Chapter 2
“My terms are not so unreasonable,” Shane replied. “No more than any other man would expect. Be honest with me, work hard, and be the woman I thought I married.”
Caitlin didn’t answer him. Had she told him what tickled the tip of her tongue, she was certain he would leave both her and Derry at the landing.
Justice returned with a farm wagon. Without speaking, he handed the lines to Shane and untied his pony reins from the rear of the vehicle. He mounted and sat stiffly on the pinto. Caitlin couldn’t see the boy’s expression, but she could feel him watching her with blatant animosity.
Caitlin glanced away and wondered why this reunion was going so terribly wrong. She didn’t want to be the enemy. It might be natural for the boy to be apprehensive about having a stepmother, but his obvious disapproval did little to ease her own fears.
“How much of this luggage is absolutely necessary for us to take?” Shane asked.
“All of it.” Caitlin counted her trunks and cases to be certain everything was there. She’d already checked them when the steamboat docked and counted them yet again after the deckhands had loaded them onto the landing. These possessions were precious to her. They contained all she had of home, all she would ever have of her family and Ireland. She’d defended her personal effects against petty thieves and smooth-talking flimflam men. She wasn’t about to be bullied into giving up any of her property by Shane McKenna.
“You decide or I will.” He heaved a trunk into the wagon bed.
“These two.” Caitlin shifted Derry to her hip and lifted a portmanteau. “I must have this. It has—”
“Two more.”
His impatience infuriated her. She handed him the leather case and went back to tug at a wooden chest. “I need this.”
“Too big. Take a smaller one,” Shane replied brusquely.
“No, I won’t go without the chest. I have seeds and—”
“Suit yourself.” He removed a leather trunk and put the wooden chest in its place.
Caitlin tried to lift one end of the trunk, but it was too heavy. She returned to the heaped luggage and chose a smaller box tied with red cord. Shane took the box out of her hands and jammed it into a spot under the seat. She turned back toward the remaining pile, but he stepped in front of her.
“I’ll fetch the rest of it when I find time to come to Jeff City again,” he promised. “Now, I’d take it kindly if you’d get into the wagon.”
Caitlin glanced back at the things on the landing, then nodded and offered him her hand. Instead, his big hands closed on her waist. Effortlessly, he swung her and Derry up onto the wagon seat.
Shane drove back the way he’d come with Justice following on his pony. After a short distance, Shane guided the team onto a side street that led back toward the bank of the Missouri River.
Lights blazed from a three-story house at the end of the block. Strains of music and loud laughter spilled through the open windows. Several horses were tied near the door, and a liveried servant lingered by a phaeton.
“Where are we going?” Caitlin asked.
“Fat Rose’s . . . boardinghouse. I told you, she’s a friend of mine. I’ll ask her to look after your trunks until I can get back this way.” Shane reined the horses into a narrow alley. “You wait here.” He glanced at Justice. “Both of you.”
Caitlin watched as Shane secured the lines to a hitching post and walked away. “Shouldn’t I come with you?” she suggested. “If this Rose is a friend, shouldn’t I meet her?”
Justice stifled a sound of amusement.
“Nope.” Shane kept moving. “Stay put.”
Caitlin seethed. She was not used to being given orders. Do this. Do that. Who did he think he was?
Shane had never treated her like this in County Clare. He’d been sweet, understanding, patient. Good-humored.
She shifted restlessly. “How well do you know this Rose?” she asked Justice. “Will she take good care of my things, do you think?”
“Reckon so.”
The boy’s accent was so strong that she had to listen carefully to understand him.
Shouting echoed from the main street. A voice, definitely a female voice, swore a foul oath.
Caitlin’s cheeks grew warm.
“I’m going to leave Derry here while I find your father,” she said to Justice. “Can I trust you to watch her for a few minutes?” She carefully laid the sleeping child in front of the wagon seat.
“He said to stay put.”
“I know what he said. Can I trust you with the baby?”
He nodded.
“I’ll take her with me if it’s too much trouble,” she said.
“I kin watch her.”
“She’s a baby. If she was to fall under the horses’ feet or if they got excited and—”
“I’ll keep her safe.” The boy dismounted and climbed up on the wagon seat.
Caitlin nodded. Heart pounding, she started down the alley. Rose’s boardinghouse indeed! Sheltered she might have been under her father’s roof, but Caitlin was not stupid. At the very least, Rose’s was a dockside pub. At the worst . . . She didn’t want to consider what the worst was.
