Pioneer Desire: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Two Page 20
Ardan took a step in her direction before forcing himself to remain beside Deirdre.
“Speak with her, Ardan,” Deirdre urged. “I understand.”
“No,” Ardan said with a reassuring smile. “Today is not a day for discord. I’ll speak with Niamh when the time is right.” His gaze tracked his sister, frowning to see her avoid Cormac, a man she had always liked. “I don’t understand what is occurrin’ in her life.”
“Nor do I, but I fear she is dreadfully unhappy,” Deirdre murmured. “One day, soon, we will learn more.”
As another man approached to congratulate them, Ardan stiffened, his arm beneath Deirdre’s hold taut. He was nearly Ardan’s height, with broad shoulders, blond hair, and bloodshot brown eyes. “Connor,” he said. “I just had the pleasure of speaking with Niamh.” At Connor’s blank stare, he snapped, “Your wife.”
“I’m glad you found something pleasurable with Niamh.” Connor spoke with slightly slurred words and nearly toppled headfirst to the ground in front of them when he tried to bow deferentially. “I should think the true pleasure would be found in your father’s fine whiskey.”
Ardan clamped his jaw closed so tightly that the muscles ticked. “Leave, Connor. No one wishes you here.”
Connor shrugged and then clapped Ardan on the shoulder before leering at Deirdre. “I hope you made a wiser choice than I did.” He stumbled away, making a wide berth to avoid both his wife and his brother.
Ardan relaxed as Connor melted into the crowd, quickly escorted away by Kevin and Niall. “Come, love. Dance with me. We’ve spoken to enough people. I want to hold you in my arms, before we speak with anyone else.”
Seamus coaxed Mary onto the dance floor of crushed grass, easing her into his arms as the sweet sounds of one of their favorite songs floated on the breeze. Niall had learned the fiddle from Eamon and had learned all the songs from Ireland. The celebration today had helped to diminish a small amount of the loneliness he and his wife felt, already missing their three sons on the way to Saint Louis. “Do you remember, love?” Seamus asked, as Mary swayed in his arms.
“How could I forget?” she murmured, her arms holding him close. “This is the first song we ever danced to together at the Harvest Dance, all those years ago.” She sighed with pleasure, pushing closer to him.
“Ah, love, I’d never forget.” His eyes sparkled with love and pride. “An’ ’tis grand to see our sons are as romantic as we are.” His smile dimmed as he saw Niamh scowling at them. “Niamh’s never liked this song.”
Mary ran her hands over his back. “’Tis because it reminds her of me. Of the time I was away from all of you.” She followed his gaze and gave a soft sound of distress. “She’s miserable, but I don’t know how to ease her despair.”
“Ah, love, all we can do is help her when she desires our aid. Unfortunately she doesn’t believe she deserves our help. There isn’t much we can do for her until she does.”
“Was her husband even at the ceremony?” Mary met her husband’s irate gaze.
“Aye, to hear the blessing and then to drink of the fine whiskey. He always manages to appear when there’s something better than firewater to drink.” He gave a grunt of disgust. “By now, he’ll be in the Sunrise, playing cards.”
Mary rested her head on Seamus’s shoulder. “Today, let’s celebrate Ardan and Deirdre. At least two of our three married children are happy.”
“Aye, a ghrá, they are,” he murmured, as he kissed her temple. “And you are in my arms, dancin’ with me again. ’Tis always somethin’ to celebrate.” He smiled as she giggled and continued to twirl her around the dance floor.
After the townsfolk had returned home, the last public cask of Seamus’s whiskey had been imbibed, and the musicians had ceased playing, Ardan led Deirdre to their home over the café. After locking the back door to the kitchen, he led her upstairs. In the cramped hallway in front of the door to what would now be their home, he stared at her and shook his head. “I don’t see how I can do this without killin’ one or both of us.”
She laughed. “Do what, Ardan?” Her smiled widened as she elicited a shiver as she stroked a hand down his back.
