Pioneer Desire: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Two Page 6

  After a long moment, he nodded. “Aye, I finally do. I’ve seen how you are, and ’tis as though you never left us. Which has almost made it worse because all those years without you didn’t have to be that way. I didn’t have to rock Niamh to sleep for a year as she called out for you. I didn’t have to watch Da staring out the door, as though waiting for you to appear. I didn’t have to live with Colleen …” He shook his head and closed his eyes.

  “Oh, Ardan,” Mary whispered, as she pulled him down and held him close. “There was a horrible misunderstanding, and I was separated from you for nearly eighteen years. But we’re together again, and we’ll never be separated again.”

  “I have trouble believing that,” he whispered. “I have trouble believing in forever.”

  “Time will prove I’m right,” she said, as she continued to hold him close. After many minutes, holding her eldest in her arms, she said, “I want you to understand one thing.” She backed up, so she looked him in the eyes. “Although I had another family, and I love my boys Lucien and Henri with all that I am, they never took your place. Or any of you. Each of my children is a special and a wondrous and a unique gift. You all lived on in my heart forever.” She paused and then asked in a hesitant voice, “What changed today, Ardan?”

  “I realized how strong you had to be to continue forward and to still be the generous loving mum I knew as a lad.” He paused and then whispered, “I realized today we were never alone. We had each other. I had Kevin to share things with, and Da had all of us. You only had Maggie, a baby, who never knew us. You had no one to keep the memories alive.” His eyes shone with passionate intensity. “An’ memories are precious.”

  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Aye, they are, Ardan.”

  “I’m glad you’re back, Mum,” he said, as he pulled her close for one last embrace. He held her as she cried in his arms, giving thanks for second chances.

  Deirdre sipped at her cup of tea, as she played with the week’s menu. She worried the men would become bored with the simple fare she cooked, but it was impossible to obtain fancy spices at this time. She jotted down a note to see if she could have the O’Rourkes order her spices for the upcoming year. Her breath caught at the idea she might still be here in a year. That she might have found a home.

  “Well, don’t you seem pleased with yourself,” Buford said, as he stomped into the kitchen. He glared at the tidy space and the scent of bread in the oven.

  “And why shouldn’t I be pleased, Mr. Hunt?” Deirdre asked, as she took another sip of tea. “I’ve been here nearly two weeks, cleaned up this atrocious kitchen, and turned your floundering business into a roaring success.” She smiled at him as he gaped at her. “What part of that should upset me?”

  “You have no right to allow that upstart O’Rourke into your kitchen,” he said, flushing with misplaced indignation.

  “As you just said, for all practical purposes, it’s my kitchen. He’s a friend, and, as a friend, he saw that I needed help and willingly rendered aid. I’m hopeful one of his brothers and his sister will begin to work with me. As a kitchen expense. Not one that I need to pay for.”

  Buford looked at her, his gaze filled with shrewd intensity. “You’re emboldened now because you have the support of the O’Rourkes.”

  “No, I know you are trying to cheat me of my profits due me.” Her cheeks flushed at the scornful idea. “I understand this building is yours. This kitchen and its supplies and wares are yours. But you’d have nothing if it weren’t for me doing all the cooking—and with much greater success than any of the other cooks who worked here in the past year since you bought the café.” She met his glower as she rose from her seat. “Thus, the bargain we struck is fair. And I expect you to keep to it, or I will walk away now, and you will be left with nothing but a shell of a business that earns you a pittance.” She stood tall with her red-gold hair in a long braid down her back, her eyes shining with sincerity.

  “Unnatural woman,” he rasped, as he turned on his heel and stormed out.

  She let out a deep breath, a smile bursting forth as she hoped it had meant he agreed to her demands. Soon she was back to work, unable to gloat over her victory as her cooking continued at an unrelenting pace.

  Later that morning, she answered a knock on the back door, fighting hope and expectation that it was Ardan. When it was a woman who looked like Maggie but had hazel-colored eyes, Deirdre frowned. “Yes?” she asked.

  “Might I speak with you?” the woman asked. She was half turned away from her and held something in her arms.

