Conor's Way (29 page)

Conor thought of what might have happened had
he been only minutes later, and renewed rage pulsed through his
body. His arms tightened around her protectively. "Did he hurt
you?"

She shook her head. "No. He was just drunk
and bein' ornery."

Conor slid one hand up and down her spine in
a soothing caress, and all his rage dissolved into something
totally different and unexpected. Tenderness. "It's all right now,
love," he murmured, his lips against her hair. "It's all
right."

"I know," she whispered.

He held her for a long moment, savoring the
warmth of her body against him and the softness of her hair beneath
his jaw. When she started to pull away, he knew he should let her
go, but he didn't want to. He had to force himself to lower his
arms and step back, freeing her.

She straightened her apron and brushed at a
loose wisp of hair that touched her cheek, looking so flustered
and self-conscious, it made him want to smile. "Thank you. I'm fine
now." Without looking at him, she added in a low voice, "We thought
you'd left for good."

"I did."

She lifted her face. "Why did you come
back?"

He didn't tell her why. "Nobody came by to
give me a ride," he lied.

"I'm glad you came back," she whispered.
"Thank you."

"Who was he? Did you know him?"

She sighed. "Yes, I know him."

"What did he want?"

Wrapping her arms around her ribs, Olivia
walked past him to the porch rail and stared out into the
darkness. "It's a long story."

"Time is something I seem to have a lot of
these days. What did he want, Olivia?"

"He wanted to frighten me. Imagine Joshua
thinking he could scare me." She laughed, but it sounded a rather
shaky laugh to Conor.

"Frighten you?" He frowned. Crossing the
porch, he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, turning her
to face him. "Why?"

"He works for a rich and powerful man who
wants to build a railroad through here and who wants my land to do
it. I'm the only one around here whose land he hasn't been able to
get on the proposed route."

"He must be willing to buy it from you?"

"Oh, yes." A wry smile touched her lips.
"He's made quite a generous offer. But I'm being rather stubborn
about this, I'm afraid. I won't sell. So, he's trying to intimidate
me into selling. I'm sure he sent Joshua out here just for that
reason."

Conor almost wanted to laugh at the irony.
He'd spent most of his life watching as people were terrorized,
starved, and evicted, all for some piece of land. He'd seen people
toil ceaselessly on their little farms until it broke their backs
and their spirits, only to pass it down to children who would toil
on in their place. He'd traveled halfway around the world, only to
watch it all happen again. Didn't any of them see that it wasn't
worth it?

"It's just a piece of land, Olivia."

"No!" She looked up at him, a hard
determination in her face he'd never seen before. "It is not just a
piece of land. It's my home. My family has lived here for over
seventy years. Five generations of Monroe folk have been born here,
five generations have poured their blood and sweat into this land.
My brothers died defending it. Peachtree is my legacy and my
responsibility."

"But if they're threatening you—"

"Nonsense. I won't be driven off my land by
empty threats from greedy carpetbaggers and scalawags."

He studied the determined set of her jaw, and
he wondered how many faces like hers he had seen in his life.
Dozens, maybe hundreds. All of them thinking that roots and family
ties were more important than anything else, all of them passing
down land and traditions

from one generation to the next, all of them
believing that someday things were going to get better—if not for
them, then for their children.

But Conor knew things never got any better,
and that you couldn't fight the battle forever. Tenants got
evicted, railroads got built, homeless children went hungry, and
life was bloody unfair.

"So, you'll not be driven off your land,
Olivia?" There was a hint of mockery in his voice. "Just how are
you going to prevent it?"

"I'll ignore them."

"Oh, that's brilliant, that is. Next time
this Joshua fellow comes around, I'll just let him manhandle you,
and watch you try to ignore it."

She shot him a fierce look that told him she
didn't appreciate the sarcasm. "I'll fight them."

"How?"

"I don't know. Somehow."

He looked into her proud, determined face,
and he wondered how long she'd be able to hold out against their
threats. Men who were rich and powerful wouldn't let one stubborn
woman get in their way. She had no idea what she was up
against.

