Pioneer Yearning: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Three Read online

  Clamping his jaw tight, he ruthlessly battled remembering the worst of his childhood, instead focusing on the sound of the rain on the roof again. Memories of time he spent with Niamh overwhelmed him, like a stream bursting its riverbank. Swallowing, he let out a deep breath in an attempt to forget her too, but he knew that was futile. From the moment he’d seen her, he’d dreamed of her. Wanted to cherish her and to care for her. By a cruel twist of fate, he’d had to watch as his brother courted her.

  “Damn you, Con,” he muttered. The memory of his last fight with his brother was about to engulf him in grief, and he hit his fists on his mattress a few times. “Why did you have to choose Niamh?” However, deep inside, he knew. He knew it was to spite him. To prove him up again. To show that Connor was the elder and, thus, better brother.

  Cormac’s mind drifted to the first time he had seen Niamh on the deck of the steamboat as he and Connor had traveled up the Missouri in 1863. Few were brave enough to travel so far from civilization, as Montana Territory was still a politician’s dream, and gold had just been discovered one year earlier. On the slow ride north on the nearly 2,500-mile journey that would take over two months, he feared Connor would wager away their money meant to start a business.

  A brisk breeze blew, causing the seagulls to float in place, as they beat their wings at a frantic pace in their attempt to fly against the wind. When they allowed the wind to carry them away, they flew with tremendous speed out of sight. “Connor,” Cormac said, as he clamped a hand on his hat, “you can’t plan on spending every waking minute playing cards. You’ll beggar us, and then we’ll be destitute in a land where we know no one.”

  Connor rested with his back against the railing, his blond hair blowing in the wind and his brown eyes lit with the challenge inherent at the mention of a card game. “You’re such a baby, Cormac. When will you learn to live a little? To experience life, rather than running around as though afraid what the next moment will bring you?” He slapped a hand on his brother’s back and ambled away.

  Swearing, Cormac kicked at the post holding up part of the railing and then gripped the railing, as though he wished he could rip it from its mooring. After taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that he had hidden away a portion of their funds, and he said a silent prayer that Connor never found it.

  “You’ll never solve your problems with a brother that way,” said a soft, teasing, melodious voice. “With my brothers, I have to threaten them with bodily harm.”

  He gaped down at the small woman standing beside him, with her glossy auburn hair, and an impish gleam in her hazel eyes. “I can’t imagine a slip of a woman could hurt a grown man. Unless they’re midgets.”

  She laughed, a full-bodied and joyous sound, and he watched her, entranced, as her cheeks flushed and her hair fell from its pins. Swiping at her hair, she shook her head. “No, if you’re smaller, or younger, you look for other ways to challenge a grown man.” She leaned forward, as though revealing a tightly guarded secret. “I prefer wielding a cast iron skillet when necessary.”

  A laugh sputtered out, and he stared at her with incredulity. “How extraordinary.”

  She preened, standing a little taller and nodded. “Aye, I believe I am.”

  He leaned forward and listened intently as she spoke. “I detect an accent.”

  She stiffened, and the joy in her expression faded. After a long moment, where her gaze now focused on something on the horizon, she said, “I’m Irish. And, yes, I know all about the sentiment that Irish are not welcome here.”

  Shaking his head, Cormac smiled. “I’ve no complaint, miss.” He raised an eyebrow to see if she would contradict him calling her miss and relaxed again when she merely watched him with curiosity. “My family is Irish too.” He held out his hand and then shook his head, as he gave a stiff bow. “Cormac Ahern.”

  “Niamh O’Rourke. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ahern.” She looked over her shoulder and giggled. “I should go before one of my brothers looks for me. I’d hate for you to finish your journey too soon with a swim in the mighty Missouri.” She giggled again as she spun and raced away.

  Connor watched her, flummoxed and fascinated. After a long moment, he whispered to himself, “I’m going to marry that girl.”

  A knocking at his door brought him out of his reverie, and he rose to answer the call. “Yes?” he snapped, as he wrenched it open. “Niamh,” he breathed. Without waiting for her to say anything, he pulled her inside. “You shouldn’t be out in the rain.”