She reached the street and followed an uneven plank walk toward the brightly lit house. In an upstairs window, she saw the silhouette of two people dancing to the tinny notes of a cheap piano. Another couple lingered at the corner of the house.
Taking a deep breath, Caitlin walked purposefully toward the front door. She would find her husband and leave this place as soon as possible.
“Evenin’, sugar.”
Caitlin turned and caught a whiff of hard liquor and unwashed man. A bulky figure in a tall beaver hat staggered from the shadows.
“You’re new, ain’t ya?” The man lurched closer and belched. “Pretty little thing. Where’s Fat Rose been hiding you?”
Refusing to dignify the sot with a reply, she continued on up the brick steps. The music was very loud, a jarring, rowdy tune accompanied by stomping feet and off-key singing.
“Don’t go ’way,” the drunk protested. “Les be friends.”
Caitlin quickened her pace. She reached for the doorbell just as his fingers closed on her shoulder.
“I said, don’t go ’way, sweet thing.” He pulled a handful of crumpled greenbacks from his pocket. “I got money.”
She turned to face him, covering her fear with icy courtesy. “Kindly remove your hand.”
“How ’bout a kiss for ole Jim?”
A blast of one-hundred-proof breath made her gag. Twisting free of his grasp, she trod hard on his toes with the heel of her leather boot, then ducked under her assailant’s arm as he swore and reached out to grab her.
“Leave me alone!” she cried. “I don’t—”
The door burst open and a charging fury nearly knocked her over. Suddenly, Caitlin’s back was to the wall, and Shane was between her and the drunken lout. Shane seized the man by the collar of his shirt and lifted him off the ground.
“That’s my wife!” Shane shook the stranger hard enough to rattle the man’s teeth, then tossed him over the porch railing into the shrubbery.
“I didn’t know she was your woman, McKenna. I swear! I didn’t know.”
Shane leaped over the rail and pounced on him. “You damn well owe her an apology.”
“What’s ado?” The fattest woman Caitlin had ever seen squeezed through the front door and teetered to the edge of the porch. “I’ll have no fighting here. Stop that, Shane McKenna. You let him go.”
Shane rose to his feet still holding the protesting drunkard by the shirt front. “He insulted my wife.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought—”
Several scantily dressed women with rouged faces and elaborately coifed hair spilled onto the porch, and Caitlin was nearly overwhelmed by a wave of cheap perfume.
“It’s McKenna,” whispered a tall redhead with bad skin.
Another snickered. “Shane McKenna? Which one is he?”
An assortment of men, some roughly dressed, others in white shirt and tie, followed the women onto the porch. Several clutched bottles of spirits; one held a hand of cards.
“That’s him,” a burly riverman said loudly to his companion. “McKenna runs horses at Kilronan.”
“What’s he doing here?” demanded a stout man wearing spectacles. “I didn’t come to Fat Rose’s looking for trouble.”
An elderly gentleman pointed toward Shane with his walking stick. “You’d think he’d have better sense than to show his face in this town again after—”
“Enough!” The fat woman made shooing motions with her hands. “Inside, inside all of you,” she ordered in an altissimo voice. “Do you want the law on me?”
The onlookers filed noisily back inside, and the fat woman glanced back at Shane. “Must I throw you both in the river to settle this?”
Shane gave his victim a final shove, then let go. The troublemaker scrambled away into the darkness. Seconds later, Caitlin heard the sound of retching.
“You know I don’t want trouble here,” the fat woman admonished Shane.
“He insulted my wife.”
“Jim’s dead drunk. Last time he was this drunk, he propositioned my old sow.”
“I know he’s drunk,” Shane said. “If he wasn’t . . .” He left the threat unspoken.
The woman flashed a wide grin at Caitlin, displaying two silver front teeth. “I’m Fat Rose,” she said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. McKenna.”
“How do you do,” Caitlin replied numbly. She tried not to notice the huge quivering breasts visible above a shockingly scant neckline or the artificially yellow hair that hung around Rose’s moon face in long corkscrew curls.
“I thought I told you to wait in the wagon, Caity.” Shane’s voice was low, but he made no effort to hide his anger.
“We’ll discuss this later,” she flung back.
