Patrick's Charm (The Bride Train, #2) (16 page)

“Well, I’m married now, so that’s no obstacle...” Patrick didn’t mention he hadn’t consummated the union. Something he planned to correct as soon as he convinced Charm he wasn’t out to trap her. Her accusations stung. Despite knowing he’d brought about her wrath by not being honest about his feelings for her. He’d feared rejection. Now, he might’ve lost her anyway.

He shifted in the seat, fighting the melancholy that pulled at him like quicksand. Withdrawing a handkerchief from his back pocket, he mopped his forehead. Hardt hadn’t broken a sweat, so it must not be the heat. Could be nervousness, or the result of withholding the medicine. After admitting to his hunger for opium, he’d decided he would cut back. He’d seen what the irresistible craving had done to former warriors, and he refused to become one of those pathetic creatures. His wife deserved better. He could live with pain easier than he could live with dishonor.

“Give me time to finish my investigation.” Hardt placed his pen in the inkwell. He rubbed his fingers together, which only smeared ink from his forefinger onto his thumb. “Didn’t leak last night.” He withdrew a handkerchief and wiped at the smudge. “Congratulations, by the way. You made the right decision by marrying that girl.”

“Yeah. Hopefully, she’ll feel the same way soon,” Patrick muttered, as he heaved himself out of the chair. He’d accomplish nothing further by sitting here.

He eyed Hardt’s black fingers and messy desk. “Why don’t you hire an assistant to help you get organized? It’s a wonder you can find anything.”

“No one wants the job.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Patrick conceded. Working at the land office would be a sure-fire way to become the most unpopular person in town.

Hardt stood and picked up his coat from the back of the chair. He stepped around the desk. “I’ll walk with you. Have to take the train to Fort Scott. The directors want a status report on the brides.” He sighed and shook his head.

Patrick didn’t envy the agent’s responsibility even though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have done anything as stupid as suggesting a bride lottery. The railroad’s immigration program had sounded good at first. But things hadn’t turned out as expected. For one, there weren’t enough women to go around. Hardt’s recommended solution had only worsened the problem. Not only did the settlers hate him, now the women resented him as well.

Hardt peered out the window. He turned abruptly and went back to his desk. “I forgot something. We’ll talk later...”

Patrick grabbed his hat on the way out, anxious to get back to the saloon and check Charm’s temperature. Still chilly, or had she warmed up? He hoped she’d found his note and his peace offering—fresh strawberries.

Just outside the door, he stopped to greet two women passing by, among the last of the prospective brides to remain unwed. It had turned into something of a game amongst the men in town to see who could corral the next one.

“Good morning, Mr. O’Shea.” Mrs. Braddock’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Patrick tipped his hat politely. “And to you, ma’am.”

He assumed the widow blamed him for corrupting Charm. He wasn’t too happy with these ladies, either, for abandoning their friend when she needed them.

The pretty widow glanced around him at the picture window.

“Mr. Hardt’s in there, if you need to speak with him.”

She jerked her attention back to his eyes, blushing. “I’m not looking for Mr. Hardt.”

Another popular game, betting on which of the two would win the ongoing war between the feisty widow and the land agent. Her first day town, Mrs. Braddock had reportedly slapped Hardt for some infraction. He might’ve seen her coming and decided to delay leaving his office until she was gone. Funny, he didn’t have the reputation for being a coward.

The other prospective bride stepped forward, dressed entirely in black and hugging a black shawl. Grim-looking woman. “You may not remember me, Mr. O’Shea. I’m Prudence Walker.”

She was right. He didn’t remember her.

“Congratulations on your marriage...” She hesitated.  

“Thank you.”

“Would you convey our best wishes to your wife?”

Trying to pretend politeness, eh? He wouldn’t play into her hands. “Come by and offer them yourself. I’m sure Mrs. O’Shea would appreciate seeing a friendly face.”

Mistress Prudence blanched. At the thought of entering a saloon, no doubt. She clutched the shawl tighter. “I would love to see her. But she moved out of the hotel, and we understood she didn’t want to be bothered.”

Either the Plain Jane was a liar, or she’d misunderstood. Patrick aimed to set things straight and tweak their noses in the process. “She didn’t leave. he was evicted; and as far as I know, she never told anybody not to come see her.”

“How can that be?” The widow demanded.

