An Irish Blessing: The Irish Sisters Trilogy (Montana Sky Series) Page 4

  “Miss O’Donnell must have preferred another card.” He made himself sound unconcerned. “She accepted James Whitson’s proposal.”

  Mrs. Cobb’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t recall that Mr. Whitson bought a card. I kept careful track of who purchased each one.” She shook her head and pressed her lips together. “I can’t imagine why that girl would choose a mere ranch hand over you.”

  I can’t either. Patrick shrugged as if he didn’t care. “I’m on an errand of mercy, traveling to the O’Donnell family on the prairie to bring them word of their daughter and niece. I understand Mrs. O’Donnell has been seriously ill, and I’d like to take them some provisions.”

  “I’ve heard Henrietta has turned a corner and is no longer at death’s door. Erik Muth, their neighbor, is here several times a week delivering milk. He regularly brings us news. Their niece, Miss Alana O’Donnell, has been quite a help.” Avid speculation lurked in her eyes.

  Patrick’s gaze fell on the jars of candy on the counter. “As well as some treats.” Not wanting to further the conversation, he tapped the nearest jar. “We can start with peppermint sticks. I believe they have several children besides their married daughter.”

  Mercifully, the shopkeeper went along with his change of subject. “Three.” She pulled a sheet of waxed paper from a roll. “How many?”

  “I’ll take six. And two dozen of your cookies. Actually, throw in another half dozen.” I’ll eat some on the way rather than using the food Mrs. Toffels packed for the journey.

  While she selected and wrapped the candy, Patrick reeled off the list he’d mentally compiled.

  The woman nodded at each item but didn’t stop to write down anything. She bustled about, gathering what he needed and wrapping the goods into parcels.

  In the meantime, Patrick strolled around the store to see if anything else would catch his interest.

  A narrow shaft of light from the front window penetrated between two rows of shelves to glitter on some jewelry inside a glass cabinet next to the counter. Patrick bent to peer closer. He avoided glancing at a row of rings—both plain gold or set with jewels. To show up uninvited and present Miss O’Donnell with an engagement ring would be too presumptuous, even for him.

  He eyed a cameo with a delicate female profile, and then a mourning brooch made of jet with a space for the deceased’s lock of hair. He passed his gaze over a pearl bracelet, then lingered on a necklace with a gold charm in the shape of a shamrock.

  Patrick thought of Bridget’s musical Irish accent and supposed her twin’s was the same, although the woman hadn’t uttered a word to him that he recalled. An Irish trinket for an Irish young lady.

  Perfect.

  If Miss O’Donnell accepts my courtship, I’ll give her the necklace as a token of my esteem and intentions. The ring can come later.

  Feeling quite pleased with his plan, Patrick tapped on the glass and pointed at the shamrock. “I’ll take that one.”

  Mrs. Cobb’s sharp gaze flew to his face, evidently probing for hints.

  He ignored her. This time I will keep my intentions to myself ’til I have the answer I want.

  * * *

  Alana sat in the main room with her aunt and the twins, the four of them doing handwork. A cheerful fire burned in the fireplace and the bright afternoon sun gleamed through the small windows. The twins embroidered their samplers, her aunt knitted, and Alana darned Charlie’s stockings.

  In the midst of one patch of light, the girls sat close, their knees angled toward each other to make the best of the brightness. Alana and Henrietta worked in the sunny area of the other window.

  Today was the first day Alana had allowed Henrietta out of bed. The dreadful illness had taken her aunt to heaven’s pearly gates and back, and her recovery had been slow.

  While Alana’s fingers moved through the familiar task, she kept a sharp eye on her patient. As soon as Henrietta showed signs of tiring, back to bed she’d go.

  Stew made from a rabbit Charlie had snared this morning, thick with carrots, potatoes, and onions, and spiced with some dried rosemary leaves brought from home, simmered on the stove, sending an enticing smell throughout the room. As in Ireland, fresh meat came seldom enough to be a treat, and Alana had cooked up a double batch to last through two meals. From time to time, she rose and went to the stove to stir the pot.

  Earlier, the girls had recited their spelling words and the Bible verses they’d memorized under Alana’s tutelage, but now the four lapsed into companionable silence.

