battled an instinctual urge to pummel the man for daring to intimidate his wife.

  Finn poked his head into the back and frowned. “What’s the matter now?” he asked. “I thought you were better, since things with Phoebe had improved.”

  “How long until we open the store?” Eamon asked in a low voice.

  “You know we open when we want. None of the men here are what you’d call early risers. Besides, we don’t have much left to sell.” He paused, his black hair longer than ever, his blue eyes filled with concern. “She has you tied in knots, Eamon.”

  Heaving out a sigh, Eamon turned to face his brother and best friend. “Aye, but that’s what happens when you’re in love.” He rubbed at his hair, freshly cut from a recent trip to the barber’s. “I’m fighting my natural inclination to kill her uncle.”

  Finn rolled his eyes and perched on the edge of a table in the back room that Da used as a desk, when he wasn’t at his office at the warehouse. “What’s the man done this time?”

  Eamon took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his roiling emotions. “The problem is, I’m not certain. I have the sense Bee didn’t tell me everything. From what I do know, he scared her and left a bruise on her arm.” He saw the flare of disgust in Finn’s eyes and nodded.

  “Da doesn’t want us to physically harm the man, but Chaffee should know he has no right to torment any of the Mortimer women.” Finn rubbed at his head, pushing a strand of ebony hair behind one ear.

  “Aye, but how do I do that without actually beating the man to a pulp? The sight of him fills me with rage.” Eamon closed his eyes and took deep breaths.

  Rising, Finn tapped him on his shoulder. “Come. Let’s see if Kevin and Niall are about. Should be fun to see the man’s reaction at having four O’Rourkes approaching him as he eats his breakfast at the café.”

  Eamon smiled. “Ardan will be there too.”

  “Aye, so five of us. Come.” He nodded his head in the direction of the back door.

  After enlisting Niall, Kevin, and Lucien’s help, the small band of O’Rourke brothers ambled toward the café. Although still early, the August day held the promise of the heat to come. A flock of pelicans swooped low over the river, while moving with a graceful synchronicity.

  Eamon entered the café first, noting that Uriah sat at a table near the rear of the café with a half empty plate in front of him. Today Chaffee wore a black suit with a burnt-orange waistcoat.

  “Boy, I tell you. The food isn’t nearly as good as before,” Uriah bellyached, as he shoveled in another mouthful. After swallowing, he spoke in a carrying voice. “I swear, you’re trying to swindle your customers into paying more than they should for half-rate food.”

  Eamon pulled out the chair to sit across from Uriah, smiling with unveiled menace as the man gaped at him openmouthed. “I suppose you’re hoping, if you complain enough, Ardan will feed you for free, so you don’t scare away the other customers.”

  “Now, see here,” Uriah snapped, his cheeks flaming red. “I have every right to express my dissatisfaction.”

  “Aye, but not while you’re also stuffing your face. If you didn’t like it, you wouldn’t eat it.” Eamon glared at him. “Everything’s a contest to you, isn’t it?” He tilted his head to the side, as though attempting to understand the unfathomable. “Outsmarting our da. Earning a free meal. Abusing your nieces.”

  Uriah set his elbows on the table, his breath heaving from him as he glared at Eamon. “You believe you are a champion to those girls, but they’ll prove you a fool. For only a fool cares to protect women who have proven themselves to be unworthy of anyone’s regard.”

  “How do you make that out?” Finn asked. He smiled as Uriah blanched, as the man finally noted the large number of O’Rourkes lingering nearby. “Do you believe because they’ve known disappointment and aren’t … chaste that they are undeserving of our regard?”

  Uriah raised a pudgy finger to pick at a piece of food caught in a tooth. “You’ll never convince me that any of the O’Rourke brothers, paragons of virtue and respectability, would choose a woman who’s thrown away her innocence.”

  Eamon leaned forward, lowering his voice to a menacing growl. He failed to notice that all of the customers leaned in his direction, intent on listening in on the conversation. “Heed me well, Chaffee. The Mortimer sisters are now members of our family. Which means, if you harm one of them, you harm an O’Rourke.” He paused. “If I ever hear of you speaking to my wife again, never mind touching her, you will regret it.”

  “How dare you threaten me! I’m a lawyer,” Uriah sputtered. “I am owed your deference and respect.”

  “Respect is earned,” Ardan said in his deep voice, standing directly behind Eamon. “Respect is not bestowed due to some flimsy piece of paper.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I have every right to speak to whomever I choose, especially my niece.”

  Eamon shook his head. “If you truly are a lawyer, you’d understand that, when she married me, the wishes of her husband come first. And my wish is that she never suffers your presence again. For you only bring her pain and heartache.”

  Uriah snorted and sat back in his chair. “As if you can prevent me from approaching my own flesh and blood.”

  “One day, Uriah,” Eamon growled. “One day, you will find yourself sorely in need of aid, and no one will come running to render it. We will discover the truth behind you, and you will be shown for what you truly are.”

  Uriah rolled his eyes. “I have nothing to fear, boy.”