“Carry you over the threshold. I fear I’d tumble backward as I hefted you into my arms. An’ then we’d both end up on the bottom of the stairs, injured an’ unable to enjoy our weddin’ night.” His eyes gleamed with passionate intensity as he stared at her. “I have many dreams I hope to fulfill with you tonight.”
She giggled and pushed open the door. “I love traditions, Ardan, but let’s make our own.” She clasped his hand and squeezed it. She hopped over the threshold and winked at him. When he did the same, she burst out laughing. “Oh, how I love you,” she gasped, as she threw herself into his arms.
He held her close, burying his face in her hair. “An’ I you, my darling. You fill my life with laughter and joy, and I wake every mornin’, excited to see what the day will bring.” He cradled her face with his hands, his thumbs stroking over her cheeks. “Thank you for being brave.”
Her eyes filled, and she nodded. “As long as you are by my side, I will have all the courage I need.”
He stilled her movement to the bedroom. “I know we said our vows today in front of the priest and our families.” He paused as he looked at her. “But I have a few more I must say.” He took a deep breath. “I promise to cherish your dreams and to make them my own. I promise to stand by you every day and to never leave you alone, as long as there is breath in my body. I promise to love you forever.”
With shimmering eyes, Deirdre’s breath caught. “Oh, Ardan. I promise to cherish the family we already have and any family we may be blessed with in the future. I promise to have faith in the future because you are by my side. I promise to love you eternally.” She arched onto her toes to kiss him.
Taking one of his hands, she winked at him and led him to their bedroom. “Come, husband. Let’s enjoy our wedding night. The townsfolk know the café will be closed tomorrow. We have a little time, just for us.”
“I’ll follow you anywhere, love.”
Do you want to know what is occurring with Niamh? Click here to order her book, Pioneer Yearning, now!
Sneak Peek at Pioneer Yearning!
Chapter One
Fort Benton, Montana Territory; October 1865
The pouring rain prevented many of the townsfolk from attending the funeral. Anyone related to the deceased man, dedicated to those mourning or foolish enough to otherwise attend stood next to the gaping hole, dripping from the incessant fall deluge. The priest’s voice, nearly drowned out by the sound of the downpour pelting hats and the ground, rose as he said his final prayer.
Those gathered looked to the widow, eager for her to get on with it, so they could return to their homes or the saloons.
“Does she want the priest to have more business?” one man muttered, as he stared at the woman standing stock-still as she peered into the yawning hole in front of her.
“Still can’t believe Dunmore found a priest so near winter,” another murmured.
“No one can deny an O’Rourke,” a third grumbled.
Unaware of the murmuring and the speculation around her, Niamh O’Rourke Ahern stared into her husband’s grave. She bent, scooping up a handful of mud to sprinkle over his casket. Rather than the priest’s final blessing ringing in her ears, she heard the final words her husband had spoken to her, before he had stormed out of their house that fateful night.
Her hand shook as she opened her palm, the mud landing on the casket in a splat. Thankful for the rain, it concealed the fact she did not cry for Connor. How could she mourn such a man?
At her father’s urging, she turned away from the grave to return to her family home and to her daughter, Maura, ignoring the echo of her husband’s words, as though carried on the vicious wind.
I never loved you, you faithless harpy.
Cormac Ahern stood beside his brother’s grave, long after all the other mourners had departe
d. Against his will, he had watched Niamh leave, leaning against her father for support, as her brothers hovered around her. He fought anger and rage at all that had transpired.
“Damn you, Connor,” he rasped, as he swiped at his face, smearing tears, snot, dirt, and raindrops across his bearded cheeks. “How could you do this to her?” He closed his eyes, as he knew he would have one-sided conversations with his brother for the rest of his life. How was it that his beloved elder brother was dead?
Swaying, he fell to his knees and bowed his head, taking off his hat in deference to his deceased brother. “I shouldn’t swear at you. Not on the day of your burial.” He slammed his hand onto the packed-down earth. “But how could you?” he asked again, his shoulders shaking with sobs. “We were supposed to go through life together. Fight all our battles together.”