  Isleen wrinkled her nose at her sampler and stirred as if to complain. She glanced at her mother and settled back in her chair.

  Alana suppressed a smile. Isleen reminded her of Bridget, who’d struggled with her hated sampler. Both Isleen and Bridget had more outgoing personalities. Her active sister preferred being outdoors with the horses and would rather dig in the garden than sit still and do handwork. Sometimes, Alana had worked on Bridget’s sampler in secret so her twin could escape.

  For the first time, thinking of home and of her herb garden, didn’t send a stab of homesickness through her. These last three weeks had worked wonders for her low spirits. Although her heart still hurt, the warmth of her American family gave her a sense of being loved and needed. Her appetite had returned, and she took satisfaction in seeing her aunt’s slow but steady recovery.

  To her surprise, living away from the shadow of her mother’s formidable reputation as a healer and midwife, with no one who’d known her as a babe judging her skills, had given Alana a newfound feeling of competence. Even their nearest neighbor, Erik Muth, had stopped by to have a cut in his arm sewn shut, and he’d admired the neat stitches.

  If only I didn’t miss Bridget so much. Being away from her sister had turned into a constant ache, as if a part of her was missing. Ironic how with the pain of losing Timkin easing somewhat that of being parted from her sister increased. Hopefully, we’ll soon be reunited.

  She checked on her aunt again.

  Henrietta caught her look. “No need to worry, dear Alana. I’ve already promised I’ll nap when I become tired.”

  “I know. But it’s common to think yer doing well, push too hard, and cause a setback. I won’t allow that to happen.” Alana made herself sound stern, although she couldn’t help but smile. “Soon ye’ll be completely well, Sally will be past the time of her morning sickness, and Bridget will arrive here…. Why, everything will be perfect.” Or as perfect as possible in this new life of hers.

  Her aunt arched an auburn eyebrow. “I’ve heard you talking with Rory about planting your potatoes and herbs.”

  Alana cast a glance out the window at the cloudless sky, wondering if today’s warmer weather would last, and she could soon plant her potatoes. “We want to pay our own way and not be beholden,” she said with a proud tilt of her chin.

  “Nonsense. I don’t know what we’d have done without you, dear niece,” Henrietta’s smile was warm and her eyes misty. “Although I terribly miss Sally, you being here makes the hole in our family less obvious, not to mention everything you’ve done for us.”

  Alana’s cheeks heated at the praise. “Ye must stop thanking me. In fact, I will not allow ye to do so any longer. I have received such pleasure in living with kin and being needed.”

  “You are as stubborn as my eldest daughter, who, of course, takes after her father.”

  Alana chuckled. “Aye, an O’Donnell trait. And speaking of stubborn…I know having the two of us here will crowd the house.” With only one bedroom, Alana slept on Sally’s pallet in the sliver of a loft with the other children. “As soon as Bridget and I have a profit from the potatoes, we can pay to add on another bedroom.”

  Henrietta shook her head. “Let’s not get beyond ourselves. I doubt either of you will be living here long. Young women are scarce in the west, especially pretty ones. Some man will snatch you up as Harry did with my daughter. I will just enjoy your company while I have it.”

  Appalled by the th
ought, Alana shook her head. “I’m content to abide here. I’ve no wish to wed.” Now that she was feeling better, she’d found comfort in planning hers and Bridget’s next few years. She wasn’t about to abandon her ideas.

  Henrietta gave her a wise look. “You’ve undergone a lot of difficult changes in the past year, Alana. ’Tis not surprising that you don’t want another big one. But life has a way of changing on us—for good or for ill—sometimes when we least expect it.”

  Alana opened her mouth to protest.

  Charlie burst into the house, sending a gust of cold air their way. “There’s a stranger riding up on a big black horse. A beauty!” He dashed back outside, slamming the door behind him.

  “I want to see.” Isleen bounced to her feet, dropping her sampler on her chair.

  An odd feeling, almost like a premonition, curdled Alana’s stomach. Patrick Gallagher!

  Don’t be foolish, she chided herself. What would that man be doing all the way out here?

  Still, Alana knew she was right and wasn’t sure if the shiver down her spine was dread or excitement.

