Pioneer Desire: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Two Page 8

  Declan joined them, standing on the other side of Ardan. “She has succeeded, Ard.”

  “I realized last night, as I kissed her, that I wished I never had to kiss another woman.” He met Kevin’s gaze. “I remember teasing you about Aileen. Thought I’d never feel this way—the superiority I felt because I was above such emotions.” He let out a stuttering breath and shook his head.

  “There’s no use fightin’ what you feel, Ard,” Kevin said with urgency. “Embrace it. Marry her and have children. Live a good life with a woman you care for.”

  Ardan shook his head and massaged his nape. “’Tisn’t that simple, Kev. Never is.” He sighed. “She doesn’t want me. She yearns for another.”

  Kevin gasped and then reached around Ardan to smack Declan. “How could you, Dec?”

  Ardan grabbed both of his brothers before they started scrappling with each other. He gave them severe stares before bursting into laughter. “Only you, Kev, could make me laugh today. No, ’tisn’t about Declan. Sorry, Dec, but I doubt she even knows who you are.” He released his brothers, and he saw Declan righting his clothes and glaring at Kevin, as though Declan were a wronged man. “She mourns her husband who died in the Civil War. Wishes him back.”

  “Shite,” Declan muttered. “There’s no battlin’ a ghost.”

  All three brothers sighed, as they remembered their father’s second marriage to Colleen. Although a nice woman, she had never filled the void left by Mary. Colleen had never mistreated them, nor done anything wrong, but she had never fit into their family either. Too many nights, the children had sat in tense silence as Colleen fought tears and as Da found an excuse to leave the table early to avoid an argument. When they did fight, the argument always returned to the basic problem that Seamus would never love Colleen as he had loved Mary. Shouts of “Why must you love a ghost more than you love me?” had rung throughout their small home, while Ardan held a whimpering Niamh, and Kevin and Declan covered Eamon’s and Finn’s ears so they wouldn’t hear so much.

  After Mary returned to them a month ago, Seamus readily admitted Colleen had been correct: he’d always loved Mary in a way he could never love Colleen. Ardan knew it to be true when he saw that the special sparkle had returned to Da’s eyes now, and joy seemed ever present again in their home.

  “I refuse to be a Colleen,” Ardan said. “No matter what I feel.”

  Kevin sat in deep thought. “Do you think ’tis more than that?” When Ardan and Declan stared at him as though he were daft, he said, “Aileen told me that she had the sense your Deirdre mourned much more than a husband.”

  Ardan kicked at the wall and then stood tall. “It doesn’t matter, Kev. For the first time in my life, I was willin’ to try. But I refuse to always be someone’s second choice. If I’m going to brave lovin’ a woman, I want what Mum and Da have. What you an’ Aileen have. A shared madness.”

  Seamus sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands and shoulders stooped. The conversation he had overheard that day played repeatedly in his mind. Closing his eyes, he was thrust back into the living hell that had been his second marriage.

  Although he had hoped marrying Colleen would bring succor from the constant ache of missing Mary, it had instead intensified his longing for his first wife. Colleen, a good and loyal woman, never believed she had the right to her own opinion, even with his urging her to speak up. She was never free with her affection either. No pat on the arm, stroke over his head, kiss on the cheek. Mary had unconsciously done those and more, and he hadn’t realized how much he needed small signs of affection each day.

  Then there were the fights. The horrible accusatory words she’d spew at him as she sobbed. He never had any defense because everything she said, everything she accused him of, was true. Yes, he’d married her to help with his six children. God knew, Seamus couldn’t manage to work and to raise them all on his own. Yes, he still loved Mary. And he’d love her more, love her better, forever.

  He sighed, rubbing at his temple, at the headache blooming there. At the soft kiss to his head and the gentle caress to his temple, he sighed. “Mary,” he breathed, reaching out for her and drawing her close. He buried his face in her belly, his arms wrapped around her back. A sob burst forth that he could no longer contain, and his hold on her tightened.

