An Irish Blessing: The Irish Sisters Trilogy (Montana Sky Series) Page 8

  With a gasp of fear, Alana snapped her gaze up, scanning the area. No sign of anyone. “They’re long gone,” she said, trying to assure both herself and him. “If they were still here, they’d have attacked by now. And I saw two sets of hoofprints heading toward town.”

  “Go,” he ordered, grabbing her hand on his chest and pushing her away. “Leave me.”

  “I’m not leaving ye alone.” She made her tone firm. “I don’t know yet all that is wrong with ye, but I’d be more worried if ye didn’t remember what happened.”

  He groaned.

  “I wish we didn’t have to move ye. I’d rather not risk it. But we’ve no choice. Ye can’t stay here. The ground is cold, and I don’t want ye catching a chill on top of yer head wound. The injury won’t kill ye, but in yer weakened state, an illness could.”

  “Give me a minute.” He took a breath and tried to lever himself up but only succeeded in rising a few inches.

  Alana thrust an arm under his back to help.

  The effort made the pallor in his face whiter still. Once in a sitting position, he paused, taking several panting breaths. “My head’s spinning,” he ground out, his jaw clenched. “I’m as weak as a babe.”

  “Shows what ye know about babies,” she retorted, hoping to take his mind off his pain. “They are quite determined when they set their minds to something.”

  He gave her a half smile. “Hardly a gentle bedside manner, you’ve got there.”

  “When we get ye into a bed, then I’ll show ye a gentle bedside manner.” She nudged his back with her arm, encouraging him to rise. “Up with ye now.”

  Propping an elbow on the ground, he made as if to rise.

  She helped him sit up.

  “Can ye stand? Lean on me.” She lifted his arm over her head, lowering it to her shoulders.

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “Give me a minute. I’m dizzy”

  “A minute is all ye have. I’m not wanting ye to catch cold, and I’ve got to wash that head wound proper and stitch it up.” His arm lay heavy across her shoulders, as if he didn’t have the strength to hold it up. “Ye must be bruised from head to toe.”

  Patrick glanced at her, winced at the movement. His eyes still looked unfocused, but a wry grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. He tapped her shoulder. “Too bad I’m not in a condition to enjoy this.”

  “Oh, ye!” she scolded, becoming aware of their bodies pressed together, how close his lips were to hers. She tried to distance herself by donning the role of healer. He’s now my patient. But the reminder didn’t stop heat from flooding her cheeks. “If yer well enough to flirt, yer strong enough to get to yer feet.”

  Patrick winked. “Right now, it’s much easier to flirt with a pretty lady than to move.”

  “Get along with ye, then, Patrick Gallagher,” she said sharply to cover how his compliment pleased her.

  He slowly turned his head in Thunder’s direction and let out a shaky whistle to summon him closer. “Pathetic sound.”

  Thunder ambled over, ducking his head to snuffle Patrick’s face.

  “I’m all right, boy. Glad you escaped capture.” He inhaled and tilted forward, pushing to his feet as she rose with him, and leaned heavily on her.

  She stood pressed against him in an intimate embrace.

  He bent and dropped a kiss on her lips, then gave her a wry grin. “This is definitely worth the pain.”

  Flustered, Alana leaned away. “Behave, or I’ll leave ye to stand on yer own,” she scolded. An idle threat, for she couldn’t risk him toppling back to the ground. And truth be told, she didn’t mind the kiss. Perhaps under different circumstances….

  Patrick reached out to place an unsteady hand on Thunder’s neck and wobbled forward, obviously trying not to lean much on her. He paused at the stirrup, patted his hip, checked his pocket, and cursed. “Those thieves stole my gun, holster and all. My money, too.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Wicked men!”

  “I’m lucky they didn’t strip me naked. Probably figured Thunder running loose would alert someone, and they needed to get away fast.”

  “Thank goodness Thunder did just that, else you’d have taken quite a chill and might have gotten very ill.”

  “If I get my hands on them….” He took a steadying breath. “I still have Thunder, and that’s what’s most important.” Patrick rubbed a hand over the horse’s neck. “Right, boy?”

