She whirled away from the man before he could capture her again. As she raced for the barn door, she heard his voice ring out behind her. “Good-bye, Sparky. Don’t work your pretty little hands too hard.”
Mortified, Caitrin turned on her heel. “
Whisht!
Be quiet, you great rogue!”
Jack Cornwall was standing in plain view, his broad shoulders gleaming in a patch of morning sunlight and his brown hair ruffling in the breeze from an open window. If not for the bloodstained bandage on his shoulder, he would have passed for the finest specimen of a man Caitrin had ever seen. He wasn’t handsome and elegant like Sean O’Casey. His face was rough-hewn. His form was lean—all flesh and muscle without the hint of softness. His clothes were worn, dusty, faded. But he filled up the barn with a powerful presence that froze her breath in her throat and turned her feet into blocks of wood.
Clutching her shawl at her throat, Caitrin stared at the man. Outlined in sunshine, he stood calm and unafraid, studying her across the open space. And she understood.
Jack Cornwall was not staying in Jimmy O’Toole’s barn in order to heal his shoulder. Nor to hide out from his enemies. Nor to filch himself a few free meals. In fact, he wouldn’t care much if someone discovered him.
He was staying because of her. Because she fascinated him … just as he fascinated her. Fiery Caitrin Murphy and Blazin’ Jack Cornwall, a matched pair.
“Auntie Caitie!” Erinn’s high voice sang out just beyond the barn door. “Are you there, Auntie Caitie?”
Unnerved, Caitrin lifted her skirts and turned away. “I’m here, Erinn! Will you go with me to the mercantile this morning?”
The little girl danced into view, her pigtails bouncing at her shoulders. “Oh yes, I’ll go with you! And after lunch may we open your trunk and look at your dresses?”
“Aye, that we shall.” Caitrin glanced back over her shoulder as she left the barn. Jack Cornwall was gone.
C
AITRIN set her basket of tinned oysters on the glass display case and looked around in search of Rosie Mills. Evidence of the previous night’s harvest celebration littered the large room that had begun as Seth Hunter’s barn and had been transformed by Rosie and Caitrin into the Hope Mercantile and Post Office. Planks set on sawhorses still held stacks of plates and tin cups. A half-empty crock of apple cider sat beside a dish of stale popcorn. Lanterns, their wicks burned low, hung from nails around the room.
Caitrin frowned. It wasn’t like Rosie to leave such a mess. It wasn’t like her to be late to work, either. At that moment Caitrin spotted two figures framed by the door in the wall that divided the front of the mercantile from the barn at the back. Rose was caught up in Seth’s arms as the man tenderly kissed her. Chagrined to have interrupted such a private moment, Caitrin quickly ushered Erinn back out of the mercantile, and then she called softly from the doorway. “Rosie? Rose Mills?”
A flushed face framed by a bright yellow bonnet emerged into the light. “Caitrin?” Rosie said. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Aye, and how are you this fine morning, lass?”
“I’m wonderful,” Rosie murmured as Seth Hunter’s tall frame emerged to stand behind his fiancée.
“Miss Murphy,” he said, tipping his hat. “Good morning.”
Caitrin noted the bright twinkle in Seth’s blue eyes, and she smiled. “Finely and poorly, as we say in Ireland,” she returned. “But I believe the pair of you have seen the day off to a better start than I. Now if you’ll excuse me, I shall send Erinn to the creek to fetch water.”
Grabbing her niece by the hand, Caitrin marched the protesting child through the mercantile door. “But, Auntie Caitie, I wanted to fold the bolts of fabric this morning. You promised I could.”
“Aye, that I did.” Caitrin handed the girl a pail. “But we must scrub and mop first. The mail coach from Manhattan will be here soon. Shall we have our customers thinking we run a pigsty instead of a tidy shop?”
Scowling, Erinn headed for the creek, the tin bucket creaking as it swung on its handle. In a moment Seth’s son, Chipper, burst from the nearby soddy and raced his dog toward the water to greet their visitor. Caitrin folded her arms and studied the children for a moment. Then she lifted an eyebrow at the mercantile.
Seth had emerged in the barnyard, whistling as he saddled one of his mules. “Jimmy was by here a few minutes ago,” he called. “He has reason to believe Jack Cornwall spent the night in his barn. He’s gone to round up Rustemeyer so we can search his land.”
“The best of luck to you,” Caitrin said. And she added under her breath, “You’ll need it.”
