Patrick's Charm (The Bride Train, #2) (7 page)

His palm tingled from the pressure of her soft lips, and in his head a fantasy formed involving other places she might put them. A sudden heaviness in his groin signaling arousal shook him out of the trance. He took his hand away and released her. One good thing, the pain in his thumb had become inconsequential.

She stared at him like he’d grown horns. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Apparently, he’d rendered her mute, the woman who never stopped talking.

Patrick turned away before he made a bigger fool of himself by doing something idiotic, like kissing her. He knelt in front of the partially completed stage and picked up his hammer. He would finish the stage, concentrate on that, and remember she was only an employee.

He attacked a nail with vigor.
Pound, pound
. He would not kiss her.
Pound, pound.
He would not propose.
Pound, pound
. He gave the nail one last ferocious pounding.

“I think you’ve got that one in good.” She inched closer. Her tantalizing scent filled his nostrils and lust nearly overwhelmed him.

He threw an irritated look over his shoulder. If he didn’t get rid of her, she would notice his reaction, or cause him to bust up his other fingers. “You plan to stand there all day watchin’ me?”

She drew back looking hurt.  “I’m not watching you. I’m overseeing construction. But if you find my presence annoying, I’ll go fetch my costumes.”

Turning on her heel, she left.

Patrick removed the rag from around his thumb, which had soaked up the blood but made it impossible to work. He released a heavy sigh. Finally, he managed to offend her. She wouldn’t accept a proposal now...even if he worked up the courage to offer one.

***

B
y the time Charm reached the hotel, she was over being put out with her employer. She tucked away a reminder not to try Mr. O’Shea’s very limited patience. This included doing ridiculous things like nursing his injuries and hovering over him just to be close. In the future, she would keep her distance. Proximity stirred confusing emotions, the kind she wasn’t prepared to deal with now...if ever.

Upon entering the hotel, she noticed the quiet. Normally, sounds of conversation and laughter filled the rooms downstairs. She passed by the first doorway. None of her friends lounged in the parlor. Crossing the empty dining room, she peeked into the kitchen.

At a worktable, the proprietor’s wife patted a ball of dough and picked up a rolling pin. Steam rose from a cast iron pot atop the stove.

Savory smells triggered grumbles from Charm’s empty stomach. “Umm. Are you preparing pot pies?” The flaky pastries stuffed with chicken and vegetables were her favorite.

Mrs. Fry twisted around, looking surprised. “Oh, Miss LaBelle. I didn’t hear you come in.” The older woman set aside the rolling pin and wiped her hands on her apron. Her gaze darted away, communicating discomfort.

How strange. Usually she was friendly and very chatty.

Charm’s instincts quivered like a divining rod sensing water. “Where is everyone?”

“They’ve gone to visit Mrs. Valentine.”

That wasn’t a disaster. Although it did seem a bit odd, considering her friends hadn’t mentioned the excursion earlier. They might’ve known she would like to go along. She hadn’t seen Rose in over a week. She released a sigh, and crossed to the cookstove. Using a dishtowel hanging over the handle on the oven door, she lifted the lid on the pot and sniffed the creamy mixture.
Heavenly.
“I wish they’d waited on me.”

“They weren’t sure you’d be returning.”

“Not returning? Why would they think that?”

“We heard you were leaving.”

The lid clanged as Charm dropped it on top of the pot. She’d gotten distracted by the food. That must be why this conversation didn’t make sense. “Leaving? I’m just starting a job.”

“Yes, well, Mr. Fry assumed you would be moving out.” Mrs. Fry’s tone seemed a mite cool. They must be worried about not getting paid.

“I don’t know where he got that impression, but I plan to stay; and what’s more, I’ll have enough money to cover our room and board.”

That should’ve made the old woman happy. Her frown deepened, sending a warning. “I am sorry, dear. Mr. Fry worked out an arrangement with the others. They’ll be moving to a room on the third floor and helping us out. You understand why we can’t offer the same arrangement to you, what with you working in a saloon. That would be bad for business.”

The sanctimonious old witch picked up the rolling pin and went back to work on the dough.