  The stud shook his head, as if agreeing.

  “I’m glad I trained him to stand when I mount. But he’s going to be surprised when I land in the saddle like a tub of lard.”

  “Thunder’s recently had practice. The way I plopped onto the saddle, he must have thought a couple of sacks of beans dropped atop him.”

  He turned sharply, wincing at the movement. “You rode him?”

  His eyes were clearer than she’d yet seen. A good sign. “Had to,” Alana said dryly. “I found him wandering down the road with ye nowhere in sight.”

  “My brave girl,” he said, staring at her lips as if about to kiss her again.

  Alana wasn’t sure if she wanted him to or not. “I had no choice. I was too far from the house to run for help.”

  “Still took courage to master such a deep fear, my brave Alana. You have my most sincere thanks.”

  “Thank me when we get ye safely home.” She’d meant to speak tartly, but the words came out sounding breathless.

  “Well, now that I have your permission, we’d best be gettin’ on our way,” Patrick drawled. He grabbed the saddle horn, slipped his foot into the stirrup, and with a grunt of pain, hoisted himself up.

  Patrick looked about to lose momentum, so Alana gave his buttocks a push that toppled him into the saddle. She lowered her hands, still feeling the press of his hard muscles on her palms. “Ye made it.”

  Alana bent down and picked up her bloody wet handkerchief and used the clean edges to wipe her hands free of mud and blood. Wrinkling her nose at the state of the cloth, she bunched the handkerchief into a ball and slipped it into her free pocket, pulling her gloves from the other one, and pulling them on.

  “With some extra help.” He extended a hand and slipped his foot out of the stirrup. “Your turn. Best ride astride instead of pillion.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “Oh, no. I’ll walk.” This time her reluctance didn’t stem from mounting Thunder but because of how closely she’d have to ride pressed against Patrick. She lifted her chin in the direction of the road home, indicating he move along without her.

  For the first time, an impatient expression crossed Patrick’s face. “I’m not leaving you behind with outlaws on the loose. By the time you get home, night will have fallen. Either get on the horse, or I’ll dismount and walk with you.”

  Alana bit her lip. He’s right. “Don’t look,” she commanded, stooping to grab her hem. Once again, she tucked up her skirt and ruined petticoat. She placed her hand in his. “Here goes.” Hefting herself up, she pulled on his arm to help swing her leg high enough to step into the stirrup, and swung her other leg over. Overbalancing, she gasped and grabbed Patrick’s waist.

  Patrick grunted.

  Feeling guilty for causing him pain, she stayed still, her hands tight on his hips. The back of his coat was caked with mud, which she knew had just transferred to hers.

  “You steady?”

  No. Her heartbeat wobbled. With her legs on either side of him, her nose filled with his man scent, her breasts pressed against his back…. How could I possibly be steady?

  “Go ahead,” she urged, trying to calm her heart and ease away a few inches.

  He placed a hand over hers to apparently keep her close and kneed Thunder into a walk. “Gonna be a slow journey home.”

  “At least we’re moving, and yer not lying dead back there.” The thought made her throat tight.

  “Guess that’s one benefit of a hard head.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to answer.

  “I owe you a new pet
ticoat.” His hand gave hers a squeeze.

  Heat suffused her face. “I told ye not to look!”

  “I wasn’t looking, at least not most of the time. I did have to peek to make sure you got on the horse without falling off.”

  She wasn’t about to discuss her undergarments and hoped he wouldn’t press the issue.

  A wagon appeared in the distance drawn by a team coming toward them.

  Alana squinted and made out her uncle driving his mules. Guilt stabbed her. She’d been gone a long time, and he must be worried.

  Patrick released her hands. He guided Thunder to the side of the road.

  Rory pulled up beside them, his expression tight. He set the brake and glanced from Patrick’s bandage to Alana. “Are you all right?” he asked, his tone urgent.

  “I’m fine, Uncle Rory,” she hastened to assure him.

  “I was attacked,” Patrick explained in a bitter tone. “Two varmints jumped me from a tree. Trying to steal Thunder, I presume. Knocked me out, but the horse got away, thank goodness.”