  “If you can come in and talk while I work,” Deirdre said, motioning for the woman to enter. “I’m Deirdre Finnegan.” Deirdre froze when the woman stepped inside and set down a child with reddish-gold hair and blue eyes for a moment. Deirdre gripped the counter, hearing a buzzing noise as she feared she would faint. “Who are you?” she rasped.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Finnegan?” the woman asked, as she found a stool and urged her onto it. “I’m Niamh Ahern, and this is my wee daughter, Maura.”

  “Maura,” Deirdre gasped, as she looked at the little girl who was again in her mother’s arms, drooling over the finger she’d stuffed into her mouth and resting her head against her mother’s shoulder. “You look like an O’Rourke. Like Maggie,” she said, as she attempted to regain her composure. With a nod of her head, she gratefully accepted the glass of water Niamh pressed into her hand.

  “Aye, my da’s Seamus O’Rourke,” Niamh said.

  Deirdre noted she didn’t mention Mary, and she bit her tongue. “What might I do for you? Forgive me my foolishness. I fear I’ve been working too hard.”

  Niamh let out a sigh of relief and smiled. “’Tis why I’m here. I heard you need help, an’ I’d like to offer what aid I can.” She bit her lip as she fought embarrassment. “Although I can’t work without pay.”

  Deirdre focused on Niamh and not the baby, who had the power to devastate her. “There will be a salary, although I’m still uncertain as to the amount. Mr. Hunt and I haven’t decided on the specifications. However, as you can see, I am in desperate need of assistance.” She cleared her throat. “The one problem I foresee,” she said, causing Niamh’s relieved smile to dim, “is that this is no place for a child. You’d need to find someplace for your child to be during the time you are working here.”

  Niamh kissed Maura’s head, her hold on her tightening. “We’re never apart,” Niamh murmured. She cast her gaze around the room, frowning when she saw no readily available space where her daughter could play. “Are you certain?”

  Deirdre nodded. “Yes. For reasons of practicality and my own well-being, I can’t have a child in my kitchen when I am cooking.” She paused as she saw Niamh bite her lip, as though undecided what to do. “I had thought to ask your sister, Maggie, to help me.”

  “No!” Niamh said, reaching forward to grasp Deirdre’s arm. “I’ll find a way. And I’ll be here tomorrow, without Maura. Thank you, Deirdre.” Niamh spun on her heel and clambered down the back steps, the back door thunking shut behind her.

  Deirdre stood frozen in place for many minutes, lost to her memories of a different time. She sniffed the air and, rather than smelling the baking bread and the lye of the kitchen soap, the sweet scent of her daughter’s skin after a bath filled her lungs. Rather than the bubbling stew on the stove, she heard the gurgle of her laughter. Rather than a corset, tied so tightly she was nearly out of breath, she felt her daughter’s arms wrapped around her neck, her sweet breath on her cheek, as she whispered a secret about butterflies and moonbeams. Swiping at a tear, she opened her eyes and forced herself to bury her memories as she returned to work.

  Deirdre sat in the shade on the back steps, relishing the warm air that had yet to turn hot. She had a few moments to rest during the midmorning lull, and she looked forward to the arrival tomorrow of Niamh O’Rourke. Niamh Ahern, Deirdre silently corrected herself. Although Deirdre enjoyed her time with Ardan, she was intrigued by Ni
amh’s reluctance to speak of her mother.

  Silently chastising herself for her fascination with the O’Rourkes, Deirdre attempted to focus on something else. However, her gaze continually strayed down the lane toward the back of the O’Rourke warehouse and store, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ardan.

  She jolted when a scornful voice boomed at her from her right. “I hadn’t thought the new cook would be so foolish.”

  Deirdre looked at the woman, about her height, dressed in a fashionable eggplant-colored satin dress. A glower seemed to be a permanent part of her expression, and smiling seemed a foreign concept to her. “I’m sorry. I fear I haven’t met you.”

  “Of course you haven’t. You’ve been too busy cozying up to the likes of the O’Rourkes.” She snickered at the thought. “You’ll learn of your folly soon enough, miss.”