  He felt her hands and fingers caressing him. They ran through his hair, over his shoulders and upper back as she arched over him, as though to make herself a vessel for his grief. After a short time, he calmed, rubbing his face back and forth over the soft cotton of her dress. “Forgive me, love,” he rasped.

  She backed away a step, cupping his face. Her thumbs rubbed away the moisture of his tears, and she stared at him with concern. “What is it? Can I help?”

  He stuttered out a laugh and pulled her close again, sighing with pleasure as he wrapped his arms around her and felt the rise and fall of her breaths. His soul sang with joy to feel her arms readily cling to him and stroke him to soothe him. “You already do. Just by being here.”

  Finally he released her, and she moved to sit beside him on the bed. She continued to hold his hand, her fingers playing over his palm and then intertwining with his fingers. “Can you tell me what brought this on?” she whispered. “Did I do something?”

  He shook his head and then shrugged. “Yes, and no.” He closed his eyes. “I realized today I failed my boys, and I never thought to feel such agony. Not since you died.” His blue eyes shone with regret and impotent rage when he braved meeting her gaze. “I never realized how much I damaged them by marrying Colleen. Because I loved you too much.”

  She stilled before taking a deep breath. “Will you share with me how it was?” She paused. “I’ve told you about Francois, but I’ve never wanted to hear about Colleen. The thought of you with another was always too painful.” She took a deep breath. “The thought that you could have loved another …”

  He gasped and shook his head as he reached for her, cupping her face so she would meet his ardent gaze. “Never, Mary, never.” He waited until she saw the veracity in his vow. “That is what made our marriage a living hell. I could never care for her as I did you. A half-love could never be enough, and Colleen realized that. And was heartbroken by it.”

  Mary smiled. “Is it terrible of me to be relieved you never cared for her as you did me?”

  He shook his head and grinned at her. “No, love,” he whispered as he kissed her, “no, a ghrá.” He called her his love in Gaelic. “I never said those words to her. They were yours alone.” He closed his eyes. “But therein lay the problem. She knew I never cared for her the way a husband should have. She accused me of only wanting a drudge to clean and to cook. Of wanting a nursemaid for my children. At the worst, she’d scream at me, begging me to love her as I loved you.” He nodded as Mary watched him with wide-eyed dismay. “And the lads overheard.”

  “Oh, Seamus, ’tisn’t your fault,” she soothed, as she ran her hands over his shoulders. “You’re human. You did what you had to do for our children, and I’ll be forever grateful for that. And for you.” She scooted forward until she sat astride his lap, wrapping her arms and legs around him in an all-body hug. “You sacrificed so they might have a woman who could be their mother.”

  “No, no one could ever replace you,” he whispered, as he held her close. “I realized too late my folly in marrying her.”

  “Shh,” she whispered, running her hands over him. “Never regret your time with her, for she gave you three beautiful sons. And whatever our lads are going through, they will overcome it. They are strong, fine men because of the constancy of your love. Never doubt that, Shay, a chuisle,” she whispered, calling him her heartbeat in Gaelic.

  “Oh, Mary, how did I survive without you for so long?” he whispered as his hold on her tightened.

  “What matters is we are together again. And I’m never letting you go.”

  Seamus called Ardan into his office, as he reviewed the list of supplies he readied to send
on one of the last ships of the season. He handed it to Ardan, his astute gaze taking in his son’s disheveled appearance. Although he had a long way to go to ever look as wild as Declan, Ardan was beginning to have a mountain man appearance. “Do you need a trip to the barber?”

  Ardan raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “No, I can shave myself. I’ve been lazy,” he said, as he ran his palm over his fine scruff of beard. Unlike his father’s, which was mostly white and gray, Ardan’s was pure black and highlighted his chiseled jaw. His astute gaze roved over the list. “Appears complete to me. The only concern I’d have would be that there may be new mining tools or supplies we won’t know about because we aren’t in a bigger city to learn about them.”

  Seamus nodded. “Aye, I know. ’Tis why Declan has said he’ll travel to the steamboats at Cow Island and ride south. He’ll travel with Cormac, as he brings a load of pelts and furs to the waiting boats.”