  In their brief meetings, the big, handsome horseman had rubbed her wrong, not only because of the assessing way he’d stared at Bridget, but because she could tell he was accustomed to women fawning over him. He’d obviously expected the twins to do likewise.

  She lifted her chin at the thought. Although I’m not outgoing like Bridget, neither of us is the fawning type.

  Not that the horseman had looked at Alana. Bridget was the sister who’d drawn his gaze, which was fine with her. Not that I’d want him to court Bridget, either.

  Resolving not to move from her chair to gape out the window, she made another careful stitch in Charlie’s stocking before glancing up.

  Her eyes shining, Henrietta tucked away her knitting. “Perhaps he’s come from the Thompson’s ranch, bringing us word of Sally and Bridget.”

  With more energy than Alana had yet seen her display, Henrietta pushed from the chair to a standing position and removed her apron.

  Her aunt wobbled as she tried to take a step. “Oh, dearie me.”

  With a gasp, Alana dropped her darning and rushed to Henrietta’s side. “Let me help.” She tucked a hand under Henrietta’s elbow and snatched up the shawl that had fallen off her shoulders. Not for the first time, she wondered if missing her eldest daughter had made her aunt vulnerable to the influenza. I can put up with Patrick Gallagher if he brings news that will lighten Aunt Henrietta’s heart.

  The twins cracked open the door and peered out. The cold air blew into the room.

  “Ye two close that door,” Alana scolded. “Yer letting the heat out.”

  “Off with your aprons, girls, for company’s here,” their mother ordered. She flicked her hand in Alana’s direction in a command for her to do likewise.”

  With an eye-roll she made sure her aunt wouldn’t see, Alana complied.

  Shifting from foot to foot, Isleen gave them an antsy look.

  “Don your coats, and go on out,” Henrietta said. “Or you can stay in and watch from the window.”

  Giggling, the girls looked at each other and grabbed for their coats.

  Alana helped her aunt walk toward the window. Once there, she tucked the shawl around Henrietta’s shoulders. “Let’s get ye wrapped up tight. Ye are to stay out of the draft, hear?”

  Her aunt laughed and rested a hand on Alana’s. “You will make a wonderful mother someday, my dear. You already sound like one.”

  Alana plastered on a smile to hide the hurt her aunt’s words inadvertently caused. In her daydreams, she’d thought to have a houseful of children with Timkin. Not for me the joys of motherhood. “Yer to stay inside,” she ordered. “Ye’ll meet this stranger soon enough.”

  “Spoilsport,” Henrietta joked.

  Patrick Gallagher or not, Alana couldn’t deny how the stranger’s arrival had lifted her aunt’s spirits. “Don’t be disappointed if this man is not from the Thompson’s,” she warned. “I’ll allow no setbacks to yer recovery.”

  “You tyrant.” Henrietta teased. “Even so, company is always welcome. You haven’t been with us long enough to know how isolated our farm is. In the winter we can go for weeks without seeing any faces but our own.” She peered out the window. “Why, that is a magnificent horse, indeed. The man has his back to me, so I can’t see his face.”

  The twins scampered out the door.

  Alana joined her aunt in looking out the window and fought to hide her recoil. Patrick Gallagher. Even from behind, she recognized the man’s broad shoulders. He’d dismounted and stood talking to Uncle Rory and Charlie.

  The twins darted over to them.

  The visitor turned to welcome the girls.

  The sight of his strong profile made her certain.

  Mr. Gallagher glanced at the house.

  He looked as handsome as she’d remembered, his dark eyes as bold.

  Embarrassed to be caught staring, Alana ducked away from the window and set her back to the wall. “Yer in luck.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact, but the tightness in her chest caused her words to wheeze out. “He’s not one of Mr. Thompson’s ranch hands, but he was visiting there when last I saw him. Patrick Gallagher, he is. And that black creature he rides is his Thoroughbred stud.”

  Henrietta clapped her hands like a girl. “Wonderful.” She glanced toward the stove. “Do we have enough to feed him? Of course we do,” she responded. “The rest of us will just have to eat less.”

  Alana shook her head. “No need for scrimping. I made plenty.”

  “Do you have water warming?”

  “Aye, Aunt.” Alana tried not to sound impatient. “Always.”