  Ardan chuckled. “I fear you do, Chaffee. You should fear hunger. Contrary to what you might believe, neither my wife nor I need your business to continue to thrive. And I’m sick and tired of your baseless complaints. I’m tired of you makin’ my wife cry. From now on, find another place to eat. You’re not welcome here.”

  Uriah’s eyes rounded. “You can’t do that! This is the only café in town,” he sputtered, as he looked from one to the other. “I’ll sue you.”

  “Please do. You’ll have to go to Virginia City or Helena to speak to a judge. We wouldn’t mind the peaceful interlude,” Finn muttered.

  “Leave us be, Chaffee,” Eamon said, “or you will sorely regret it.” He rose, leaving the stunned man behind, following his brothers into the kitchen. The homey space was redolent with the scent of cooling bread and cakes, while the savory scents of bacon hinted at the recent breakfast rush. Lore
na washed dishes, while Winnifred dried them. Eamon frowned as he saw his sister-in-law, Deirdre, sitting on a stool, her head bowed in defeat.

  “Deirdre?” he asked, watching as Ardan approached her to murmur soft words in her ear. She leaned against her husband, seeking the solace he offered. Eamon battled jealousy as he yearned for just such a relationship.

  She sniffled, her smile filled with embarrassment. “I’m fine.” She looked up, blushing to see her kitchen filled with O’Rourke brothers. “I never expected so many of you to visit today.”

  “We had business that couldn’t wait,” Finn said, his gaze darting to Winnifred.

  “What could you possibly have had to do in our café?” Deirdre asked, her head now resting on Ardan’s shoulder.

  “Ensuring Chaffee understood he is to stay away from the Mortimer sisters,” Eamon said in a clipped tone.

  “And to never come here to eat again,” Ardan added. He smiled as Deirdre heaved out a sigh of relief.

  A dish clattered to the floor, shattering into pieces. “You’ve banned him from eating here?” Winnifred asked, her eyes wide with shock, as she glared at every O’Rourke. “How could you?”

  “How could we not, Winn?” Finn asked, his head cocked to one side, as he studied her reaction. “He’s a bully, and he’s a menace. He has no right to make Deirdre cry.”

  “It’s not his fault she’s so thin-skinned.”

  Ardan rose to stand at his full height, his blue eyes glimmering with ire. “Watch it, little girl. No matter what Da said, you’re playing with fire. If you ever insult my wife again, I will not defend you.”

  Winnifred shrugged, as though that were no great loss, although Lorena paled as though understanding the inherent threat behind such a promise. “If you truly accepted the Mortimer sisters, you’d accept Uncle Chaffee as part of the family too.”

  Eamon shook his head as though he were hard of hearing, while Ardan gaped at her, and Finn huffed out a shocked puff of air. “Are you demented?” Finn finally asked. He shared a long look with Ardan. “Listen well, Winn. Either you choose the O’Rourkes as your family or you choose Chaffee. You can’t have both.”

  Deirdre spoke up in her soft, husky voice. “Choose well, Winnifred, for you never know how much you desire someone’s esteem until you’ve lost it.”

  Chapter 18

  Phoebe gathered her courage a few days later and walked past the back side of the café, down a side alley, and to the river. Walking through the high grass, she approached the roiling river, marveling at its constant motion as it gurgled and moved ever toward the distant sea. It seemed to have dropped since their arrival, and now that it was August, steamboats docked farther down the river. Wagons arrived, carrying vast amounts of cargo, while stagecoaches ferried the multitude of passengers to Fort Benton, eager to travel deeper into the burgeoning territory.

  Her blue calico dress blew around her legs in the slight breeze, and she held her face up to the sun for a moment, relishing being outside. For too long, she had been cooped up, recovering from her injury. And, if what Maggie said was true, she needed to enjoy the fleeting summer sun while she could.

  “I’m surprised he let you out of his sight.”

  Phoebe spun to face her youngest sister’s mocking smile. “Hello, Winnie. Eamon doesn’t control me. He worries about me.”

  “Is that so?” Winnifred asked, as she sauntered toward her sister in a beautiful rose-colored dress. “Have you always been so gullible?”

  Phoebe stiffened before flushing. “I know you are wiser to the ways of men, but that doesn’t mean you understand my husband better than I do.”

  Coming to a halt beside Phoebe, the younger woman glared at the river. “I hate that horrid river. I wish we’d never been raised near it. That we’d lived in some landlocked place.” She seemed to catch herself, as though she had revealed too much, and she faced her sister with a devious glint in her eyes. “How are things between you and Eamon?”

  “Fine,” Phoebe said, fighting a deepening blush. “He’s a wonderful man and very considerate.”

  “Consideration doesn’t keep a woman happy. Consideration doesn’t keep a marriage from failing.”

  Phoebe spun to face her sister, glaring at her, as she crossed her arms over her belly—as though to protect herself from her sister’s words. “What are you saying, Winnie?”

