Patrick's Charm (The Bride Train, #2) (17 page)

He couldn’t save her. Not without sacrificing himself.

“Get out of here!” She pushed him.

He didn’t budge, immovable as a boulder. 

“Let him stay,” Simon taunted. “When the authorities arrive, we can tell them he attacked me.”

“You pulled a gun on him, you idiot!”  Regardless, she knew Simon was right. There were two witnesses who could say Patrick had started the altercation. If her husband left now and the train pulled away, he could avoid being arrested.

She turned to him, begging. “Please, go.”

He tightened his hold around her waist. “I’ll leave if you come with me.”

“Patrick, I’ve already told you, I’m going back to Chicago. You met with Mr. Hardt. He knows you’re married. You don’t need me anymore.”

Her husband’s jaw firmed. “You’re wrong about that. I do need you...and not just to prove my claim.”

“This is all very touching, but she’s told you repeatedly to leave—”

Charm twisted, glaring at her tormenter. “Shut up Simon! You’ve already caused enough trouble.”

Simon folded his arms, looking belligerent. “Not nearly as much as I’m going to cause.”

Fear ricocheted inside her chest. She had to get Patrick out of harm’s way. She was doing the right thing. “If I finish out this contract, he’ll have nothing more to hold over my head. I’ll be free.”

Her husband’s expression remained resolute. “You can be free now. There’s no reason to go back.”

Her heart shrank into a painful knot. Patrick had given her no choice but to be cruel. In hurting him she would wound herself, and the torment would be endless. The words stuck in her throat. Patrick had lived with pain for so long, he’d learned to endure it. She would, too. This was a part she had to play for his sake, not hers.

She gazed at him through a sneering mask. “Will you shackle me, then, and drag me off the train? Or will you let me go, like you promised.”

Pain flared in his eyes...and exploded in her heart. He removed his arm from around her waist.

Burning with shame, she sat down. She couldn’t bear the hurt shining in his eyes, so she stared at Simon and let him see her hatred. That was all he would ever get from her.

Patrick placed his fingers on her shoulder, a light touch, yet it made her flinch “If freedom is what you want, I won’t force you to stay with me. But I’m not letting you leave with this snake.”

Simon reached inside his coat.

Patrick went for the gun.

Before Charm could scream
stop
, Simon was waving a piece a paper. “This is an order from a judge that requires your wife to return with me to work out her contract. If she doesn’t, she will be required to pay the sum of five thousand dollars.”

Charm ventured a furtive look through her lashes to gauge her husband’s reaction. Patrick’s stunned expression told her what she already knew. Might as well be a million dollars. He couldn’t come up with that much money. Not without selling everything he owned.

“Now you see why you must allow me to return.”

“I’ll pay it,” Patrick shot back.

“The full amount, payable immediately.” Simon’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. He was enjoying Patrick’s ruination.

Worse, the sacrifice wouldn’t change anything. Simon would find some new way to torment her, and as long as Patrick stood in the way, her husband would never have any peace.

She unleashed her frustration on him. “I don’t want you to come to my rescue, and I don’t want your money. Can’t you get that through your thick head?”

Patrick blinked, stunned. Her barrage had caught him by surprise.

He would leave now. Dear God, he had to leave before the soldiers showed up.

He put his hand on the arm of the bench and knelt, his movements so slow and awkward it hurt to watch. Reaching across her lap, he grasped her hand as a drowning man might clutch a rope. “You’re my wife,” he said roughly. “I would do anything...pay any amount...go anywhere to be with you. I love you, Charm. I should’ve told you that before. If I had, maybe you would trust me.”

Her heart shrank into a painful knot. Oh God. She couldn’t keep up the pretense of not caring, couldn’t act like he didn’t matter. He mattered more than anything in the world.

“You can’t afford to pay my debt, Patrick. You’ll lose the saloon. Lose everything...” Her voice cracked. “I can’t let you do that and live with myself.”

He twined his fingers through hers. A loose grip, but one that was stronger than the thickest rope. “I’m willing to lose everything. Except you.”

Love rose as fast as floodwaters. Nothing could hold it back. Not self-doubt. Not fear. Not even regret. She tenderly stroked his hair. “I’d give up everything for you, Patrick. Don’t you see? That’s why I left.”