“Mrs. Fry
lied
to us, that’s how.” Miss Walker’s eyes flashed with indignation. “She’s the one who told us Charm decided to leave and wanted nothing more to do with us.”

Mrs. Braddock’s lips thinned. “Then we will move out. I refuse to stay somewhere one of my friends isn’t welcomed.”

Patrick found the exchange enlightening. If true, he’d be having a talk with those hotel owners. They owed his wife an apology, at the very least. He tucked the information away until he could do something about it. In the meantime, he felt he had to warn the ladies not to act too rashly. “There aren’t any other rooms in town. No place acceptable for ladies.”

“We’ll see about that.” Mrs. Braddock started for the door to the land office. “Mr. Hardt should be informed. We’ll demand that he find us other lodgings.”

Oh, that ought to please the land agent to no end.

Patrick took the cue to escape. “Sounds like a good idea. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Tell Charm we miss her...and we’ll stop in soon for a visit...” Miss Walker’s voice followed him. He didn’t imagine she would risk her reputation to come to a saloon, but he would let Charm know her friends wanted to see her.

He passed by the depot where a train waited amidst clouds of smoke and steam. Those determined ladies might detain Hardt. Seeing as he was the highest-ranking railroad official in the area, the engineer would hold the train for him.

The last passengers boarded, including a couple entering the parlor car directly behind a private railcar reserved for Hardt. A fancy gent opened the door for a petite young woman in a blue traveling suit. From the back, she resembled Charm.

She disappeared inside the railcar before Patrick could get a good look at her.

Unease rippled through him. What if it was Charm?

Ridiculous. Why would she be getting on a train with some stranger?

Unless he wasn’t a stranger...

Patrick squelched his suspicion. He wouldn’t let jealousy make him act like a fool...again. He stepped into the street, leaving the train behind.

Knowing Charm, she was probably still in bed. Wasn’t even noon yet. Maybe he’d join her... He smiled at the thought.

His little wife turned his well-ordered world upside down with her crazy sleeping habits, her untidiness, her energetic drive and big ideas. Everything about her would seem to be the opposite of what he needed. But he’d gotten stuck, and Charm had pulled him out of a rut. She’d reawakened the man he didn’t think still existed.

For years, he’d been waiting, hoping his luck would change. Time he made his own luck and went after an impossible dream, like those he had when he left Ireland and came to America. He would tell Charm that he loved her, and challenge her to face her feelings for him. They were meant for each other. Why, it couldn’t be clearer.

Inside the saloon, McLaughlin rattled around behind the bar, helping himself to a shot of whiskey.

“What the hell are you’re doing?”

The intruder gave him a sheepish grin. “Looked like you needed a barkeeper.”

“Does my wife know you’re here?”

McLaughlin drained the shot in one gulp and set the glass down. “Haven’t seen her. Just got here a few minutes ago. The door was open, but nobody answered when I called out.”

“Leave the money on the bar when you’re finished.” Patrick rushed for the stairs. She had to be in bed, asleep. She wasn’t on that train.

Her door stood ajar. He slammed it open. It struck the wall with a loud bang that reverberated through the building. “Charm?”

No petticoats piled on the unmade bed. No suitcases. The floors, he could see them. Nothing of hers remained.

His heart jerked in panic. He whirled around, didn’t bother to look in his room. He knew she wouldn’t be there. She had boarded that train, and he could guess who was with her.

LaBar.

The departure whistle sounded. 

Terror such as he’d never known before surged through him. God only knew what that bastard had threatened to coerce Charm into going with him. Patrick took the stairs two at a time and headed out the door. Blocking out the stabbing pain, he loped in the direction of the train.

Smoke billowed from the locomotive’s diamond stack. A conductor at the bottom of the steps leading up to the parlor car stopped him. “You have a ticket?”

Patrick fisted his hands. He restrained a mad urge to knock the obstruction out of his way. “I don’t need a ticket. My wife is in there. I’m taking her off the train.”

The conductor regarded him with a dubious frown, but then he moved to one side. “All right, but hurry...we’re leaving soon as Mr. Hardt boards.”

Patrick climbed the steps. His hip screamed in protest and his right leg felt like it was on fire. He entered the parlor car, panting from the pain. The interior smelled like oiled wood. Paneled walls, cushioned benched. LaBar traveled in styled.