After allowing Rosie a moment to compose herself, she walked back toward the building. Caitrin was proud of the establishment and all it had come to mean to the growing community of Hope. Thanks largely to her initiative, the rough board siding wore a coat of bright red paint, a large lettered sign hung from chains over the door, and bright glass cases lined the walls. The mercantile itself was stocked to the rafters with everything a traveler could need on a journey west to the wild frontier or east toward the safety of cities and towns.
Caitrin peered around the doorframe and gave Rosie a knowing grin. “Is it all right to come in now?”
“Don’t be silly,” the younger woman protested, her cheeks suffusing a bright pink all over again. “Why wouldn’t it be all right?”
“Well … you and Seth … a pair soon to be married …” Caitrin gave a shrug.
“If you must know, Seth had just given me a good-morning kiss,” Rosie said, stuffing a strand of wayward brown hair back into her bun. “I was upstairs in my little loft bedroom, and after I dressed, I came down the ladder to start cleaning the mercantile. Then Seth walked into the barn from the back, and when he saw me, he said, ‘Good morning, my sweet prairie rose,’ and I said, ‘Good morning, Seth.’ And then he kissed me—just like any man might kiss his future wife, which I didn’t think was wrong in the least. Do you?”
Caitrin laughed. When she was flustered, Rosie Mills’s tongue wagged faster than a dog’s tail. “No, ’twasn’t wrong,” Caitrin said, laying a soothing hand on her friend’s arm, “I think a good-morning kiss was exactly right.”
“Yes, it was,” Rosie whispered. “It was perfect.” Then she flung her arms around Caitrin’s shoulders. “Oh, Caitie, I’m so happy! So, so happy! I never believed I would see the day when Seth and I would marry. I was prepared to let him go. I was sure God meant for me to head back to the orphanage in Kansas City.”
Caitrin smoothed a hand over Rosie’s hair as her friend hugged her. “Sure, I knew Seth would never let you get away from him,” she said softly. “He loves you so much, Rosie. He loves you with all his heart.”
“Yes, he does!” Rosie pulled away and spun around in circles again. “He loves me, Caitie. Seth Hunter loves me. All night long I repeated it to myself. Seth Hunter loves me. He wouldn’t let me go. Not even one mile! He rode after me and claimed me as his very own. Oh, and, Caitie, we’re going to be married very soon!”
“Really? And when might the happy day be?” Caitrin began picking up dirty plates and stacking them one atop the other. Though her heart rejoiced for her friend, a hard knot had formed at the bottom of her stomach.
“The wedding is Sunday next, barely ten days from now,” Rosie sang out, her voice musical. “Seth said he’s going to round up a preacher if he has to ride all the way to Topeka. He doesn’t think it’s proper that I continue to live on his homestead. Seth says he wants to honor God and keep my reputation pure. He’s going to ask Sheena if I can stay with your family the next ten days. I know it will be a terrible crush with all the children, and I told him I’d sleep in the barn.”
“In the barn?” Caitrin looked up from the chin-high stack of plates, and her heart stumbled. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. Jimmy’s barn is nothing like Seth’s.”
“They’re identical, Caitie. Except for the front of Seth’s barn being a mercantile, they’re exactly the same. If I could sleep in Seth’s loft for an entire summer, why shouldn’t I sleep just as well in Jimmy’s?”
“It’s dirty, that’s why.” Caitrin dumped the plates in the tub of water that had been used for apple bobbing. Instead of soiled dishes, all she could see was the image of Jack Cornwall standing in Jimmy O’Toole’s barn. If he was discovered, everyone would know how he came to be staying in the storage room.
But Caitrin had to admit to herself that her concern for her own reputation was only half the problem. She didn’t want anyone to find Cornwall because his life might be threatened. True, he was a dangerous man with those wicked gray eyes and that cocky grin. But she had unexpectedly formed a connection with him. Despite all his boldness, she sensed something vulnerable in the man. He was
human
, and he didn’t deserve to die for it.
“We’ve cleaned Seth’s barn,” Caitrin said, praying she could keep Rosie away from Cornwall until she had convinced the man to leave. “It’s tidy, and it smells decent. Jimmy’s barn has those dreadful mules inside. The pig wanders in and out. And the goats! Have you ever smelled what a goat can do to a barn, Rosie?”
“I don’t care how Jimmy’s barn smells,” Rosie said. “Anyway, it won’t be for long.”
“Well, I won’t allow it.” Caitrin feverishly scrubbed at the sticky debris of caramel apples and popcorn. “You can’t stay in Jimmy’s barn. A bride must have better.”
“But there’s no room for me in the O’Tooles’ soddy.”
“Indeed there is. You’ll sleep beside me, so you will. We can move Colleen into Sheena’s bed for the time.”
“I would never do that.”