  Ardan ran a hand through his hair, now nearly chin length. He hadn’t cut it since he left Saint Louis in March. Perhaps Da was right, and he needed to visit the barber. “I’ll miss Declan. It’ll be hard to be separated from him for nearly a year.”

  “Aye,” Seamus said. “We need to have a better system for ordering supplies, where one of you lads doesn’t have to be absent for the majority of any year.” He tapped his pencil on the top of his desk. “And I worry about Declan being alone in the city. He’ll get into mischief with no one to look out for him.” Seamus waited to see what Ardan would say, frowning when Ardan rose and paced to the window overlooking the empty lot beside their warehouse. Seamus had purchased it with the belief their company would need room to expand. “Ardan?”

  “I should say I’d go an’ watch over him. But I don’t want to,” Ardan said in a low voice. “I’ve no desire to be away again. Not now.”

  Sitting back in his chair, Seamus studied his eldest son. “Why not?”

  “What if she leaves again, an’ I’m not here to say goodbye?” he whispered. He turned to face his father. “I want what time I can have with her.”

  “Marry the lass if you can’t abide her leavin’ you,” Seamus said with a frown.

  Ardan flushed at his father’s words but shook his head. “I won’t lie and say I don’t worry that Deirdre will leave. I do.” His gaze was filled with pent-up anguish. “I meant Mum.”

  At his whispered words, Seamus shot to his feet and approached his son. He gripped Ardan’s shoulders, squeezing them fiercely as he looked into his eldest’s eyes. “She’s not leaving, Ard. Not now. Not ever. You must believe in her. In me.”

  Ardan shrugged helplessly. “I don’t believe it. Not yet.”

  “Forgive me, lad,” Seamus rasped. “I failed all of you, an’ I don’t know how to ever make up for my mistakes.”

  “No, Da,” Ardan protested. He took a deep breath and scratched at his beard. “You did what you had to do to ensure we were always together. I never worried we’d be separated or sent to an orphanage, as so many children born into a large family did.”

  “Never,” Seamus vowed, as though his son had spoken the worst blasphemy. For Seamus, family was sacred.

  Ardan nodded and cleared his throat. After taking a deep breath, he said, “Mrs. Finnegan is wantin’ some spices. You should have Niamh get a list of what she’d like, so Declan knows to order them.”

  Seamus released Ardan’s shoulders, understanding his son had no further desire to discuss his fears today. However, Seamus continued to hope he could help Ardan whenever needed. “Then you should speak with her. Niamh is busy enough with her work there without worrying about an order we want to send south.”

  When Ardan stared at him for a long moment, Seamus said, “Face her, son. Nothing good comes from avoiding what you fear. Or what you desire.”

  That evening, after he knew Niamh had left for the day, Ardan knocked on the back door of the café. He waited as he heard Deirdre’s soft singing end and the sound of her heels clicking as they approached the door. When she poked her head out the door, he pursed his lips but remained quiet.

  “Ardan,” she whispered. “You’re here.”

  “Aye,” he said. “I’m on an errand for Da. Might I come in?” He waited for her to open the door and stepped inside. Unable to help himself, he closed his eyes at the scents wafting around him. The welcoming aromas of bread, of cooling cookies, of roasting chicken. He fought the yearning to come home to just such a scene every night with his own family after a day’s work. Opening his eyes, he found her staring at him, and he flushed. “I forgot how good it always smells in here.”

  “How is it you look so different, and it’s only been a few days since I’ve seen you?” she asked, blushing after she blurted out her question.

  He ran a hand over his beard self-consciously. “Da said I should visit the barber.”

  She shook her head, her hands clasped together, as though fighting the urge to reach out and to caress him. “No, you look quite handsome as you are.” When his eyes flared, and he took a step closer to her, she jolted and spun to pick up a plate of cookies. “I tried an experiment today,” she said, attempting to ignore the undercurrents flowing between them. “I think the men liked it.” She set out a cookie in front of him. “I missed chocolate, so I put cocoa in the batter.” She motioned for him to eat it.