  Shivering, she moved to the small stove, huddling near its weak warmth. “Why didn’t you build up your fire?” she asked, her teeth chattering.

  “Wasn’t much need with me alone in my cabin.” He eased her to a chair, slung a blanket over her shoulders, and knelt in front of the stove to feed it a few pieces of wood. “There. You’ll be warmer soon.”

  “I’ll never be warm again,” she whispered, staring at the stove and the hint of flames she could see behind the metal door. She flushed, but he couldn’t determine if from a dawning warmth or from embarrassment.

  “Niamh?” Cormac asked. “We’ve always been able to talk about everything with each other.” He swore under his breath and rubbed at the muscles at the back of his neck. “Until this summer.” He looked at her with a tortured expression. “You know we have to talk about it.”

  “No!” she gasped. “We don’t. There’s no need.” She speared him with a severe glare, and he quieted any protest. “And, if you argue with me, I’ll never speak with you again, Cormac Ahern, brother-in-law or not.”

  He froze, his breath emerging in pants at her threat. “Anything but that, Niamh. I couldn’t bear it.”

  She closed her eyes and bent forward, hugging her arms around herself. “Just as I can’t bear the gossip about town.”

  He frowned and gripped her hand. “What gossip … ?” He paused as he swallowed the word he wished he could say. The unspoken endearment, love, hung between them, neither acknowledged nor acceptable. He ran a hand through his long brown hair, battling his frustration at the limitations of his relationship with Niamh.

  “That Connor died because I was an unfaithful wife, who never loved him, and his unhappiness led him astray to his death.”

  Cormac gaped at her, the piece of wood he intended to replace in the woodbox missing its mark and clattering to the floor as he stared at her in shock. “You’re serious.”

  “Aye,” she whispered. “And it doesn’t help that a lawyer’s in town—stuck here because he didn’t reach the steamboats to Saint Louis in time—who claims to have a will Connor wrote a week before he died.”

  Cormac collapsed into a chair, before scooting it over to face her. “Feck,” he muttered, both at her news and because he now sat right beside the stove. “I feel like I’m on fire.” He waited for her to giggle, for any hint of the vivacious young woman she had been to emerge. For any sign that she could still find humor in any situation. Instead she stared at him with a pinched, disappointed look. He moved his chair away from the stove to sit beside her. “Do you have any idea what it said?”

  She shook her head. “No, but the lawyer wants to meet with us tomorrow.” She looked at Cormac. “Will you come?”

  When he reached for her hand, she froze, a flash of fear in her gaze at his sudden movement, and he stilled. “I’m not Connor,” he rasped. He waited for her to acknowledge that statement, but she sat beside him, her gaze glazed and a distant expression as she shook. “Look at me, Niamh.”

  When her head jerked up at his rough command, he swore again. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  She shook her head. “You’re wrong. All men do. Everyone does. I’m not worthy of lasting respect or love.” She pushed herself from her chair. “Be at Da’s house at eleven.”

  “Niamh,” he called out, but she ran into the rain, the door clattering shut after her. “Oh, my love,” he whispered. “How I yearn to soothe you and to prove you wrong.”

  He collapsed on
to his bed again, his mind filled with images of Niamh now. Although only two and a half years had passed since he had met her, it seemed as though she had aged a decade. Gone was the woman filled with laughter, curiosity, and an irrepressible joy. How he longed to help her rediscover the woman she was before life had betrayed her.

  The next day Niamh sat in numb silence, as she awaited the arrival of Cormac and the lawyer. Aileen and Deirdre had insisted on watching Maura, and Niamh longed to hold her daughter in her arms. She found she needed comforting as much as she would like to comfort her daughter. At the knock on the front door, she curled into herself and ignored the worried looks shared by her father and her two eldest brothers, Ardan and Kevin.

  After a moment Da led the lawyer into the rear kitchen. Her impression of him did not improve upon her second meeting. He walked with a swagger and looked around the simple, homey kitchen, as though it were fit only for beggars, not the most prominent family in Fort Benton. Standing beside her father and Ardan, he had to peer up at them, as he was a good six inches shorter than either of them. The buttons of his teal silk waistcoat strained over what she suspected was his ever-expanding paunch, and a gold watch hung from a pocket. With a hand in one pocket, he rocked on his heels, as though king of all he surveyed.