He put his hat back on, ignoring the horrible weather. Today he refused to remember the distance that had sprouted up between him and his brother since they had arrived in Fort Benton. The disappointment and the frustration which Cormac had felt in equal measure. Instead he mourned what should have been. What could have been.
A hand squeezed his shoulder, and he looked up into the eyes of Ardan O’Rourke, the eldest son of Seamus O’Rourke. “Come, Cormac. You’ll give yourself pneumonia, sittin’ out here in the rain, an’ you know Connor would never want that for you.” He took a step back, granting Cormac a few more moments alone beside his older brother’s grave.
Finally Cormac stood and faced Ardan. “I can’t go to your family’s home tonight.”
Ardan stood in front of him, as tall as Cormac, although not nearly as brawny. Cormac had earned his strong lean muscles from the hours steering a team of oxen hitched to supply wagons to various destinations throughout the Montana Territory. Ardan knew he could never force Cormac into doing something he didn’t want to do. However, Cormac was as loyal to the family as any O’Rourke. “Niamh needs her family around her, Cormac. All of her family.”
Swearing under his breath, Cormac ducked his head and kicked at a rock, inadvertently pushing it into a puddle. “Fine. I’ll come for a few minutes. But then I’m leaving.”
Ardan slapped him on his back, letting it rest there to give further solace to Cormac. “You won’t want to leave. Not after you taste the fine whiskey Da unearthed.”
“I thought we drank all the whiskey last night.”
Ardan rubbed at his head with his free hand and shook his head with chagrin. “So did I, Cormac. So did I.” He gave a slight tug on Cormac’s shoulder, urging him into motion and away from the grave. Murmuring in a soft voice, he said, “You know we’ll help with a gravestone. We’ll ensure he’s remembered.”
Cormac jerked his head in acknowledgment, walking beside Ardan in silence to the large O’Rourke house. Although the two eldest O’Rourke sons, Ardan and Kevin, had married and no longer lived there, and the next three sons—Declan, Eamon, and Finn—were in Saint Louis for the winter, procuring supplies for their business, still the house was always full. Rarely did Ardan, Kevin, and their brides miss a family dinner together. And, since Connor’s death, Niamh had moved home too, with her fifteen-month-old daughter, Maura.
Cormac paused at the back entrance of the kitchen, attempting to scrape the mud and the muck off his boots before entering. Crossing the threshold of the kitchen, he saw a makeshift clothes rack near the stove. He shucked his hat and jacket, adding them to the pile of clothes steaming by the range. With a shy smile, he accepted a towel from Mary O’Rourke, the matriarch of the large family. Of middling height, she had a presence about her that commanded the respect of all her family, although a distance remained between her and her daughter, Niamh. Unlike most of her children, Mary had auburn hair, now shot with gray, and her hazel eyes were always filled with compassionate concern.
“Wipe yourself down, lad,” she said, as she fussed over him with a worried smile. “Seamus has set out dry clothes for you, if you like.” Although she had never taken to Niamh’s husband, she had shown an instant affinity for Cormac.
Flushing, Cormac shook his head. “There’s no need,” he protested, as he ran the towel over his long brown hair. “I shouldn’t stay long.”
Mary tugged at his arm, urging him into the living room. “You’ll stay as long as you like. An’, if you want to spend the night, there’s room. With too many of my boys away, there’s always a bed for you.” She squeezed his arm. “Don’t allow your grief to turn you into a hermit.” She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek and returned to the kitchen and a large pot of soup she was preparing with her youngest daughter, Maggie.
Cormac paused at the entrance of the living room to find the O’Rourke men, standing and chatting in low voices, while the women sat near Niamh in a far corner. Although Niamh’s hair was damp, she appeared to have changed into dry clothes, although they were no longer black. The indigo-blue dress enhanced her natural beauty, making her auburn hair shine. He frowned as it also highlighted the circles under her eyes and the desolation in her expression. Kevin’s and Ardan’s wives, Aileen and Deirdre, sat on either side of the widow.