“No harm done,” Rose said, stretching a plump, ringed hand across Caitlin to pat Shane’s cheek affectionately. “Jim won’t remember a thing tomorrow morning. If he’d of known she was your wife, he never would have had the nerve to speak to her. You ain’t hurt none, are ya deary?”
Caitlin shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”
“You’ll send Moses for the trunks?” Shane reminded Rose.
“Did Fat Rose ever let ya down?” Silver teeth winked in the lantern light. “I’ll send Moses lickety-split after your plunder. Don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of it. Just like it was mine.”
“I appreciate it,” Shane said.
“Where’s that music?” Fat Rose bellowed in the open door. “I pay for piano. I want to hear piano.”
The music began again. After two false starts, Caitlin recognized an old Irish tune called “The Banks of Claudy.” A man with a deep baritone voice was singing.
As I rode out one evening, all in the month of May, Down by the flower garden, where I did often stray . . .
Fat Rose hugged Caitlin to her ample breasts. “You’ve got a good man, honey, no matter what anyone says. You two take care of each other. And kiss that sweet boy for me, Shane. You tell him that Fat Rose misses him.”
Caitlin exchanged bitter words with Shane on the way back to the wagon. “How dare you leave my things with such a person?”
“I told you to stay in the wagon. Why the hell can’t you do one thing I ask?” he demanded. “What if I hadn’t gotten there in time to save you?”
“I came from County Clare without your protection. I’m capable of dealing with one sloppy drunk.”
“You looked capable. Another minute and he’d have had you on your back.”
“In a pig’s eye. Do you think I’ve not had to deal with men on my own in the past eight years?”
“I’m sure you have.”
“That’s a rotten thing to say.”
“When I tell you something for your own good, you’d best learn to listen.”
“I’m your wife, not your maidservant. That’s a house of sin. How could you leave half of what I own in the world with that . . . that creature?”
“Fat Rose is an honest woman.”
“The very picture of virtue.”
“You shouldn’t be so quick to judge. She’s been a friend, and I’ve few enough of those.”
Caitlin held Derry tightly against her as the horse-drawn wagon rolled through the streets of the City of Jefferson. Shane sat on the hard wooden seat beside her, reins between his gloved hands, back straight, silent as a rain-washed stone. This wasn’t how she’d imagined it would be. He was not the man she’d married in the ruined church at Kilshanny. That Shane McKenna would never have doubted her word about Derry, and he would not have attacked a man in such a violent fashion.
And he would never have frequented a house of ill repute or allowed his wife anywhere near one!
Caitlin watched in silence as the houses and stores grew farther and farther apart. For all its grand name, the City of Jefferson was only a small town, nothing to rival New Orleans, or even Saint Louis.
Circles of pale yellow light spilled from the windows of the private homes. Here and there, a yard was fenced with white pickets, and she caught the scent of roses. As they rounded a corner, Caitlin saw an elderly man and woman bathed in the glow of a copper lantern. They sat close together on a porch swing, their graying heads nearly touching and their quiet laughter mingling in the still night air.
The couple’s obvious affection for each other brought a catch to Caitlin’s throat. How many times had she watched her parents sit and talk of an evening, sharing memories and private jests? She’d pictured herself and Shane growing old together, weaving the fabric of their lives so closely that a thread could not be pulled from the cloth without destroying the pattern.
I wanted that, she thought fervently. I still want that. . . . And I want flowers. A yard full of bright blooms that would wipe away the memories of black, rotting fields and fresh-dug graves along the country lanes of County Clare.
She hoped that the seeds she’d carried from Ireland would flourish in this Missouri soil so that she could surround her house with sweet-smelling herbs and flowers. A house couldn’t really be a home without the colors and scents of a garden.
As they reached the outskirts of the town there were fewer people on the dusty street. A coach pulled by four horses rumbled past, followed by a solitary rider on a swaybacked horse. A small white dog ran from a yard and barked at Shane’s wagon. The animal ran after them, snapping at the near wheel.
Shane paid no heed to the passersby or the terrier. He kept guiding the team along the streets until he reached a narrow lane that looked to Caitlin like all the other lanes they had passed.
“A few more miles along this track and we’ll camp for the night,” Shane said. He glanced back over his shoulder at the boy. “Mind what I told you, Justice. Keep a loose rein on that pony’s mouth. Move with him, not against him.”
A few minutes later, Shane reined in the team long enough to light a lantern. He motioned to Justice, and the boy took the lamp and rode ahead of them, illuminating the road.