He opened his mouth to tell her the bitter
truth, but in her face he saw a tiny glimmer of all his own lost
ideals, and he didn't have the heart to tell her that the
carpetbaggers and scalawags of the world usually won.

***

Conor awoke the next morning thinking he must
have been daft the night before. Just plain daft. There was no way
Olivia could fight those land speculators, and he should have told
her so.

He decided to talk to her about it after
breakfast. She'd said those men had made her a generous offer for
her land. If she sold it to them, she could use the money to buy
herself another piece of land, complete with a house that didn't
have sagging fences and a leaky roof. That was the only sensible
solution, and he figured it was up to him to make her realize
it.

He found her in the barn, putting down fresh
straw in one of the stalls.

She glanced at him over the top of the stall.
"Mornin'."

He decided to get right to the point. He
crossed the barn to the opening of the stall. "Are you still
planning to fight those men?"

She leaned on the pitchfork in her hand and
brushed a loose tendril of hair back from her forehead. "Of
course."

"I was hoping you might have done some
thinking about it and changed your mind."

She shook her head. "No," she answered, and
turned away, plunging her pitchfork into the pile of straw by her
feet. "Why would I?"

"Because they have money and you obviously
don't. Because they have power and you don't. Because it's a losing
battle."

"I told you, this is my home. I won't be
forced off my land."

"You're not being sensible."

She stopped working and turned toward him.
"What would be sensible?" she asked softly. "Take the money and
move on? That's what you'd do, isn't it?"

He thought about all the times he'd fought
that battle within himself, knowing the sensible course, unable to
follow it, rebelling against it. And he always regretted his
rebellions afterward.

"Yes," he said. "That's what I'd do."

"Well, I'm not like you," she said, and
resumed her task. "I'm not going anywhere."

"So, what are you planning to do? Stand by
your front door and tell the bad men to go away?"

"There's no need to be sarcastic."

"For God's sake, woman!" He stepped forward
and yanked the pitchfork out of her hand, forcing her to give him
her attention. "This isn't a church social," he said, leaning the
pitchfork in one corner of the stall. "That man last night wasn't
here for a cup o' tay."

"I told you, I've known Joshua all my life.
He wouldn't have hurt me. He just wanted to frighten me."

"Right. And what happens if the next time he
comes around, he decides to frighten you a little harder?" He
watched her lift her chin, and he figured he'd never met a more
exasperating woman in his life. "What are you going to do? He's a
man. You're a woman. Christ, do I have to explain this in graphic
detail?"

She blushed a deep pink. "Well, you're here.
He won't get the opportunity."

"I'm only staying long enough to help you
harvest those peaches," he countered. "After that, I'll be gone.
Then what will you do?"

She pressed her lips together and didn't
answer.

"What will you do?" he asked again.

"I don't know!" she shot back, glaring up at
him. "But I'm not going to let Joshua Harlan bully me."

"What about the girls? Are you ready to risk
their safety?"

"Joshua's not going to do anything to the
girls. He's just Vernon's hired gun, and Vernon wouldn't order him
to hurt me or my girls."

Conor heard the name and sucked in his breath
as if he'd just been kicked in the stomach. "Who?"

"Vernon Tyler. He's the man who wants my
land."

Conor raked a hand through his hair. "No, no,
no," he groaned, shaking his head. "Tis a dead man, I am."

She frowned, perplexed. "What are you talking
about?"

He turned away, paying no attention to her
question. "Of all the insane, idiotic things I've ever
done...Vernon Tyler. Oh, Christ." He thought of the farmer's wagon
that could have taken him out of here, and he wanted to kick
himself in the ass for being so stupid. "Should have bloody well
kept going."

You ever cross my path
again, boy, I'll snap you into pieces like a dry stick and use you
for firewood
.

"Conor?" Olivia walked to his side and placed
a hand on his arm.

He shook it off with frustrated violence.
Punching Vernon's hired gun last night would probably get him
beaten again, or worse. He'd leave again, he decided, for good this
time. Keeping a promise to a woman wasn't worth it.