  “I’m Mrs. Finnegan, and I believe I’m capable of making my own impressions about the townsfolk.” Deirdre stood, grateful she was on the second step, as that made her taller than the woman. Otherwise they would have been eye to eye.

  “If you believe that, then you truly are an idiot.” She waved at the café. “Only a simpleton would agree to work for a man like Buford Hunt. He’ll promise you the world and never keep his word.”

  Deirdre watched the stranger closely and shook her head. “Is that the truth or your bitterness toward all men shining through? For I believe I will be treated fairly by Mr. Hunt.” She said a silent prayer that she had reason for her faith, but she refused to show any doubt to this dreadful woman. “Who are you?”

  “I am the estimable Mrs. Janet Davies.” She preened as she said her name. “Unlike some who arrived here believing a man would be waiting with baited breath for him to marry her,” she snickered again at Deirdre, “my niece was actually betrothed to an O’Rourke before she arrived.”

  Deirdre shook her head in confusion. “I’m afraid there are too many O’Rourkes for me to know who they are or their stories. However, congratulations on your niece’s nuptials. I’m certain they’ll be very happy.” When Mrs. Davies flushed with indignation, Deirdre bit her lip and stifled a giggle.

  “Happy? Happy? How can such an abomination of a family ever make my niece happy?”

  Deirdre shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, nor do I have the time to untangle your complicated relationship with them. I wish you a good day, and I hope you find some solace in the fine weather.” She returned to her kitchen, locking the back door behind her, lest the woman followed her inside.

  When she heard Mrs. Davies muttering to herself before walking away, Deirdre heaved out a sigh of relief. “What a singularly unpleasant woman.” However, her interaction with Mrs. Davies only increased her fascination with the O’Rourkes, a fact she attempted to ignore.

  Returning home midafternoon, Ardan paused at the entrance to their kitchen to see Niamh present with Maura. Mary was at the stove, working diligently on the family supper, and Maggie was nowhere in sight. He considered tiptoeing out the door again, but Maura saw him and gave a squeal of delight at the sight of him.

  “Maura, love,” he cooed as he entered, plucking her from Niamh’s arms and into his. He kissed her head before kissing his sister’s cheek. “Niamh, are you well?” His alert gaze roved over her, searching for any sign that her useless husband had harmed her. Ardan ached for a reason to fight that man. However, other than Ardan’s recent conversation with Niamh that her husband had no desire to work, confirming Connor as a drunken layabout with no ambition, Connor Ahern had given Ardan no reason to knock him senseless.

  “I’m well, Ardan,” Niamh murmured, her eyes glowing at the easy affection he showed her daughter. “Wee Maura is so lucky to have an uncle like you, Ardan. You’re always so happy to see her.” She smiled ruefully. “You’re so good with her, not holding her as though she were a sack of potatoes.”

  Ardan frowned, wondering at her compliment, grimacing as he considered the possibility of her subtly criticizing her worthless husband.

  Niamh maintained an impassive expression and said, “I’ve come to ask for a favor.”

  “Oh?” Ardan tickled Maura’s belly. “What do you need me to do?”

  Niamh flushed, her gaze flicking to their mother. “Not you, Ardan.” She looked at Mary, who stood with their back to them. “I need your help, Mum.”

  The wooden spoon clattered to the stovetop at Niamh’s softly spoken words. After a moment, where a stuttering breath was heard, Mary turned to face them. “What?” Mary asked, her hazel eyes luminous with unshed tears.

  “I need to ask a favor,” Niamh whispered. At Mary’s nod, Niamh cleared her throat. “I need work. I know you wanted Maggie to work for the Finnegan woman, but I need it.” Niamh lifted her chin in challenge, but, when neither her mother nor eldest brother showed any sign of contradicting her, Niamh’s shoulders stooped forward, and her bravado evaporated.

  “Maggie was only going to help her because she likes the woman. Not because she desired the work,” Mary said. “I believe Maggie’s interests lie outside the kitchen.” She waited with her hands crossed over each other at her waist. “What favor do you need?”

  “Deirdre doesn’t want Maura underfoot. Wants a kitchen free of children. I can’t work there and worry about Maura. Connor …” She shrugged, and Ardan and Mary nodded their understanding. “Will you watch Maura while I work?” Niamh wrung her hands in front of her.

