After the Storm (9 page)

“If you aren't finished chatting with Cailin, I'll go and unload my supplies from the wagon.” He smiled. “If you'll just tell me which things came in on my last order, so I don't take someone else's like I did last time I made that offer.”

Emma laughed. “Actually you're my last delivery today, so everything in the wagon is yours. Now that I'm not delivering to River's Haven, you're the last stop in this direction. However, I hear that's going to change.”

“Someone is moving in at River's Haven?” Samuel asked, surprised. He saw Cailin was listening, clearly trying to figure out what he and Emma were discussing.

“Rumor is that someone has bought all the property not taken by former members of the Community.”

“There's a lot of good land left, although I think all the land along the river has been claimed. I know Wyatt has a large portion where he built his pier so steamships can dock there for repairs.”

Emma shrugged. “As I said, it's just a rumor at this point. I'll let you know if I hear you're definitely getting new neighbors, Samuel.” She smiled at Cailin. “I'm so glad to have a chance to talk with you again. I'm sure I'll see you in town one of these days.”

“Yes, I'm sure you will. I look forward to it.” Cailin's voice had a thready sound Samuel did not like.

Her face was almost colorless, save for those endearing freckles. Lines were furrowed in her brow, and he knew she was trying to do too much too quickly. He almost laughed. In that, she was much like her impatient son.

“Do you need help to get back to bed?” he asked.

“Bed?” Her eyes widened, before focusing on the dress she had draped across her lap. “No, no, I think I'll finish this now.”

Samuel had no intention of arguing with her in front of Emma. Holding the door open, he followed Emma out of the room and onto the porch. She started to speak, but he shook his head and hooked a thumb back toward the bedroom.

They walked to the black wagon that had D
ELANCY'S
G
ENERAL
S
TORE
, H
AVEN
, I
NDIANA,
painted in white on the sides. Here their voices would be hidden beneath the children's loud ball game.

Even so, Emma asked in not much more than a whisper, “How are you, Samuel?”

“All right.”

“Really? I think I'd be furious if someone came and claimed Sean and intended to take him away.”

He picked up a box holding bags of sugar and flour. “I'm not happy about it. I intend to let Cailin know that as soon as she's feeling better.”

“Be careful. She's frightened, Samuel.”

“Frightened? Of me?”

Emma laughed as she reached for the horse's halter to turn the wagon back toward the road. “Of course not.” She glanced at the house. “She must have married young, and she probably never wandered far from where she was born until she came to the United States. When she found out her husband was dead—”

“He's dead?” He set the box on a stump.

“You didn't know?”

“No.” Putting one boot on the side of the stump, he said, “I wonder what other things she hasn't gotten around to telling me.”

“She didn't act as if she were trying to hide anything. It just came up in conversation.” She patted the horse on the nose, then called, “Sean, it's time to head back to Haven.”

The children swarmed over them, all talking at once. As he tried to separate one's words from the others, he swung Lottie up onto his shoulders. The little girl squealed, getting everyone else's attention.

He put Lottie back on the ground as soon as the black wagon was disappearing toward Haven. Picking up the crate, he saw Brendan eyeing it, and said, “Don't get any idea about catching more rabbits. One rabbit is one rabbit. More than one is too many.”

“What do you mean?” asked Megan.

“Ask your mother about more than one rabbit when she's feeling better,” he said gruffly.

The children stared at him in astonishment, but as he carried the box to the house, he heard them laughing and running toward the swing he had hung in the biggest tree.

Samuel left the box on the table in the kitchen and walked to the guest bedroom. He started to open the door, then rapped his knuckles against the raised panel.

“Who is it?” he heard.

“Samuel.” There was a pause and the sound of fabric rustling, then he heard, “Come in.”

The moment he opened the door and saw her sitting primly on the chair, he knew he should have gone back to his chores instead of coming here. She was wearing his shirt, a sight so enticing he could not help staring. Its collar pushed up through her fiery hair, but drooped deeper than her prim dress's neckline. In spite of himself, he could not keep from thinking about how soft her skin had been when he rolled her stockings down her legs—legs that were bare beneath the shirt that must not reach her knees.

“Yes?” she prompted.

The wavering in that single word warned him that she had pushed herself too hard by sitting in the chair this long. “You should be back in bed!”

“I know.” She sighed. “I tried.”

How many more ways could she tempt him to forget his vow not to let another woman invade his life? Crossing the room in a trio of steps, he scooped her out of the chair. He thought she would protest, but she leaned her head against his shoulder with another sigh. He hoped it was with relief or fatigue, not a sensual sigh because he held her.

Cailin closed her eyes when Samuel placed her on the bed. The straw in the mattress below the featherbed whispered a welcome. She rested her head back against the pillows and opened her eyes.

He was too close. She mumbled something about being fine, but he did not move away. When he put one hand on either side of her and leaned toward her, she could not pull her gaze from his lips coming ever closer to her.

By all the saints! Was he thinking of kissing her? Had Emma said something to him that made him think Cailin would welcome his kisses? Honesty pounded through her. Emma had not needed to, because Cailin had curled up against his chest when he carried her here to the bed.

“Cailin …”

She waited for him to say something else, anything else that would send his warm breath along her lips like a tentative caress. She spoke his name as faintly as he had hers, but all other words faded into silence as his finger beneath her chin brought her eyes up to his.

His mouth on hers was gentle. Other kisses in other times had not been like this. He was asking her to share her pleasure with him, not demanding. When her arm curved along his shoulders, he drew her up to him. His kiss deepened, thrilling her with its invitation and yet its restraint. A restraint she knew that was only because she remained weak. She combed her fingers up through the hair at his nape while he scattered kisses over her cheek and along her jaw. When the tip of his tongue brushed her ear, she could not halt the quiver racing through her. His breath, uneven and warmer than the day's heat, pulsed against her ear, swirling into her. As he pressed her back into the pillows, the mattress's rustling was a soft song beneath the pounding of her heart.