  “Listen to me.” Henrietta shook her head and gave Alana a rueful glance. “As if, by now, I didn’t know your competence. It’s just that I so long to hear word of my daughter.” She patted Alana’s cheek. “And I know you miss your sister.”

  Alana did long for news about her sister, but she wished Harry or another cowboy had come instead. Something about Mr. Gallagher had made uncomfortable from the start of meeting him.

  The girls tumbled back into the house, shutting the door behind them.

  “Can we go to the barn, Ma, please?” Isleen glanced out the window before sending her mother a pleading glance. “That horse is so beautiful, and I want to pet him. Maybe give him a carrot.”

  “You two stop your gawking and act like young ladies.” Henrietta gestured for them to sit. “We can’t be wasting carrots on livestock.”

  Both girls made faces but reluctantly obeyed. They took off their coats and gloves and cast a longing glance outside. Slowly they picked up their samplers and sat, their silent rebellion evident in the stiffness of their movements.

  “Charlie gets all the fun,” Isleen muttered, her head bent over her sampler. She took a careless stitch that probably would have to be ripped out later.

  Alana chuckled.

  All three looked askance at her.

  “Ye sound just like our Bridget,” she explained. “If she were here, my sister would rush outside to see that creature and not ask permission, either. She’d want carrots to feed it, and our mother would have said the same thing about wasting food. But that wouldn’t faze Bridget. No, she’d be finding a patch of sweet clover and picking it for the beastie.”

  “We don’t have sweet clover,” Isleen grumbled.

  Idelle tilted her head. “Why do you call Mr. Gallagher’s horse a creature and a beastie?”

  “Why, ’tis a big black creature, indeed,” Alana said lightly, having no desire to disclose her fear of horses. She’d taken enough teasing about her avoidance of them and would prefer her relatives didn’t learn about her shameful weakness. Nor did she want to instill the girls with her fears. Best have them keep their enjoyment of the great animals.

  Alana tilted her head toward Henrietta’s chair. “Back down ye go, Aunt, before ye wear out yer energy. Mr. Gallagher will be in soon enough.”


  “Oh, dearie me. You’re right.” She allowed Alana to escort her to her chair and took out her knitting.

  Alana sat, picked up Charlie’s stocking, and positioned the wooden darning egg at the heel. She began to stitch, hoping the familiar task would calm the fluttering of her heart.

  Seemed almost half an hour passed with Aunt Henrietta and the girls in obvious impatience and Alana in dread before Uncle Rory opened the door and ushered in their guest.

  Charlie walked behind them. All three held burlap sacks.

  At the sight of Patrick Gallagher, standing taller and broader than her uncle, his black gaze sweeping the room, Alana’s stomach dipped. The man was attractive with patrician features, but an air of something—power, perhaps—made her shiver. She avoided eye contact, concentrating on her darning as if no acquaintance had entered the house.

  “Ah, Mr. Gallagher, here’s my wife up and about and able to greet you.” Her uncle sounded the happiest since Alana’s arrival. “Henrietta, here is Mr. Gallagher come all this way to bring us news of Sally and Bridget.”

  Henrietta made to stand, necessitating Alana to drop her darning and move to help her.

  But before she could rise from her chair, Mr. Gallagher motioned her aunt to stay and took long strides to stand in front of her. He took Henrietta’s hand and bowed. “Now I see where Sally gets her beauty.” His tone was warm and flirtatious.

  Pink rose in Henrietta’s cheeks, lending her the attractiveness her illness had taken. “You flatter me, Mr. Gallagher.”

  “Call me Patrick. And I do no such thing. I can see you’re pulled a bit from being sick, but I’m delighted to see you on the mend. I’m sure Miss Alana will have you back to your usual self in no time.” He cast Alana a sidelong look.

  Wondering if her color matched her aunt’s, she slid her gaze away.

  “You must be frozen and hungry, Mr. Gallagher.” Henrietta waved for him to take her husband’s seat in a worn leather chair. “Please join us for a meal.” Her gracious tone showed no trace of her eagerness to ask questions about her daughter.

  “Famished. But I’d best wash up first.” Mr. Gallagher raised the burlap bag he held. “I couldn’t descend on you empty-handed, so I paid a stop at the mercantile.”