Charm’s stomach churned again, this time with anger. She had dealt with scorn before. But to be kicked out set a new low, and to toss her out while her friends weren’t around...utterly craven. Come to think of it, her friends should be here, supporting her.

Unease prickled her skin. “Do the others know you’re evicting me?”

Mrs. Fry paused in her work without meeting Charm’s eyes. “They thought it would be best if they weren’t around when you returned. Less embarrassing for you.”

The betrayal tore a hole through Charm’s heart.

Too hurt and humiliated to argue, she left the kitchen and went upstairs. She’d change for the performance, pack her bags and leave. Even if the other women changed their minds and begged her to return, she would not. She wouldn’t remain friends with people who could abandon her because her choices embarrassed them.

For once in her life, she’d risked putting her faith in people outside of her close circle. Desperately lonely, aching for companionship, she hadn’t seen the falseness in their friendship.

She wouldn’t give her trust again so easily.

Charm lugged the heavy suitcases down the sidewalk, ignoring the men who passed by in wagons and on horseback, especially those who called out to get her attention. She could more than imagine what they wanted.

The weight of the cases dragged her shoulders lower. Tightening her hold on the leather handles, she kept her eyes trained on a quadrangle of businesses that formed the heart of town: Appleton’s mercantile, Middaugh’s dry goods store, a blacksmith and livery, and the largest building, the railroad depot. Other stores lined the sidewalks, as well as numerous saloons, which were the only places besides the hotel that rented out rooms—for men. Women didn’t take rooms above saloons unless they were engaged in the oldest business in the world.

Charm’s spirits sank. Where she could find a room, she had no idea, but that was something she would have to figure out later. She had a show to put on first.

The sound of creaking wheels came from behind. Out of the side of her eye she spotted a harnessed horse. My, but it was a big one. Her head didn’t come up to the top of the creature’s shoulder, and its feathered hooves looked the size of plates. The dappled gray monster plodded closer to the sidewalk, so close she feared it might step on her.

Alarmed, she jerked out of the way.

“Whoa now.” At the driver’s order, the horse came to a halt, let out a loud snort and shook its thick white mane. The man’s apologetic smile showed from beneath the shadow of a straw hat. “Sorry Miss. Sadie didn’t mean to scare you. We thought you might need a ride someplace.”

Charm eyed the brawny young farmer who’d nearly run her over and had the nerve to blame a dumb beast. “The horse told you that?”

He grinned, revealing white teeth with a slight gap between the front. “Sophie don’t have to talk. Just nods her head and I know what she means.”

“A creative excuse, I’ll give you that.”

“Pardon me, miss. You must think I’m a hayseed without any manners at all. Arch Childers, at your service.” He swept off his hat and executed a bow worthy of Edwin Booth. As he straightened, he threw his head to toss his shoulder-length auburn hair out of his eyes.

The young farmer had a certain rustic appeal, even though he didn’t make her heart pound. Not like Mr. O’Shea. Charm scoffed at the fanciful notion. The Irish saloon owner wasn’t the only man in the world who could send her heart racing. There were others...she just hadn’t met them.

“May we give you a ride?” Mr. Childers indicted the buckboard seat.

Charm hesitated. She wasn’t in the habit of accepting an escort from men she didn’t know, and the idea of getting into a wagon with a stranger made her palms clammy. On the other hand, a stranger hadn’t assaulted her, and the alternative would be to drag her bags another three blocks through the mud.

A first step in getting rid of her unseemly infatuation for Mr. O’Shea would be to allow other men to assist her. She bestowed a smile on the helpful Galahad. “Thank you, sir. I accept your offer.”

With an eager smile, he hopped down and tossed both suitcases into the back of the wagon as if they weighed no more than a woman’s reticule. He secured them with ropes on top of a heavy canvas covering what looked like large boxes.

When he offered his hand, she took it. That didn’t produce a thrill, either. She refused to think about the shivers elicited by Mr. O’Shea’s touch.

She must fight this irrational attraction and keep her goal in mind. As soon as she repaid her debt to the railroad and saved enough money to start over, she would go further west, maybe to Virginia City. With a new identity.

Mr. Childers circled the wagon, gave the ropes holding her bags one last tug, and then hopped up onto the seat. He gathered the reins. “Where to?”