  Rory let out a Gaelic curse. “You two keep going back to the house. I’ve left your aunt unprotected.” He shot Patrick a sharp glance. “You have a gun?”

  Patrick shook his head and then groaned. “They took my Colt. But I’ll protect the women if I need to throw rocks.”

  He’s in no condition to do any protecting.

  Rory nodded. “I’m going after the children.”

  Alana gasped, thinking of her vulnerable cousins encountering the outlaws. After school, they’d catch a ride from their classmates’ father who worked in town. Then they’d walk several miles from the friends’ homestead to their own. Oh, dear Lord, protect them, please. Mary, Blessed Mother, keep them safe.

  His expression grim, Rory tied off the reins. He reached under the seat of the wagon, flipped down the side of a long wooden box and pulled out a rifle, setting it across his lap. “Once I pick up the children, I’ll keep going into town and inform the sheriff. Thank the Good Lord we have one now; she’s new, only here since Christmas.”

  She? A female sheriff? That can’t be. I must have heard wrong.

  Rory narrowed his eyes, studying Patrick’s face. “Do you need me to send for the doctor?”

  “No, I’ll trust in Alana’s skill and capable hands.”

  “Aye, you are right to do so.”

  Patrick nodded. “Take care.” He urged Thunder forward.

  Rory flicked the reins, and the mules started up.

  Alana leaned her chin on his shoulder. “Do you think the children are in danger?” She felt his hesitation in the way he drew a breath. “Tell me true, Patrick. Don’t lie to make me feel better.”

  “If the girls were older, maybe, but since your cousins have nothing valuable to steal, they have nothing to interest the thieves. Possibly the robbers will leave the road when they get close to town. The children might not even set eyes on them.”

  The two fell silent on the rest of the way.

  Alana grew more and more chilled. Kneeling on the damp ground had soaked through the front of her skirt and undergarments. But at least Patrick’s body protected her from the worst of the wind. She fretted that the cold on top of his injuries might make him ill.

  When they reached the farm, Sian ran out to greet them, barking, until Alana calmed the dog. He walked alongside them, wagging his tail.

  When they arrived at the front of the barn, Patrick reined in. He twisted and took Alana’s hand, aiding her to reach the ground. “Go to your aunt, let her know you’re safe.”

  “I’ll help ye first.”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “I can manage from here. I need to see to Thunder. Tell Henrietta what happened before she sees me with my head bandaged. She’ll be terrified enough when she hears her family might be in danger.”

  He’s right. Alana capitulated. Lips pressed tight, she nodded her agreement, doubting Patrick could manage the horse as easily as he made it seem. She’d give Henrietta the news and head right back to the barn. She pushed open the barn door for Thunder to walk through and rushed toward the house. She slowed to enter, not wanting to burst in and startle her aunt.

  Henrietta stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot that smelled like ham and cabbage soup. Her aunt glanced up, and a relieved look crossed her face. Flour dusted her hands and arms. Two loaves of unbaked bread sat on a tray on the table to rise. She dropped the wooden spoon. “At last! Your uncle and I were so worried. You look frozen through.” She hurried over and started to give Alana a hug before pulling back. “Why are you all muddy?” She held her at arms length to study her face. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  “I am well, dearest aunt. But I have bad news. Patrick was attacked near where the road crosses a stream.”

  “Oh, no! Will he be all right?”

  “Aye, with time. Thieves tried to steal his horse and knocked him unconscious. Luckily Thunder escaped. I found Patrick and tended to his wounds. The robbers were nowhere in sight when I arrived, but their tracks led back to town.”

  Henrietta gasped, a hand flying to her throat. “The children!”

  “Uncle Rory has gone for them. He knows the situation and has the rifle with him.” She repeated what Patrick had said about her cousins’ safety.

  Lines grooved Henrietta’s forehead, and she didn’t appear assured. She crossed herself, her lips moving in prayer.

  Alana eased her aunt away from the stove. “Let’s get ye seated.” She helped Henrietta to walk over to collapse into the nearest chair. “I’ll make some tea.”

  Henrietta clutched Alana’s hand. “Do you think they’ll attack here?”