A young cry of outrage rushed in through the window. Cailin stiffened, but Samuel released her to go and look out. He called something to the children, but his words did not pierce the heated mist around her.

“They're all right,” he said, walking back to her.

He glanced down, a smile matching the sparks in his eyes. With a gasp, she yanked the quilt back over her right leg.

“Don't look!” she gasped.

“I'll try not to … next time.”

Now the warmth surrounding her was mortification. First she had let him kiss her. And kiss her well. Now she had let her limb be displayed as brazenly as a harlot's.

He drew the covers up over her. “There. You're properly concealed.” Without a pause, he asked, “Why didn't you tell me your husband was dead?”

“You never asked,” she answered, astounded at the question when moments before he had been kissing her.

“True.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “One parent appearing out of nowhere was enough at a time.”

“Samuel …”

“You don't need to look at me with an expression I expect to see on Megan's face when she does something naughty.”

“I shouldn't have … we shouldn't have …”

“We did.” He ran his finger along her lips. “Maybe it wasn't what we should have done, but it seemed so when you were draped over my arms.”

“This is going to make what is difficult even more difficult.”

“I know.” He laughed again, but with little amusement. “I need to get back to work. Some fresh air might be a good idea.”

“Yes.” She had no idea what else to say.

When he walked out of the room, she turned her head on the pillow to stare through the window. She winced at the sound of Brendan's booming laugh. It was so much like his father's.

Tears pricked at her eyes as the sound brought Abban's image into her mind. She could have stayed in Ireland and struggled to make a home for her children on what was left of the land her father had farmed since he was not much older than her son. Athair had begged her to, but she had refused to listen. She had been too eager to come to America and make a life with Abban.

She had endured the long journey and the sparse food, giving the greatest share of whatever she could obtain to the children. She had thought the privation and trials would be ended when she reached Abban's mother's home. Then she had learned the truth from his mother on that horrible day she first called at Mrs. Rafferty's house. Not just of Abban's accidental death, but of his intentional betrayal.

She had told no one, not even the other servants in the magnificent house where she worked in the dank laundry, of Abban's darkest perfidy. On that one thing, she had agreed completely with his mother. She wanted no one to know her husband had married another woman after his return to America even though he had legally wed Cailin in Ireland. Unlike his mother, she had not cared about what his bigamy could do to the family's social standing. She cared only that her children not learn that Abban had never planned to send for them while he created a new family that met his mother's expectations. How could they understand their father doing such a thing? She could not.

The man she had known in Ireland had been quick-tempered and had spoken his mind, whether anyone agreed with his opinions or not. And he had loved her. She had believed that, and she wanted to believe it even now.

She wondered why he had changed so completely after his return to New York. When his mother had arranged for him to marry the daughter of a wealthy family, he had not told Mrs. Rafferty of his marriage and the wife and children who were waiting to join him. He had married, and, when he died, he had left his other wife with two children younger than Lottie.

Cailin's concern for those children as well as her own had been the reason she agreed with Mrs. Rafferty's plan to keep the truth hidden. It seemed so simple. Cailin would be hired out into a wealthy home to earn the money she needed to take her children away from New York. In exchange, her children would be allowed to stay with their grandmother, although none of the children would be told of the relationship between them and Abban's family.

Then she had been betrayed again, this time by Mrs. Rafferty, who had sent the children to the Children's Aid Society and lied to Cailin long enough so they could leave New York on the orphan train. When Cailin had last called at Mrs. Rafferty's house, Abban's mother had been unrepentant. Mrs. Rafferty was certain she had done what was best for all involved. Her
real
daughter-in-law, whom she never named in fear Cailin would contact her, would not be kept from making another match after her mourning was over. Her
real
grandchildren would continue to live in the luxury that was their due. Cailin's children would have a fresh start where they could not interfere with Mrs. Rafferty ever again.

And Cailin … Mrs. Rafferty suggested outright that Cailin return to Ireland, marry some ham-fisted farmer, and have the life a lowborn wench deserved. Instead Cailin had gone back to her job, determined to earn what she needed to follow the orphan train. If she had not wanted to hurt five innocent children, she would have whispered the truth among the servants. The truth would have reached the ears of the mistress of the house and then spread throughout the upper hierarchies of society, ruining Mrs. Rafferty's life as she had tried to ruin Cailin's.

She had held her tongue. Athair's voice filled her mind as clearly as if her father stood beside her.
A kindness done returns tenfold, an evil a hundredfold
.

Blaming Abban's mother for forcing him to marry would have been easy, but she could not. When Cailin was told that he had changed his name to a more acceptable Abner to enhance his family's standing among the Irish who had emerged from the slums to live in grand style in the shadow of the upper classes' mansions, she knew he had made the choice without coercion. He had wanted a life of being surrounded by splendor and comfort. While they sat together in the small cottage with its dirt floors, he often had spoken of when he had money and what he would do with it. He had denied his wife and his children to obtain the wealth he wanted.

She could have forgiven him if he had turned his back on them, but she could not forgive him for marrying another woman. Nor could she forgive him for letting her believe he would send for her and instead consigning her and their children to wait for the rest of their lives.

She had let Abban Rafferty beguile her … and lead her to this catastrophe. Now she was making the same mistake with Samuel Jennings, another man whose green eyes glinted with strong passions. She must get well and leave this house before she made another decision that would separate her from her children. She had been lucky to find them this time. She could not count on being so lucky again.