Simon shifted forward, his nostrils flaring, as if he smelled his prey escaping. “You have to come back, or I can have you jailed.” He started to reach out. Perhaps he intended to take hold of her skirt or her hand, or maybe wring her neck.

Patrick came over the bench with an animalistic growl. He grabbed Simon’s forefinger and gave it a violent twist.

Simon’s shriek echoed off the wood-paneled walls. He jerked his hand from Patrick’s grip and hugged it to his chest. “You sonofabitch! You broke my finger!”

The veins on Patrick’s neck bulged as he hovered over Simon with his hands fisted. “I’ll break your
neck
the next time you dare to touch my wife.”

Simon’s face turned ashen, sweat sheened his forehead. Now he knew what pain felt like. “By God, you’ll pay for this! I’ll see to it that you both rot in jail.”

“What’s the problem here?” The deep voice came from behind.

Mr. Hardt. Someone had sent for the railroad agent, or he heard the gunshot when he boarded. Maybe that’s why the train hadn’t left the station. He rested his hand on the back of the bench, looking down at her quizzically. “Mrs. O’Shea? Can I be of assistance?”

“That oaf broke my finger,” Simon shouted. “And he tried to kill me.”

“After you provoked him and shot at him.” Charm pinned a hard look on the sweaty, pale-faced bully sitting across from her. He could threaten her, try to intimidate her, sue her or even see her put in jail. But he could no longer hurt her, because he couldn’t touch her heart.

Old fears fell away, the chains broken. Love hadn’t bound her...it had set her free.

Patrick rested his hand on her shoulder. Without saying anything, he let her know he was there, and would always be there.

“This is Mr. LaBar,” she said to the railroad agent. “He came to town to tell me that if I didn’t return and fulfill my contract, he would have me jailed and sue my husband for the money I owe him. But I don’t owe him anything. He stole my inheritance, and then he made sure I never saw a cent of my earnings. He’s a bully and a cheat.”

“I have a judge’s order,” Simon shot back. He hunched over his hand, tucked protectively against him like a broken wing.

Mr. Hardt’s face remained expressionless. “May I see this order?” He extended his hand.

Simon hesitated. “Who are you?”

“Ross Hardt, land agent for the Gulf Railroad.”

Simon fumbled inside his coat and produced the paper. He leveled a murderous look at Charm as he handed it over.

Hardt perused the document. “Judge Kirkpatrick... Yes, I’ve heard of him. He’s a state judge in Illinois. He has no jurisdiction in Kansas.”

“How would you know?” Simon snapped.

“My business is to know the law.”

A flicker of hope reignited. Mr. Hardt’s knowledge appeared to be superior to Simon’s. Even more surprising, he seemed inclined to believe her.

Patrick motioned for Charm to move over and sat down. He draped his arm around her shoulders and leaned close. “Just so you know, I’m not giving you up. If it comes to a fight we’ll do battle together.” His brows gathered in a fierce frown. “
Faugh-a-bellagh!
”

Clear the way!
She recalled every detail of his story about the terrible battle. He had taken on enemies against impossible odds and survived; wounded and scarred, yet somehow stronger.

She put her hand on his chest, over his heart. “You never give up, do you?”

“Never.” He gave her a dark smile. “I’ve gone through hell once. If necessary, I’ll do it again.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. O’Shea.” The railroad agent folded the order. “Mr. LaBar has no authority to remove your wife from the state. He’s welcome to pursue the matter through legal channels. In the meantime, I’ll ask my friend, Alan Pinkerton, to make inquiries about this order, and about his financial arrangements with a judge who is under investigation for taking bribes.”

Simon made an inarticulate sound. His face turned very red.

Charm gaped at the agent, flabbergasted, and then, overjoyed. If there was proof that Simon had bribed a judge, why, he would be the one put in jail. Not her.

Mr. Hardt tucked the order into his pocket and continued to address Simon. “I suggest you go back to wherever you came from, and if you value your freedom, never return.”

Unsmiling, the railroad agent addressed her. “Would you and Mr. O’Shea care to join me in my private car?

Charm couldn’t move fast enough.

Hardt’s private railcar looked nothing like the coach car she’d arrived in, or the parlor car where she’d been with Simon. Rather, half the car had been turned into an office, complete with table, chairs and a desk strewn with papers and maps. Behind a wall, she assumed he had a sleeping berth or other living space. Nothing indicated he was anything other than what he seemed—all work and no nonsense.