  “You are very welcome, I’m sure,” Seamus said, pointing to the table nearby, with none of the customary warmth in his voice. Rather than offer him coffee or tea, he motioned for the man to sit at the kitchen table.

  “You expect me to conduct important business in the kitchen?” the lawyer asked. “I am Uriah Chaffee, Esquire, of the law, and I would have thought you could find a more suitable place for our discussion.”

  Seamus smiled, although his eyes shone with distaste. “In our family, there is no better place to discuss our most important concerns. Sit.” His tone brooked no argument, and the lawyer sat at a chair near the end of the table, although he seemed to have the sense not to choose Seamus’s customary seat at the head of the table.

  At a clatter on the back step, Niamh looked to the door and relaxed slightly at the sight of Cormac. “You came,” she breathed.

  With a nod, he looked around the room, shaking the hands of the men present, although he appeared to fight a grimace at having to clasp the lawyer’s hand. He sat beside Niamh and waited with a pointed look for the lawyer to begin spouting his legal jargon.

  Seamus held up a hand, preventing Mr. Chaffee from speaking. “Now, Mr. Chaffee. I understand you are a man of expensive words, but we are more simple people. I’d appreciate it if you spoke in clear terms about what you came to discuss today.”

  Niamh watched as her eldest brother, Ardan, fought a smile at their father’s tactics. Seamus always portrayed himself as a simple man from a poor land, misleading those around him into believing they could outwit him, due to his perceived ignorance and lack of intelligence. Nine times out of ten, Seamus saw through their schemes and tricked them.

  Mr. Chaffee puffed out his chest, like a rooster about to crow, and she ducked her head at her misfortune that Connor had visited this man. That this man had been stranded in Fort Benton for the winter. Interrupting her thoughts, she froze as Cormac gripped her hand under the table.

  “Thank you, Mr. O’Rourke. I always suspected you were a man of reason and intelligence. As you know, I am a highly educated man, who has been trapped in this backwater town due to the nefarious information of the deceitful Dunmore. How that man is free to walk the streets and to work with customers is beyond me. Why, if I hadn’t had the sense to ensure …”

  “Mr. Chaffee,” Seamus snapped. “The matter at hand.” He tapped his index finger on the kitchen table.

  “Of course, of course,” Mr. Chaffee said, extracting a sheaf of papers from a small satchel at his side. “I had the good fortune of speaking with Mr. Connor Ahern the day before he died. And might I add, he was a most unhappy man.” He looked at Niamh with condemnation, as he made a tsking noise. “No man likes to be made aware of his wife’s perfidy.”

  Ardan slammed his hand on the table. “Mr. Chaffee, the will.”

  “Look at her, sitting beside the man, as brazen as any Siren at the Bordello.” Mr. Chaffee waved his hand at Niamh, as she sank into herself, trying to disappear from view.

  “If you don’t cease your comments about Mrs. Ahern, you won’t be speakin’ much longer,” Cormac said in a low menacing voice. “She is a good and respectable woman, and you’d do well to remember it.” He glared at Mr. Chaffee when he acted as though to argue with Cormac’s mandate for silence on the topic of Niamh. “Now, what did my brother write in that fancy document?”

  Mr. Chaffee cleared his throat and opened up the papers, sitting stiffly and glaring at the assembled people at the table as though he were a wronged man. When he realized no one would agree with him and his assertions, he cleared his throat and gave the papers a little shake. “Now, if you will allow me to complete my task, I must read this in its entirety. Consider me as though I am speaking for your late murdered husband, for whom you have shown far too little sorrow, Mrs. Ahern, and for whom you refuse justice to avenge.” He began to read in a clear voice. “I, Connor Ahern, have but one desire. To make a final will and testament. I have no desire to leave anything to my so-called wife, Niamh O’Rourke Ahern. She deserves nothing. She is nothing to me. And she knows why.”