“He rides well,” Caitlin murmured, wanting to make conversation with her husband, normal conversation that didn’t end in a fuss. The child did seem to have a good seat. His back was straight, and he showed no fear of his mount.
“He’s coming along,” Shane replied tersely. “His mother could ride anything with four legs.”
Caitlin exhaled softly. She wasn’t certain she wanted to hear more about Justice’s mother at the moment. When Shane spoke of her, his voice softened in a way that left no doubt as to his affection for the dead woman. A good friend, he had called her. Just how good? Caitlin was wondering. And why would a man living alone be chosen as a guardian for Justice?
Curiosity got the better of her. “What was her name?”
“Who?”
“Justice’s mother.”
“Cerise. Cerise Larocque.”
“She was French?”
“Her father was a Frenchman, so she said. Her mother was a full-blood, I’d expect.”
“A full-blood?”
“Indian. Osage. Cerise never talked much about her red relatives, but she told me that her mother was Osage.”
“Are they dangerous? Indians?” Derry burrowed against her and made small baby sounds in her sleep. Caitlin’s one arm was cramped, but she didn’t want to risk waking the child. Derry had had another long day, and she’d been such a little soldier. She was normally a good-natured child, but if she didn’t get her proper sleep she could be a bear.
“Indians?” Shane broke into her thoughts with his reply. “I expect Indians are just like other people. Some are dangerous. Some aren’t.”
“But . . . If you aren’t afraid of the Indians, then why are you carrying a firearm?” She’d noticed that he’d taken his rifle from the case strapped to his saddle and laid it directly behind the seat.
“Lots of things out here to fear worse than Indians,” he said. “I don’t look for us to see trouble, but if we do . . .”
Shane’s words made Caitlin shiver. What could be worse than marauding savages?
The dirt lane was bumpier than the street, and the wagon seat had no springs. By the time they reached this camping spot of Shane’s, she would be black-and-blue. To add to Caitlin’s discomfort, the horses’ hooves kicked up gravel with every step. Her bonnet and apple-green traveling coat would be filthy by the time she reached her new home.
She sighed and looked around her. The road ran through a thick forest; the trees were so large and heavily branched that they nearly shut out the faint sprinkling of stars winking above. Foliage pressed close on both sides of the lane, brushing the sides of the cart and once nearly knocking her bonnet off her head.
It was very dark, but the velvety blackness came in a hundred shades of night. Rustling noises and the occasional hoot of an owl drifted over her.
The air was rich with the odors of musty leaves, horses, and oiled leather. Intertwined with those earthy smells were hints of wild mint and a good masculine scent that was Shane’s alone.
The cart seat was narrow, and they were nearly in each other’s laps as they rocked and bounced from side to side. It was impossible not to be acutely aware of her husband’s powerful presence.
How strange it felt to be so close to a man after so many years. This was her lawful husband, and yet . . . not really her husband. It was difficult to know how she should feel toward him, but Indians or ferocious beasts, she was certain that he would keep them safe.
Finally, Shane reined in the team in a small clearing beside a stream. “This is where we camp,” he said. “Justice. Tend the horses.”
He helped her down from the seat. It felt heavenly to stretch her legs after the long, uncomfortable ride.
“We can make a bed in the wagon for the little one if you want,” he offered. “We may see rain before daybreak. I’d put my bedroll under the wagon, if I were you.”
Justice dismounted and took hold of the off-horse’s bridle. Shane heaved the big trunk out of the middle of the cart to make room for her to lay blankets for the child. “It’s best you keep her off the ground,” he said. “Snakes breed this time of the year. We’re close to the stream. Some may be curled up in those rocks yonder. A mite could die from snakebite easy.”
“Snakebite?” Caitlin’s voice cracked. “You want me to sleep on the ground around poisonous snakes?” The thought of crawly serpents made gooseflesh rise on her arms.
There were no snakes in Ireland. It was said that the good Saint Patrick banished them all. She’d never seen a snake until she’d reached New Orleans, and that one was dead, stuffed, and part of a show to sell Dr. Jayne’s Snake Oil Wonder Cure.
Justice laughed.
“I didn’t say they were likely to bite,” Shane said scornfully. “I was thinking of the sprout. I’ll build a fire.” He spread a blanket between Caitlin’s pelisses. “That should be enough room. She’s not very big.”