In the rear, the seats faced each other. Patrick spotted the bearded man in the expensive suit at the same time the man saw him. Had to be LaBar. Couldn’t see who sat opposite, but Charm was so short she could be concealed behind the high-backed bench.

The man slipped his hand inside his coat.

Patrick cursed his negligence. He should’ve thought to retrieve his gun before he left. Keeping his hands at his sides to make it clear he was unarmed, he walked purposely to the rear of the car, betting LaBar wouldn’t shoot him and face hanging for murder.

When he reached the seats, he looked down into Charm’s chalk-white face.

“Where are you going?” he asked softly. None of this was her fault. Of that he was certain. All she had to do was trust him. Tell him she’d been threatened. He would have LaBar jailed for abducting her—after he rearranged the other man’s face.

“I-I’m leaving...you-you shouldn’t have come after me,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Patrick’s face grew hot. “Tell me why. Did he threaten you?”

Her abductor didn’t look like much of a threat. Come to think of it, ferrets didn’t look dangerous either, but they had sharp teeth. Keeping that in mind would be wise.

LaBar’s hand remained inside his coat. “Miss DuCharme has agreed to return with me and honor her contract. I suggest you let her.”

Patrick balled his fists. He’d tear LaBar’s head off if he as much as moved his arm. “Is that a threat?”

Charm tugged the bottom of his coat. “Patrick, please... Don’t cause a scene. Mr. LaBar is correct. I agreed to return to fulfill the terms of my contract. There’s nothing you can do.”

“You’re wrong about that,
wife
.” He had no wish to frighten her, but he wasn’t putting up with these shenanigans. Holding her eyes, he gentled his voice. “Trust me. Tell me the real reason you’re leaving...”

She looked away, clasping her hands in her lap. “That is the real reason.”

By God, he would throw her over his shoulder and haul her off this train...

“Let me handle it, Juliette.” LaBar reached over and patted her knee.

Patrick’s anger blazed. “Touch her again, and I’ll break your fingers!”

Charm cringed.

His conscience flayed him for frightening her...until he realized she wasn’t cringing from him. She shrank away from LaBar’s touch.

A red haze descended. Patrick grabbed the filthy coward by his lapels and dragged him out of the seat. LaBar wasn’t a short man, but he was slender. No match, even with two good legs.

Patrick braced his feet. He hauled back his arm, but before he could land a punch, LaBar pulled a pocket pistol. Charm screamed at the same time Patrick raised his arm to knock the shooter’s aim away from her.

The gun fired near his head with an earsplitting bang.

They fought for control of the gun. Patrick slammed LaBar’s hand against the back of the bench. Gripping the man’s arm, he pressed his thumb against a soft spot on the wrist, applying enough pressure to make LaBar’s fingers go numb.

The gun fell to the carpeted floor.

Patrick scooped it up, his ears still ringing from the blast. A peashooter, useless for the most part, but deadly at close range. Gamblers used them, and slimy night crawlers.

LaBar took a half step back, lost his balance and plopped onto the seat. “Shoot me, and you’ll hang,” he screeched.

It was awfully tempting.

Patrick glanced at two other men in the car, both of whom had seen the altercation. Witnesses to murder, if he did what he itched to do.

The men jumped up and left the railcar in a hurry.

“You see? They’re going after the sheriff.”

Charm came to her feet. She grabbed Patrick’s arm, her features stark with fear. “Don’t do this. It’s not worth it. He’s not worth your life.”

Patrick tucked the gun beneath his coat into the waistband of his trousers. He slipped his arm around his wife’s waist and drew her next to him. Regret crept in on the heels of anger. He should’ve held his temper in check until he’d talked Charm into leaving with him. If soldiers showed up to arrest him, would Charm defend him? Or would she side with LaBar? He wasn’t so sure anymore. That didn’t mean he would give her up. No matter what power LaBar had over her, she couldn’t leave. If she did, he knew without a doubt he would never see her again.

“No, he’s not worth my life. But you are.”

––––––––

C
harm dropped the hold she had on Patrick’s vest. Her hands quivered from the shock of hearing that gun go off, thinking he’d been killed, and then fearing he’d put a bullet between Simon’s eyes and she would have to watch her beloved swing by his neck at the end of a rope. He’d give her heart failure if he didn’t cease being heroic.