His defense touched Charm deeply. She understood the reason he might’ve come to check on the situation, but she couldn’t fathom why he would help them. She hadn’t thought he had much compassion. Considering she’d been wrong about Patrick, maybe her first impression of Mr. Hardt had been wrong, too. “Thank you, sir...for everything.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. O’Shea.” Hardt crossed to a liquor cabinet near the desk and uncorked a crystal decanter. He poured what looked like brandy into two glasses and handed one to Patrick. “Here’s to two problems solved.”

“Two problems?” Patrick took the glass.

“Come by the office day after tomorrow. I’ll have your claim, signed by the directors.”

Patrick whooped.

Charm’s heart grew lighter. Thank God, her husband’s land would be secured. One less worry. “The other problem, you mean Simon.” She was relieved to be away from him, but knew better than to turn her back. “I’m afraid he won’t give up. He’ll be back with reinforcements.”

Hardt appeared unconcerned. “I wouldn’t worry about Simon LaBar. When I reach Fort Scott, I’ll send off a telegraph to Pinkerton. They’ll keep him busy enough that he won’t have time to bother you.”

Patrick clinked his glass against Hardt’s. “May those who love us love us, and those that don't love us may God turn their hearts; and if He doesn't turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles, so we'll know them by their limping.”

“Or by their bent fingers,” Charm suggested. “If I may, I’d like to join you in a toast...”

Mr. Hardt arched his eyebrows. Then he handed his glass to her without a word. He hadn’t offered her a drink, probably because ladies weren’t expected to want one. Nor were they encouraged to become actresses and lead independent lives. Her husband hadn’t tried to make her into the perfect Victorian woman. He loved her for who she was, and was willing to do anything to prove his love—and she felt the same way about him.

She raised her glass. “Here’s to my husband, who never gives up.”

The drink burned all the way down. She couldn’t speak. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

Patrick rubbed her back. “Are you all right?”

“What is that stuff?” She gasped, still trying to catch her breath.

“Whiskey,” the railroad agent answered. “My special collection.”

Grimacing, she handed him the glass. “I thought it was brandy.”

“Let me get you some.” He returned to the liquor cabinet.

His
special
whiskey had burned a hole in her throat. She wasn’t taking a chance on his brandy. Charm lifted her hand in surrender. “No, thank you.”

“Water?”

“That would be fine.”

Patrick took the water glass and handed it to her. “Mr. Hardt, you’re a decent man. I thank you for what you did. We won’t ever forget your kindness.”

“Don’t be too quick to credit me with kindness,” Hardt replied evenly. “I never do anything without expecting to be repaid.”

Patrick didn’t look offended by the crass comment. He smiled like he found the remark amusing. “So what do I owe you?”

The agent tossed back his whiskey. He didn’t blink. “Stay in Centralia. Open that theater I’ve been hearing about...and don’t host any more Land League meetings.”

––––––––

P
atrick awoke Sunday morning with his wife in his arms. He heaved a sigh of utter contentment, could think of nothing better than waking with Charm curled up next to him. Well, there might be one thing better. 

He shifted his arm to bring her closer and kissed the top of her head.

“Mmmm,” she murmured.

“Are you awake?” he asked, hopeful.

She stretched her arm across his chest, nuzzling his shoulder. The soft touch of her lips sent prickles skittering across his bare skin. “If I say no, will you let me sleep? I promise, I’ll be more energetic later.”

Smiling, he twirled a finger in her hair. “As energetic as you were last night?”

She rose up on her arms and regarded him sleepy-eyed. “Are you always this chipper in the morning?”

“Are you always a sleepyhead?”

With a groan, she put her face down, forehead on her arms. He ran his hand over her hair, stroking. “Poor
stóirín
,” he murmured. “We’ll have to find a compromise.”

“Noon,” came the muffled answer.

Patrick chuckled. He would never be able to lay abed for that long. His back and leg would get too stiff. Right now, though, his attention was on another part that was getting stiff. But his wee darling needed her sleep, so he would compromise.

She rested her head on his chest and stretched out her arm, reaching around his side to hold him. “I can hear your heart beating,” she said softly.