Cormac forced himself to stop staring at Niamh and to approach the O’Rourke men. He absently noted the priest, warming himself near the potbellied stove, talking with Dunmore, a successful stagecoach driver and friend of the O’Rourkes. Cormac accepted a glass of whiskey from Kevin, the second-eldest brother and husband to Aileen. Ardan stood beside Seamus, their father. Younger brothers, Niall and Lucien, stood tall, as though honored to be included in the group of older men. However, the three youngest boys loitered nearby, although they had begun to fidget. Cormac understood their restlessness. If possible, he’d be outside wandering, rather than cooped up inside, spouting niceties.
Seamus clapped Cormac’s arm, and he focused on the men around him. “’Tis a tragedy,” Seamus murmured.
Cormac nodded and lowered his head. “Yes. But Connor had lived a wild life for too long. It was only a matter of time …” He broke off what more he would have said and took a sip of his whiskey.
“We’ve all had wild times in our lives,” Seamus murmured. “’Tis a shock what occurred.” Seamus shared a quick look with his two eldest sons, who nodded subtly.
“Thank you for finding a priest,” Cormac murmured. “I don’t know how you managed that this time of year.”
Seamus looked with gratitude in the direction of the stagecoach driver. “Dunmore has his ways,” Seamus said. “An’ I’m glad of it, for we wanted to honor Connor too. It wouldn’t have been right, burying him without a proper prayer.”
Cormac made a sound of agreement, taking another sip of whiskey, as his throat had thickened and he was incapable of speaking. The image of the yawning hole with his brother’s casket inside filled his vision.
“I know you must believe that no one understands how you feel,” Ardan murmured, recalling Cormac to the present, “but we have an idea of what today is like.” He paused. “We remember what it was like to lose our mum.”
Cormac nodded to acknowledge their sympathy. He knew well the story of Mary O’Rourke’s separation from her family, upon their arrival from Ireland in 1847 in Montreal, Canada. She, and Seamus’s youngest daughter, Maggie, had spent nearly eighteen years apart from them. Only in June of this year had they been reunited. However, Cormac fought a deep resentment because they had always had one another. They had never truly been alone, as Cormac now was. He paused as he took a deep breath to calm his anger and his grief. Except for Mary, he realized. She had been left alone with a newborn to care for. “Thank you,” he finally rasped out, his voice roughened by his deep emotions.
Seamus cleared his throat and squeezed his shoulder, as though knowing instinctively what he thought. “You aren’t alone, Cormac. You have all of us. We will always be your family.”
A rising surge of emotions threatened to overwhelm him, and he thrust his whiskey glass at one of the youngest O’Rourke boys before fleeing the room. In the kitchen he snatched hi
s hat and coat and raced outside into the rain. After a few steps, he shrugged into his jacket, jammed on his hat, and stormed away to his nearby one-room cabin. Grief and guilt threatened to swallow him whole. For, no matter what the O’Rourkes said, Cormac knew they would never be his family. How could they want him after what he did?
Order Now to Read Niamh and Cormac’s story in Pioneer Yearning!
Never Miss A Ramona Flightner Update!
Thank you for reading Pioneer Desire! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
* * *
I love hearing from you, so please feel free to write me and let me know what you think!
* * *
You can reach me at: ramona@ramonaflightner.com
* * *
Join My Newsletter For Updates, and Sneak Peeks about the series you love!
* * *
Want new release alerts, access to bonus materials and exclusive giveaways, and all my announcements first? Subscribe to my weekly newsletter!
* * *
Want to be notified about freebies and sales? Try Bookbub!
* * *
Want to stay up to date on new releases, my life in beautiful Montana, and research trip adventures? Find Me On Facebook! Or Find Me On Instagram!
Also by Ramona Flightner
The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga