Damned and Desirable (Eternally Yours Book 2)
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Authors: Tara West
Damned and Desirable
Copyright © 2014 by Tara West
Published by Shifting Sands Publishing
First edition, published October 2014
All rights reserved.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Edited by Theo Fenraven
Proofread by Jenx Byron
Formatted by
Author's HQ
Cover Art by Tamra Westberry
Table of Contents
To Jodi. You don’t know what your friendship means to me. If we ever find ourselves in the fiery pit of doom, you know I’ve got your back, and I know I can count on you, too. But you’re such an awesome person, you’ll make it to at least level eleven in Purgatory. In that case, I will need to borrow some credits. ;)
Special thanks to C.D., Kelly, Raven, Shéa, Sheri and Tammy for beta reading my manuscript. Your input was very much appreciated.
To my street team and fans, thanks for your faith in my books and for all of your support. You are the reason I keep writing.
Theo Fenraven, I don’t know what I’d do without your edits. Thank you times infinity!
Jenx, thanks so much for finding my boo boos.
“If I owned Texas and all Hell, I would rent out Texas and live in Hell.” ~ General Sheridan
Galveston Island, Texas
September 7, 1900
Aedan O’Connor
“O’Connor. I need a word.”
I looked up to see Mr. Ball waving me to his clapboard office at the edge of the dock. I pocketed my cap and leather gloves, and ran a hand through my hair, made damp from perspiration, as I weaved my way through the cotton bales.
Though a favorable breeze blew from the east, the midday sun was still blistering, bearing down on me and my men like a coal furnace while we raced to secure the cotton. The sky was dotted with wispy clouds, but when I squinted, I thought I saw darker hues in the distance. There was talk of a possible storm tomorrow, a glancing glow from the powerful hurricane the weather bureau predicted would hit the northern part of Texas and all along Louisiana—far enough away from my island town, thank the Lord. I’d been dealing with enough foul weather as the tempest that brewed inside my home spun out of control with each demand from Katherine, my new bride. Nothing I did satisfied her, and I feared nothing ever would.
I ducked my head as I stepped beneath the low doorway. I had to crook my neck to keep my scalp from scraping the ceiling. I was taller than most men, which made my daily encounters in Mr. Ball’s office more than awkward.
Mr. Ball was a stout, middle-aged man with hair that had prematurely receded at least ten years prior, leaving him with nothing but a tuft of white at the top of his head. The dock workers had secretly named him Mr. Cotton Ball. Though I had laughed at the moniker a few times, nothing else was funny about my boss. He was always a man of business. He never accepted excuses when workers were late or slovenly, and I respected him for it.
Mr. Ball sat on the edge of his desk and chewed on an unlit cigar. “So? How goes it, O’Connor?”
“We’ve finished securing the bales,” I said. “Everything should sit tight until the weather clears.”
A smile lit up the man’s face, crinkling the ruddy skin around his eyes. “You work fast.” He tapped his cigar toward the open window. “I hear the storm may pass.”
I nodded, feeling my chest swell with pride. Mr. Ball wasn’t one to give praise lightly. “It may, but I figured it’s best to err on the side of caution.”
“I’m sending your crew home early, but don’t worry, you’ll get your full day’s wages for the effort you’ve put forth today.” He walked around his desk and pulled a stack of bills out of the drawer, handing four of them to me.
I rubbed the pad of my thumb over the money. Two dollars a day was my wage. I started to say something when Mr. Ball held up a silencing palm.
“I wish my other men were worth as much as you. I mean to offer you the foreman position.” Mr. Ball pocketed his cigar before holding out a hand. “Will you take it?”
I stepped back, refusing to shake. Ball had given Callum, my twin brother, the foreman position just last spring, and though Callum had seemed distracted this past week, he’d still seen to it the crews had kept the dock running smoothly. I suspected my brother’s distraction had something to do with Miss Thorne, Callum’s pretty, redheaded neighbor from Lucas Terrace who had, much to Callum’s dismay, already pledged her heart to another.
“But what of my brother?” I asked. I refused to steal my twin’s position simply because he’d been struck down by love.
Ball’s pale eyes darkened as his brows drew together. “What of him?”
Though I was loathe to part with the money, I slapped the two extra bills on the desk. I only prayed Katherine wouldn’t hear I’d refused my boss’s offer. “I can’t take my brother’s job.”
Mr. Ball heaved a sigh as he ran stubby fingers through his tuft of hair. “Aedan O’ Connor, you’re a good man, so I’m going to give it to you straight. Your brother’s a drunk. I can’t have him running my dock.”
I flushed with anger. “I don’t know where you heard that, sir, but my brother’s not a drunk. He’s an honest man, just as our mama raised us.”
Pity flashed in the older man’s eyes. I recognized that look. It was the same one my family and friends had given me when my first love, Marie, had succumbed to yellow fever. “Your brother is down at Ritter’s Saloon right now. Go see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
A man with ink-stained hands rushed past me and up the nearby stairwell, mumbling something about the Boxer Rebellion. Ritter’s Restaurant and Saloon was a high-end establishment located below the Galveston News office. I pocketed my cap and pushed my way past businessmen in crisp suits, ignoring their sharp stares as I brushed wisps of cotton off my trousers. I wondered why my brother had chosen this saloon when there were dozens of others more amenable to laborers.
I found my twin in a darkened corner, sitting by himself at a small bistro table, nursing what appeared to be an entire bottle of whiskey. A dark ache settled in my chest when Callum looked up from his drink. Though our gazes locked for a mere heartbeat, in that moment I read an eternity of sorrows in his haunted expression. I feared whatever had brought on Callum’s melancholy was far worse than the slight of a pretty girl, and it would require more than a bottle of whiskey to ease his depression.
I pulled up a chair and sat across from him, bending my head to search his eyes. The man before me was a shell of the Callum I’d known just a week ago, reminding me very much of myself four years past after Marie had succumbed to her sickness. His normally slicked-back hair was an unruly dark mop. Heavy circles framed his blue eyes, dulling their vibrant color and casting a shadow over his pale features. I felt like ten shades of selfish for not noticing my brother’s ailment before. I reached for his hand, shocked and a little hurt when he jerked back.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Drinking whiskey,” he grumbled, staring down at the table. “What does it look like?”
Callum had never been one to beat around the bush, so I knew he would appreciate if I got straight to the point. “Ball wants to fire you as foreman.”
He didn’t even flinch. “I don’t want the damn job, so long as you can have it.” Refusing to meet my gaze, he took a long swig from the bottle.
“I will not take your job. Come home with me. I’ll brew a pot of coffee. Katherine is making a meat pie tonight. Let us sober you up.” Again, I reached for my brother’s hand, and again he pulled away.
“I don’t want to be sober.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his shirtsleeve.
A knot of sorrow tightened in my chest. Up until my marriage to Katherine, my twin and I had been inseparable. Our whole lives we’d done everything together, from burying our parents a few months shy of our sixteenth birthday, to taking odd jobs at farms, and finally settling in Galveston. Where my brother had gone, I had gone, and when one of us suffered, so did the other. Just three years prior, Callum had felt so keenly the loss of my young fiancé, he had mourned her alongside me, refusing the company of eager young ladies while I grieved.
Now that Callum’s heart ached, I couldn’t help but feel a rising tide of worry. He had never shut me out before, and I prayed he wouldn’t start now. After all we’d suffered through together, I did not think I could go on if I lost him to this melancholy. “Callum, what troubles you? You can talk to me.”
Much to my dismay, he only stared down the barrel of his bottle.
“Come home and have supper with us and then sit on the porch a spell. Don’t waste your evening here when you could be with family.” I gestured to the unsmiling faces at the other end of the tavern. “I promise you’ll be right as rain. Come on, brother.” I reached forward, grabbing him by the shoulder.
Callum shot to his feet, stumbling back as if my touch had scalded him. “I am not your brother!”
A wave of murmurs rose from the other patrons in the saloon, but I paid them no heed. I’d cared little for their good opinions before, and I cared even less now. My mind raced as I struggled to recall if I’d said or done anything that would have upset my brother.
