* * *
Two days later, Declan continued his vigil beside his wife’s sickbed. As Maggie was “away,” he wanted to be in his parents’ house, where there was always another pair of hands to help. Thus, he had agreed for Lorena to continue to be tended to in Maggie’s room. He grimaced at thinking of Maggie as “away.” As though she were on a vacation. Pushing thoughts of what could have befallen his sister out of his mind, he focused on his wife.
Brushing aside tendrils of her red hair, he ran the backs of his fingers over her ashen cheek. “Come, love. Wake for me. Talk with me again. Tell me what a fool I am to prefer The House of the Seven Gables to Jane Eyre.” He continued to speak with her and then rose, pulling a book from a bag he had hastily thrown together, when he ran home the previous day for a few moments. “I’ll read it to you now, and let’s see if you can find any more merit in it on your second reading.”
He settled in beside her, reading aloud, his deep voice soothing and melodious. A few hours later, he looked up to find Aileen staring at him. He jolted for a moment, as he had expected Maggie, and then he flushed, as he belatedly recalled what had occurred. “Aileen,” he whispered, his voice raspy from reading aloud for so long. “I didn’t see you there.”
Her sad smile was filled with understanding. “You expected Maggie.” When he flushed, she nodded. “I understand, and I’m not offended. Come. Go downstairs and have a bite to eat. Mum is worried about you.” She had been so readily accepted into the family that she never failed to call Mary Mum. “I’ll sit with Lorena the entire time. Read to her, if you want.”
Declan stiffened at the thought.
“Or I can tell her the latest gossip, and you can continue to read to her when you return.” Seeing the relief in his gaze, she tugged at his arm, urging him to rise. “Go. Take a few moments for yourself.”
Declan kissed Lorena on her head, whispering, “I love you, my darling. I’ll be back soon.” He trudged downstairs, yawning widely. Although he had a bed in the room where Lorena convalesced in, he missed holding her in his arms. Nothing was right, without her in his arms.
He entered the kitchen and poured himself a cup of tea, moving to the back door to stare absently outside. Although it was a brilliant, gorgeous summer day, he failed to see any beauty. All he saw was Lorena, lying unconscious upstairs. Pale and ashen.
After slurping a sip of tea, he set it aside and stormed from the house, walking in the direction of the warehouse. “Kev.” He nodded, when Kevin sighed. “’Tis time.”
“Aye,” Kevin said, setting aside the book he was reading. “Let’s get Ardan.” He murmured his assent, when Niall insisted on joining them. After leaving Niall at the café to take orders and to serve patrons—an act of brotherly betrayal, according to Niall—Ardan, Kevin, and Declan headed in the direction of the Daybreak Saloon.
“Bell!” Declan bellowed upon entering. He squinted, as he waited for his eyes to adjust. While waiting for the proprietor of one of the most disreputable saloons in Fort Benton to approach him, Declan noted the number of men eyeing him and his brothers speculatively. A few leaned against the bar, while a few had a hip hitched against a wall.
In the back, men played poker, while a half dozen scantily clad women circulated. They feigned delight when a patron flirted with them, only pausing when a coin was proffered. Focusing again on the men eyeing him, Declan knew the Daybreak patrons to be the roughest in Fort Benton. With a sigh of relief, he noted the arrival of Da, Finn, Eamon, and A.J.
“You shouldn’t go stormin’ off without your army, sonny,” A.J. muttered. “Especially when ye’re enterin’ a hornet’s nest.”
Declan gave a quick nod, although his gaze never faltered from the lumbering giant of a man coming down the stairs and approaching him. At well over six feet tall, with muscles that rippled underneath his form-fitting shirt, Bell was not a man to goad. “Where is he?” Declan asked.
“Who?” Bell asked, standing with his legs spread wide, his arms over his burly chest. “I don’t owe you nothin’, O’Rourke.”
Seamus stepped up to stand beside his son. “Nay, you owe me.” He stood tall, and, although he wasn’t as muscular as Bell, he had as commanding a presence. “If you don’t cooperate, you’ll never get another drop of decent whiskey. I guarantee it.”
“That’s highway robbery! You won’t even sell us the good stuff, savin’ it all for yourself,” Bell gasped, before he fisted his hands and squared his shoulders. “You can’t prevent me from buying it from another source.”
“Cross me at your peril.” Seamus’s blue eyes gleamed with malice, as his sons stood in a solid wall of support behind him.
A.J. smiled smugly. Although numerous steamboats traveled up the Missouri River every year, few local residents and businessmen had the means to pay the freight for a large number of goods in advance, like Seamus O’Rourke. When more men arrived than expected, many businesses had to rely on Seamus to replenish their supplies or risk losing customers during the year’s only busy season.
As the only major mercantile in town, Seamus exerted a tremendous influence over who received supplies and at what cost. Generally he was fair, generous, and willing to enter into business with everyone in town. “I continued to sell you goods, when you failed to order what you needed for your growing business.”
“At exorbitant rates!” Bell snapped.