  Mr. Chaffee lowered the paper, staring for a long moment at Niamh, who sat in ashen silence. After the pregnant pause, where his eyes gleamed with speculation as he looked at the shocked expressions of those present, he continued. “My only wish is to leave the little I can claim as mine to my daughter, Maura. She is the one pure light in my life, and I would ensure she is cared for. With that in mind, I leave all my earthly goods in trust with Nora Flaherty. As such, Nora Flaherty is to be guardian of my daughter in the event of my unfortunate and untimely demise. My so-called wife cannot be trusted in the upbringing of my precious daughter.”

  “Bastard!” Ardan roared as he slammed his hand on the table and rose. “Those are filthy lies and can’t be enforced.”

  Mr. Chaffee held up the papers, a delighted gleam in his eye. “Oh, but it can be. And it should be. A father’s dying wish should never be ignored.” He stared at Niamh with glee. “I have a meeting arranged with the sheriff this afternoon.”

  “No,” Niamh rasped, as she fell forward, her head nearly hitting the tabletop, losing all her strength. “You can’t take my baby from me.” Tears spilled from her eyes, and she looked at her father and brothers in supplication. “Please, anything to save her. Anything.”

  Cormac squeezed her hand and whispered softly for only her to hear, “Anything?”

  At her subtle nod, he sighed. “My brother had no right to assign a guardian for Maura.” He stared with lethal intensity at the lawyer, who appeared to be relishing their misery. “First, I doubt you have any legal foothold in the Territory.” At the lawyer’s attempt at bluster, Cormac glared him into silence again. “For all we know, you’re a charlatan with no skills, other than an ability to spout hundred-dollar words and feast on misery.”

  “Now, you listen here, young man—”

  Cormac continued to speak, ignoring the lawyer’s protest. “No, I will not listen to another vile thing you have to say. And I refuse for you to separate my daughter from her mother.”

  Chapter 4

  A deafening silence filled the room as Ardan gaped at them, Kevin’s jaw dropped open, and Seamus swore. “Feck,” he said, as he rose and began to pace. “How could you, lad?” Seamus snapped at Cormac. His bluster covered Niamh’s gasp of shock.

  When Cormac shrugged and stared placidly at the O’Rourke men, it was as though he had added fuel to her father’s ire. “You know I’ve always loved Niamh.”

  “Like a sister,” Seamus roared. “Never like a … like a …” He broke off as he spun away to stare out the window.

  Ardan looked at the lawyer. “Now that we know Maura’s parentage is in doubt, I’m ce
rtain that places Connor’s decree in doubt too.”

  “No,” Mr. Chaffee said, unable to hide a giggle of amusement. “It only makes me more delighted that I missed that steamboat. Nothing in Saint Louis would have proven half as entertaining.” He preened as he ran a hand over his silk waistcoat. “Mr. Ahern, Mr. Connor Ahern,” he said, as though clarifying an important detail, “clearly believed himself to be the father. And, as he was the one married to Mrs. Ahern at the time, although I would use that term lightly,” he said, as he sniffed with disdain in Niamh’s direction, “he is legally acknowledged as the child’s father. Thus, his wishes are the wishes to be followed.”

  “No one in this town will allow you to separate Maura from Niamh,” Cormac said with a low growl.

  “I think plenty will find it entertaining to see an O’Rourke residing in the Bordello. To see that the next generation will have a Madam for tutelage.” He slipped his papers into his satchel and rose. “If you will excuse me, I have other townsfolk I must visit today.” He sauntered from the room, with the O’Rourkes sitting in stunned silence.

  “Da,” Niamh whispered.

  “No, Niamh, not now,” Seamus whispered. “Everyone out.” He turned to stare with mortal hatred at Cormac. “Except you. You remain.”

  “Da,” Ardan attempted to soothe Seamus, but his father shook his head. When Seamus again bellowed, “Out!” Ardan eased an arm around Niamh’s shoulders and urged her from the kitchen to the front living room.

  Although the newly constructed door to the kitchen was rarely closed, Seamus slammed it shut behind his departing children. He stood tall, with the righteous indignation of a wronged father, as he stared at the man who he thought he could trust. “How dare you?”