  Pasting on an expression of innocence, she held a hand to her chest, affronted at Phoebe’s challenging tone. “I resent that you believe I’m intentionally trying to hurt you, Phoebe. The fact is that I do have more experience with men. I do understand them better. And I fear what your husband is doing to you.” She paused and murmured, “Or what he will do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Can you imagine how he must feel, Phoebe?” When her older sister stared at her in abject befuddlement, she continued, “Forced to marry a woman? Not having any choice in the matter?” She sighed in consolation. “As we know, if there’s one thing a man wants, it’s a choice.”

  Phoebe paled at her sister’s words but refrained from saying anything.

  Winnifred barreled on. “And then, as the days and weeks pile into months and years, the resentment grows, until he can no longer imagine a life with a woman he never wanted but was compelled to marry. Why should he feel any responsibility toward her? Why should he stay?” She sighed again, at the misery that would soon befall her sister. “I can’t imagine being as brave as you, Phoebe. Knowing what is coming, and yet still being as loving and giving to your husband.”

  Phoebe stood as though someone had just gutted her. Quivering, pale, and breathless. Her gaze was lost, unfocused, and she began to shake her head from side to side, in an attempt to dispel what Winnifred said. She went limply into Winnifred’s hug, as though a rag doll.

  “You are so courageous, Phoebe. How I admire you.” Winnifred ran a hand down Phoebe’s back before walking away.

  For long moments, Phoebe stared in the direction of the river and the distant bank with unseeing eyes. Instead she saw Eamon. Smiling at her. Teasing her. Encouraging her. Loving her. Tears coursed down her cheeks to realize it was all a charade. How appropriate a word Winnifred had used to describe her. Gullible.

  For she knew, time would prove his inconstancy, and he would leave to find a woman he chose. A woman he loved.

  * * *

  Eamon entered the cabin right after Phoebe did, huffing out a breath of frustration as she shrugged her shoulder, rebuffing his gentle hold on her arm. When she took rapid steps away from him, moving as far as possible from the door and from him in their small cabin, he lost his battle with his temper. “Bee, what in God’s name is the matter?”

  She sat and held a blanket up to her chest, shielding herself from him. Glaring at him, she said, “I realized I’ve been a fool.”

  He shook his head in befuddlement. “You’re the least foolish person I know. What do you mean?” When she continued to glare at him, he squinted his eyes as he studied her. “Who filled your head with nonsense?”

  “No one,” she snapped. With a flush, she ducked her gaze and muttered, “I merely saw sense.”

  He took a slow step in her direction, having no desire to increase her ire or to scare her. “And who helped you see sense?” When she clamped her jaw shut, he whispered, “Was it Winnifred?” He nodded when she gazed at him in astonishment at his deduction skills. “Aye, she seemed a bit too pleased with herself tonight at supper. Even Maggie remarked on it.”

  Phoebe watched his approach and stood with alacrity, dumping the blanket on the floor as she faced him with her fists clenched and eyes blazing. “I don’t care what you say, Eamon. She’s my sister. She’s known me the longest.”

  Tilting his head to the side, Eamon observed her with blatant disappointment. “No, she’s manipulated you the longest. She’s deceived you the longest. Don’t misconstrue whatever she said today for her carin’ for you. You know better than that, Bee.”

  “How dare you
?” she seethed, hitting him on his chest. “How dare you presume to … to …” She broke off, flushing as he stared at her with compassion in his gaze. However, she saw something else. “Don’t you dare pity me!”

  “I don’t pity you,” he breathed and then yelped as she swatted him on his chest, backing up a step. “Bee?”

  “I wanted a marriage where I chose to marry my husband. I wanted a marriage where I knew there was affection and caring and respect.” She sniffled as she valiantly fought tears of despair as she stared at him, watching her in horrified wonder. “I never wanted …” Her voice broke off on a sob.

  “This?” he rasped. “You never wanted what we have? Because you didn’t choose it? Because we didn’t have the fairy tale? Because you insist on clinging to anguish?”

  Paling as she stared at him, she gasped, “That’s not fair!”

  His jaw ticked, and his cheeks were mottled with his anger. “Neither is this, Bee. Believing anything Winnifred says over what you know to be true. Over what I’ve shown you to be true.” He paused, his blue eyes filled with disillusionment. “I thought you were better than that. I can see I was wrong.”

  He stormed from their home, uncertain where he would go. He knew he couldn’t return to his parents’ house, for he didn’t want their pity masqueraded as concern. He swore under his breath. Married a short time and already miserable. He should have kept to his vow with Finn. Better an uncle and a bachelor forever than to suffer this heartache.

  In the distance, he saw the gentle lamp’s glow in the upstairs rooms in Ardan and Deirdre’s home. Although Eamon didn’t want his entire family’s input, he yearned for someone from his family to give him guidance. Feeling like a fool, he knocked on the back door to the café, belatedly worrying he was interrupting a romantic interlude between his brother and his wife. However, he soon heard Ardan calling out, and Eamon relaxed at the sound of his brother’s voice. Ardan had always found a way to soothe him.