  He took a small bite and nodded. “Delicious.” His gaze never left hers as he ate the treat.

  “I think it’s the vanilla.” She waited for him to say something more, for him to tease her or to praise her, but he simply stared at her. “What was it you wanted?” she asked, taking a step away from him.

  Reaching for items in his back pocket, he extracted paper and a pencil. “Da wants you to make a list of the spices you’ll need next year. Declan’s headin’ to Saint Louis soon to work on restockin’ our supplies. We want to make sure we have what you’ll need.” He paused as he looked around the kitchen. “Assumin’ you’ll be here next year.” When she remained quiet at his comment, he sighed. “Perhaps you should say how much flour and sugar you’ll need too.”

  She rubbed at her head and frowned. “Must I have this for you tonight? I’m afraid it will take some time, and I might forget a spice.”

  Ardan shook his head. “I’ll return tomorrow or the next day.” At her nod, he walked to the door, pausing when he felt her hand on his arm.

  “Ardan,” she whispered, her cognac-colored eyes large and luminous. “I … Why can’t things be as they were between us?”

  He raised his hand to cover hers, his large palm caressing her work-roughened hand. “I don’t understand what happened, Deirdre. I care for you, but I will not force you to spend time with a man you don’t like.”

  “Ardan, that’s not it,” she whispered.

  His blue eyes flared with pain. “I will not compete with a ghost.” He lifted her hand from his arm, freeing himself from her hold, and eased from her kitchen, leaving her staring after him.

  He left, she thought as she watched him depart. With a sigh, she locked the door and headed upstairs to her too-large living space. This was a space meant for a family. Not for a single woman. She sat in the comfortable chair she had claimed as her own, pulling a throw pillow against her chest as she leaned her head against the back of the tall chair.

  Closing her eyes, she pictured Ardan as she had seen him today. His jet-black hair growing long. His strong jaw, now covered in a beard her fingers itched to touch. His gorgeous blue eyes, tormented and filled with longing as they stared at her. She held a hand to her lips, remembering the kiss they’d shared. The passion and pleasure she’d felt. The security she always felt in his presence.

  These past days without him had been horrible. Buford had somehow learned of her disagreement with Ardan, although she suspected he didn’t understand the reason behind it, and Buford felt entitled to now threaten to again garnish Niamh’s wages from Deirdre’s portion of the profits. She wished she’d had the sense to have him sign a written agreement with h
er. Although she knew few would ever side with a woman in a legal dispute.

  For a moment, she let her mind play out a fantasy. That Ardan was her husband. He came home to her every day after work, helping to tidy the kitchen before joining her upstairs. They laughed and talked, discussing their days and the news trickling in from the outside world. When they tired, they retired to their bedroom, where they shared passion too. Soon they’d have children, and the empty space would feel like a home. She scrunched her eyes closed, fighting such imaginings.

  “Oh, why do you tempt me so?” she whispered into the night, her yearning for the dream to be true nearly outweighing her fears.

  Three days later, Ardan had not returned, and Deirdre fretted that Declan would leave without her order for spices. After finishing up that evening, she picked up her list and walked to the O’Rourke house. Although nearby, it was a block off Front Street and in a much quieter area. She paused a moment as she approached the large home, taking a deep breath, as she had not realized how the persistent noise from the rowdy men in town had affected her.

  After a moment, she picked up her skirts and walked to the back door. From what Niamh and Ardan had said in their conversations, she knew the front door was rarely used. Knocking on the back door loudly, she waited as the door opened.

  Blinking in confusion was a man who looked remarkably like a younger version of Ardan, now standing before her. “Might I help you, Mrs. Finnegan?” he asked. “You may as well come in and join us.”

  He motioned for her to enter, and she heard numerous voices chattering before she entered the kitchen area. A long dining room table with chairs and benches filled with O’Rourkes was set closer to one wall, and they were passing food, laughing, and telling stories as they prepared for their evening meal. At her abrupt appearance, the conversations stopped.