“You’ll do as I say!” Caitrin announced, standing and waving a dripping fork at her friend. “You’ll sleep in the soddy, Rosie Mills, and that’s all there is to it.”
A look of concern crossed Rosie’s pretty face. “Caitrin? You’re shouting at me.” She paused a moment before crossing to the tub and draping an arm around the Irishwoman. “Oh, Caitie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t stop to think how you must feel about all this. Here I am rambling on and on about my own wedding and all my dreams, completely forgetting that not so long ago you were planning to marry your beloved John.”
“Sean.”
“That’s right, and the wedding would have taken place this autumn. But now you’re all alone. I never once gave a thought to the terrible pain in your heart. Can you forgive me?”
Caitrin dropped the fork back into the tub and let out a breath. “Never mind about Sean O’Casey, Rosie. I hardly think of him more than four or five times a day anyhow, and then I realize there’s nothing I can do to change what has happened. Sean is married, and I live in Kansas. My love for him will never die, yet I know I must not look back. If I do, I’ll begin to wonder … to wonder …”
When she couldn’t go on, Rosie spoke softly. “You’ll wonder how it would have been to marry the man you love. You’ll wonder about the children you might have borne. You’ll wonder about the happy years you might have spent in his arms.”
Caitrin shook her head.
No,
she wanted to say.
I’ll wonder why
Sean didn’t come after me as Seth came after you. I’ll wonder why he
didn’t stop me from leaving Ireland. Why he didn’t put his love for me
above all else. Why he let me go.
“I’m so sorry, Caitie,” Rosie whispered, holding her friend tight. “I’ll try my best not to jabber about Seth.”
Caitrin squared her shoulders and tugged on the bow of Rosie’s yellow bonnet. “Never you mind, Miss Rose Mills and soon-to-be Mrs. Seth Hunter. You will talk about Seth as much as you like, and I shall enjoy hearing every word of it. If you’ll permit me, I’ll help you plan the finest and most elegant wedding Hope, Kansas, has ever seen.”
Rosie beamed. “Hope has never seen a wedding. Ours will be the first.”
“And the best.” Caitrin watched as young Erinn entered the mercantile carrying a heavy bucket of water. “We must order ribbon from Topeka, Rosie. What color would you like? I love purple, so I do, but I believe you have a special place in your heart for yellow.”
“Yellow ribbons!” Rosie whirled away, her gingham skirt billowing around her ankles. “Yellow ribbons and sunflowers! Oh, I wish Hope had a real church. We could put ribbons everywhere, Caitie. I’m going to sew Seth a new shirt, did I tell you? And Chipper will have brand-new shoes and a new hat from Topeka. But what should I wear for the ceremony? I love my blue gingham dress, but maybe I should think about spending a little of the money I’ve saved from the mercantile and the bridge tolls. I really love that bolt of pale blue cotton with sprays of roses everywhere. You know the one I mean? There it is, Erinn; can you see it? Climb onto the ladder and take it down from the shelf for me, will you please? And what about that pink there with the tiny dots all over it? Do you like that one, Erinn? …”
Caitrin sank back to the floor and the pile of dirty dishes.
Father, I love Rosie,
she prayed as she scrubbed.
I love her so much,
and Seth, too. Help me to share in their joy and not for one moment
dwell on my own sorrow. I don’t want to grow into a bitter, angry
woman eaten up by jealousy. And help me … please help me to put
away all my memories of Sean.
Oh, Sean.
Caitrin’s thoughts drifted away from her prayer. The young man’s name evoked a blissful image of her handsome suitor marching up the hill to the Murphys’ thatch-roofed cottage by the sea. Aye, but Caitrin had been proud to walk the streets alongside such a dashing man. With his dark curly hair and fine mustache, he had been the grandest-looking gentleman in the county. And how Sean could dance! Never had a pair of feet moved so fast and with such perfection. When Sean O’Casey took Caitrin Murphy into his arms, a whole crowd gathered around to watch. How many years had he courted her? Four? Or was it five?
“It’s the mail coach from Manhattan!” Rosie shouted, shattering Caitrin’s reverie. “It’s crossing the bridge, and look at this place. Erinn, grab the broom. Caitie, please help me put this fabric away. Oh, what if Mr. Dunham has brought passengers? They won’t buy a thing!”
Caitrin leapt up and shoved the tub of water behind one of the makeshift tables. As she headed for Rosie and the swaths of calico piled on the counter, she spotted Jack Cornwall’s letter lying on the floor in a puddle of water. Realizing it must have slipped out of her pocket, she swept it up and pressed it against her skirt. Blotting the paper did little good. The ink on the envelope had run, and the letter inside would be a sheet of soggy pulp.