  “Patrick’s in the barn now and will keep guard.” Alana released her aunt. She didn’t mention the stolen gun.

  “What about warning the neighbors?” Henrietta’s voice quavered.

  “We have no one to spare to go to them. But, remember, the outlaws’ tracks were heading in the opposite direction toward town, so I think everyone out this way is safe for tonight. By tomorrow, maybe the sheriff will have caught the robbers, and they’ll be sitting in jail.”

  “That will be a worry gone. But I’ll be fretting and praying until my husband and children are safe.”

  I will be, too.

  “Bring me my rosary, will you, dear? It’s hanging by my bed.”

  “I know. I borrowed it a few times when I nursed ye and didn’t want to climb into the loft for mine.” Alana patted Henrietta’s shoulder. “After I make yer tea, I’m going out to the barn to help Patrick.”

  “In that case, be sure to push the pot to the cool side of the stove. I can reheat it later. “I was just making egg noodles to go in the soup.”

  Alana glanced at the counter to the dough in the bowl and forced a smile. “My favorite.” She grabbed Henrietta’s hand before her aunt moved back to the stove.”

  “I might be a while. Patrick has a terrible concussion, and I don’t want him to collapse.”

  “Oh, dear me. Fear for my children put the thought of his injuries right out of my mind. You must insist he come inside.”

  “I can insist all I want. That doesn’t mean the stubborn man will listen,” Alana said in an ironic tone.

  “I’m sure you can persuade him.”

  I don’t know about that. On the ride back, neither of them had mentioned their last conversation—specifically, her rejection. Indeed, once she’d spotted Thunder running loose, Alana hadn’t given Patrick’s offer a thought until right now. They’d had more important matters to cope with.

  Alana took down the canister of tea—the treasured beverage now replenished by Patrick’s generosity—and scooped some leaves into a strainer. She pushed the pot of soup to the back of the stove and picked up the kettle, pouring hot water over the leaves. While she was at the task, she decided to brew willow bark tea for Patrick to help his headache and body soreness.

  While both teas steeped, she fetched the rosary, pressing the cross into Henrietta’
s palm. Her aunt’s face was still pale, and her eyes showed the strain of her worry. But Alana had done what she could to ease her fears.

  She donned her coat and left the house for the barn. She glanced down the road, hoping for a sight of her uncle’s wagon, even though she knew he couldn’t possibly have made it to town and back.

  We have a long wait ahead of us.

  Please, dear Lord and the Blessed Mother, keep them safe and bring them home forthwith.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The moment he saw Alana enter the house, Patrick sagged in the saddle, grateful to no longer have to hide his pain. His head pounded, his stomach churned with nausea, and his side ached like the devil had stabbed him with a pitchfork. He suspected one of the horse thieves had taken out his ire over Thunder’s escape by kicking him. He didn’t think his ribs were broken, just badly bruised. Otherwise, Patrick suspected he wouldn’t be able to move or breathe.

  With a groan, he dismounted, leading Thunder into the barn and closing the door, all of which taxed his strength. Moving with leaden legs, Patrick led the stud into the stall he’d used last night and removed the bridle. Thank goodness the pail still held water.

  Thunder drank thirstily.

  Patrick managed to unbuckle the girth without leaning over too far, but he had to grit his teeth to lift off the saddle, hefting it on top of the stall wall. His head throbbed, and his stomach roiled. The move had him gasping and dizzy. He leaned against Thunder until the wave of pain ceased, and he was sure he wouldn’t cast up his accounts.

  He shuffled toward Thunder’s head and picked up the pail, carrying it out of the stall and setting it down in the aisle. He staggered to the feed bin and scooped up some grain, making a mental note to replenish Rory’s feed beyond what he’d brought, for he’d surely be staying a few more days with the O’Donnells until he healed.

  He’d just poured the grain into the feed bin when he heard the barn door slide open. He turned to see Alana coming toward him. She had an air of determination about her, and Patrick figured he’d best not try to argue her back to the house because it wouldn’t do any good. Instead, he grabbed a cloth and started wiping Thunder’s back.