  Mary’s breath caught at her daughter’s request. “You’d trust me with your daughter?”

  Niamh nodded. When Ardan moved to hand Maura to Mary, Niamh nodded again. “Yes, Ardan.”

  Maura fussed for a moment in Mary’s arms and then settled. She sniffed at Mary’s neck before resting her head and falling half asleep.

  “Oh, I’d almost forgotten,” Mary whispered, as her hands traced patterns over her granddaughter’s back. “What it feels like to have them snuffle at your neck.” She kissed Maura’s head and swayed her hips side to side as she hummed to her. “There’s a wee girl.”

  Niamh stood transfixed as she watched her mother with her daughter. “Thank you, Mum,” she whispered. She reached for Maura, snatching her daughter from her mother’s arms and earning a yowl of protest from her slumbering child. “I’ll be by in the mornin’ with her.” She rushed from the room, her voice soothing Maura as she cried.

  Ardan stood watching, as a mixture of emotions played over his mother’s face. “Are you well, Mum?”

  Mary shrugged and turned back to the stove. She picked up the wooden spoon and then slammed it down so hard that it cracked. When her shoulders shook with sobs, he gripped them and turned her to face him. “Mum?” he whispered, pulling her into his arms.

  He held her as she sobbed in his arms and stared at his father with a helpless expression when Seamus entered. “I didn’t upset her. I promise,” Ardan said, as his father glared at him. He eased her from his arms and urged her to go to his father.

  He heard his father whisper soft words of praise to her and encouraged her to cry all she needed. Arden slipped from the room, giving them the privacy they required.

  When Mary finally calmed, Seamus never asked her what had upset her but continued to hold her close.

  “I’m filled with such rage,” Mary whispered, as her fingers dug into her husband’s back.

  “Shh, love, there’s no need for it.” He ran his hands over her, attempting to ease her of her sadness. “It only brings more heartache.”

  “Why did I have to be separated from you and our children? Why did I have to suffer through years without you?” she gasped, her hands holding him tightly to her. “Why must my own daughter resent me and believe I would find carin’ for my granddaughter a burden?”

  “Oh, love,” he murmured, holding her to him. He said nothing further for he knew Mary needed to make her peace with each of their children in her own way. Although he wished he could soothe their pain and have them be the large happy family he had always envisioned with no undercurren
ts of resentment or doubts, he knew that wasn’t yet possible. “Time will heal this pain, love.”

  “How much time, Shay?” she whispered into his chest. “How much time before they forgive me?”

  “They forgive you now,” he said in a soft voice, as his large palms traced over her back. “’Tis more they don’t trust fate not to steal you away again, and they are cautious to accept you’re here to stay. Be patient with them, love.”

  Mary sighed, rubbing her face against his chest, relaxing under his gentle touch. “You should have seen Niamh, Seamus. When I held Maura and relished feelin’ her wee snuffle against my neck, ’twas as though Niamh recalled the times that she did that. The times I carried her in my arms, and we whispered words to each other. And she didn’t want to remember.”

  Seamus made a soothing noise. “No, love. ’Tisn’t that she doesn’t want to remember. ’Tis that the remembering hurts too much. Of all the children, Niamh mourned you the fiercest. They all needed their mother, but Niamh felt adrift as the only girl.” He sighed. “I did what I could for her, but I was never you.”

  Mary backed up a step and stared into his gaze filled with anguish. “Oh, Shay, I never doubted—not for one moment—how much you cared for them. That you loved them with your whole heart.”

  “Aye,” he said with tear-brightened eyes. “But the missing of you nearly drove us all mad.”

  She sighed and burrowed into his embrace, taking comfort in the fact they were reunited and never to be separated again.

  A few days later, Niamh bustled around the tidy café kitchen. She chopped vegetables for a stew, made pots of coffee, sliced bread, and washed dishes. Basically anything that was called for so that Deirdre could continue to bake and to prepare meals. Somewhere during the past day, she and Deirdre had begun to talk, and they now chattered away as though they were old friends. Niamh hadn’t realized how much she had missed a woman’s company.