"Conor?"

Her soft voice broke into his tumultuous
thoughts. He turned around and leaned back against the side of the
stall. "Vernon Tyler is the man who had me beaten."

"What? In heaven's name, why?"

Conor scowled. "Because I was an idiot. A
dumb bastard who didn't like being told what to do."

"What are you talking about?"

He rubbed a hand across his jaw and let out
his breath on a sigh. "Vernon was the one who arranged the boxing
match I was in against Elroy Harlan."

"Yes, I know. I saw an advertisement for the
match in the mercantile."

"Vernon financed the betting, he was the
bookmaker. When the odds came in, he knew he'd lose money if I won
the fight, so he ordered me to go down."

"I'm afraid I don't know much about gambling.
What does that mean?"

"Take the fall. Lose on purpose. I let Elroy
get in a really good punch, you see. I fall to the floor, with a
few groans and moans to make it look convincing. Elroy wins the
fight; Vernon makes a nice profit; I make my twenty-five dollars
anyway; and everybody's happy."

"But that would be cheating."

He let out a bark of laughter at her shocked
disapproval. "Well, what do you think, that Vernon is an
upstanding citizen who would never do anything dishonest?"

Her cheeks burned at his mockery of her
naiveté. "But you didn't do what Vernon wanted you to do? Why?"

"I've never been good at taking orders. Like
I said before, I was an idiot. So, Vernon's boys decided to teach
me a lesson. Sure, it was Vernon himself who told me, if I ever
crossed his path again, he'd do worse. Much worse."

She pressed clasped hands to her mouth. "Oh,
Lord in heaven."

He nodded approvingly. "When all else fails,
pray. Good idea, that. While you're at it, ask Him if He might
consider letting me out of this without getting the rest of my ribs
broken, would you?"

She made a distressed sound and turned away.
"You should leave, then," she said in a low voice, staring at the
straw around her feet. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt again
because of my fight with Vernon."

"Olivia, be sensible. If you sold your land
to Vernon, you could take the money and buy yourself another farm
someplace else, one that isn't too big for you to manage on your
own. You can't win anyway."

Slowly, she turned to face him, her shoulders
square, her spine straight. "I've been refusing Vernon's offers to
buy my land for nigh on four years now. I reckon I can keep on
refusing them for a few more. Eventually, he'll get tired of asking
and give up." She turned and grabbed the pitchfork. "I appreciate
your advice, Mr. Branigan, but as you've so clearly pointed out,
you're leaving. My land isn't your affair."

So, he was Mr. Branigan again. Conor watched
her for a few moments, but Olivia went on with her chores as if he
wasn't there, and he knew the discussion was over.

She was right, of course. This wasn't his
land. It was none of his business. Leaving now would be the
smartest thing he could do.

Conor strode out of the barn. He paid no
attention to the direction of his steps, but took the first path he
came across. She was fighting a losing battle, but that was her
choice. If she wanted to be so damn stubborn about some piece of
land, who was he to interfere?

He imagined her facing this alone, without
him there to protect her. He knew the pressure on her would only
increase. He imagined Joshua coming back around to threaten her, or
worse, and his anger at the thought of it churned to the surface.
It wasn't his business, he told himself again, firmly pushing that
anger down deep inside. He was done with lost causes. He was
leaving.

"Mr. Conor!"

Carrie's voice calling his name intruded on
his thoughts. He didn't want to see the girls just now. He paused
for an instant, then resumed walking as if he hadn't heard,
quickening his pace.

"Mr. Conor! Wait for us!"

This time, it was Miranda's voice calling to
him. He could hear running footsteps behind him on the hard-packed
dirt of the path. "Damn," he muttered, raking a hand through his
hair. He came to an abrupt halt and turned around, giving in to the
inevitable.

All three of them were coming toward him down
the path, Carrie and Miranda at a flat-out run, Becky following at
a slower pace, trying to act grown-up and dignified.