“O’Shea’s.” Charm braced for a look of surprise, or worse, censure. She received neither. Instead, her benefactor smiled.

“What do you know? That’s where I’m headed.”

––––––––

P
atrick peered in the mirror behind the bar and rubbed his fingers over his smooth shaven chin. He hadn’t seen his face in so long he’d forgotten what he looked like. Wasn’t missing anything.

He adjusted his tie, smoothing the black points down, and brushed lint off the shawl collar of his favorite waistcoat, a dark green brocade. He thought it only appropriate to wear a suit for Charm’s debut.

Where was she anyway?

With a tug on the fob, he pulled up his watch and consulted the time. The hotel wasn’t far. Shouldn’t take her half the day to collect a few costumes.

She might be staying away on purpose after he’d snapped at her, and for something that wasn’t her fault. His attraction to her. That, he couldn’t control, but he could curb his temper. When she arrived, he would be on his best behavior, meek as a wee lamb.

A loud knocking came from the rear of the storeroom. “Hello? O’Shea?”

Patrick started. In his preoccupation, he’d forgotten about his weekly shipment...and just in time. Now he’d have plenty of whiskey to satisfy a thirsty crowd.

Arch Childers greeted him at the back door with a handshake and smile. “Sorry I’m late. Deliveries took longer than I expected.”

Meaning O’Shea’s was last on his list of saloons and might not receive anything if he ran out. That didn’t sit well. Patrick refused to let the snub put him out of sorts right before Charm showed up. She already thought he had the temperament of a grizzly bear. For her sake, he would remain cheerful. “You’re here now, so you’re right on time.”

Childers returned to his wagon, which he’d parked up next to the building just beyond a barrel of garbage that needed burning. Making deliveries to the rear of the building reduced the chances of being caught selling illegal whiskey. Though with all the other trouble in town, few people paid him any mind. The army had its hands full protecting the railroad tracks, and the sheriff didn’t care to enforce a law nobody liked.

The bootlegger tossed a remark over his shoulder. “There’s someone out here to see you.”

Patrick opened the door wide and stepped outside. Indeed there was...his Charm, sitting on the buckboard seat, wearing the brightest red dress he had ever seen, with her hands folded primly on her lap.

She stared like she’d never seen him before when he went over to assist her. Rather than taking her hand, he grasped her around the waist, lifted her over the mud and set her on the threshold. He didn’t know how she’d ended up in the local moonshine distributor’s wagon, but he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Biting her head off wouldn’t help, and would probably send her running. He forced his lips upward. “Glad to see you’re safe. I was beginning to worry.”

She kept right on staring at him. “You...you look different.”

Different.
Not handsome, or good, or even just better. What was her opinion about Childers? Would she say he looked
different
? Patrick’s starched collar got tight, his neck hot. He fought to contain his jealousy.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Why did you accept a ride from
him
?”

Her smooth brow furrowed, a puzzled frown.  “He was kind enough to offer me one.”

Kind, my foot.

Patrick sent Childers a warning look, but he was busy retrieving two large suitcases from the back of the wagon. Charm moved as he set them inside the door. The bulging cases would explode without the heavy straps holding them shut. Looked like she was moving in. The idea didn’t distress him, however unlikely. “Those are your costumes? Why didn’t you tell me you had so many? I could’ve gotten them.”

Her color deepened. “We’ll discuss it later.”

“Discuss what?” Her decision to accept a ride? Now he knew why with one look at those heavy suitcases. She wasn’t big enough to lift them, much less carry the huge suitcases three blocks. He should’ve gone after her. 

Her gaze shifted over his shoulder and her expression turned to distress. “What in the world...?”

Patrick turned to see what had her so upset. The bootlegger had folded the canvas back, revealing pine coffins. Childers pried the top of one open with a crowbar. He retrieved two ceramic jugs. After setting those by the door, he went back and collected three more.

“What is that?” Charm asked in a hushed voice.

“Liquor.” Patrick carried the jugs inside. Later, he would transfer the contents to charred oaken barrels, which would turn the liquor a reddish color and give it a flavor close to bourbon whiskey. Far cheaper than purchasing whiskey from distillers back East and paying ridiculous taxes.