Caitlin handed him the sleeping child, and he put her in the makeshift bed. Derry sighed and rolled over onto her side and curled up with a tiny thumb in her mouth.
“She has a name,” she reminded him. “It’s Derry, not sprout or girl.” Caitlin removed her coat and covered the child with it.
Shane grunted assent.
Caitlin couldn’t stop thinking about the snakes. “Just how big are these snakes?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Six, eight feet and bigger,” Justice gleefully supplied. “First you hear a little rattle-rattle, like dry beans in a cup, and zap, they sink their fangs into ya. A wrangler in Johnson’s Grove got into a nest of rattlers. He turned black and swelled up until his belly burst like a rotten bladder.”
“Boy. Get these horses unharnessed and watered.” Shane gathered up an armload of fallen branches. “Don’t pay him no attention, Caitlin. I don’t mean to let you get bit, and if you do, you won’t die from it.”
“How comforting.”
She climbed back up onto the cart seat and sat there until he had a fire going. Justice finished caring for the horses and joined him. Together, they set out the food, and then Shane went down to the stream and filled his canteen with fresh water. When he returned, she was still sitting on the wagon seat.
“You planning on sleeping up there?” he asked. “Best you climb down and have something to eat.”
“No, thank you. I’m not hungry just now.” What she did need was a proper place to relieve herself. There was nothing around but woods, and she had no intention of marching off to be devoured by a bear or bitten by a poisonous snake.
“You’re mad over the hotel room, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not,” she lied.
He looked dubious. “Afraid of snakes?”
“No.” She compounded her sin with a second lie.
“It’s Fat Rose’s, then. You’re vexed over my leaving your plunder. Rose won’t steal it. And heaven help any poor soul who tries to make off with anything under her protection.”
It was a long speech for Shane, the most he’d said to her at one time since they left the City of Jefferson. She knew she ought to return the favor. “They seem well acquainted with you.”
“I made that clear, didn’t I?”
“You have . . . friends there?” Her mouth went dry, but she couldn’t hold back. “Women friends? Other than Rose?”
He chuckled. “Nobody since I wrote for you this last time.”
“You expect me to believe that?” she dared.
“Believe it or not, as you please.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But there have been other—”
“I don’t think this is something we should talk about in front of the boy, do you?”
“I need to know if there’s someone now.”
He shook his head. “I told you. Not for more than a year. I’m clean of disease.” Shane tilted his chin, as if he was waiting for her to reply. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the chirp of crickets and the restless movement of the horses.
“Guess we’ve said all we need to about that,” he observed. “We’ve a long ride tomorrow. You need to eat and see to your personals. If you’re fearful, sleep by the fire.”
“And you? Where will you sleep?” she asked.
“I’ll keep watch.”
Justice finished off his bread and cheese and rolled up in his blanket on the far side of the fire. In minutes he was sound asleep. Caitlin remained stubbornly where she was.
“You intend to sit there until morning?” Shane asked.
“Maybe.”
“Suit yourself.” He spread his blanket and dropped his saddle at the head for a pillow. “Your bed’s ready if you want it,” he said. Then, taking his rifle, he strolled away from the firelight and paced a circle around the camp.
As he completed his circuit, he glanced into the back of the wagon at Derry, then settled down against a tree. Caitlin climbed down and dashed into the bushes on the far side of the horses. In less than a minute, she hurried back to the fire and crouched beside it.
Shane nodded to her as he balanced his rifle across his knees. “Eat and sleep,” he advised. “We have to make tracks tomorrow. I want to be home by dusk, and we have some rough country to get through.”
Far off, across the hills, a dog howled at the moon, an eerie, drawn-out sound. One of the horses nickered and twitched his ears. Caitlin shifted uneasily. Was that really a dog? she wondered. “Was that a wolf?” she called to Shane.
“Just a coyote. Nothing to be scared of.”
Caitlin pulled the pins from her hair and began to braid it as she stared into the glowing coals. The words she’d overheard on Fat Rose’s porch kept returning to haunt her. What did those people think Shane had done that was so awful? He’d kept Justice a secret from her. Was he keeping other things from her as well?
Something rustled in the grass behind her and she shivered. It would be a long night with a long day to follow. Maybe by morning she’d figure out how to start making things right between her and Shane. Or maybe she’d realize just how big a mistake she’d made in coming here, and take the first steamboat back to civilization.