Keegan's Lady (29 page)

"Patrick," Ace said with an inclination of his head as he stepped out onto the porch. Closing the door firmly behind him, he added, "Good to see you."

From the corners of his eyes, Ace saw his brothers circling, Joseph to his right, Esa to the rear, and David to the left. Their stances indicated that they were not only ready for trouble, but almost eager for it. The redheaded youth had done everything, short of committing murder, to earn that regard.

Under other circumstances, Ace might have let his brothers have a go at Patrick. He definitely had it coming. Caitlin's becoming a member of the family made that impossible. Bygones had to be bygones, now and forever, amen.

Out near the barn Ace could see his hired hands standing in a bunch, their gazes fixed on O'Shannessy. As much as Ace hated to have his dirty laundry aired in front of them, he guessed there was no help for it.

"What do you mean, it's good to see me?" Patrick cried. "You rotten, no-good son of a bitch. Where is she, Keegan? I want her out here so I can talk to her. Right now. You understand? Don't think you can keep her away from me. So help me, God, I'll kill you first."

Ace had a feeling Patrick was more pissed off at himself than at anyone else. He had drunk himself stupid last night and forced his sister to marry a man he despised. That couldn't be a very pleasant memory to wake up to.

"If you're referring to my wife," Ace replied evenly, "she's inside making us all some coffee. We'd be honored if you would come in and join us. Fact is, if you don't have any pressing engagements, you're welcome to stay for breakfast."

Patrick took a threatening step forward. Until that moment, Ace had left his brothers to draw their own conclusions. Now he saw them making a slow advance, each of them plainly prepared to fill O'Shannessy with lead if it became necessary. They were rumpled from sleep and sporting bits of hay from their makeshift beds in the barn. But looks could be deceiving. Ace had taught each of them how to handle himself in a fight, be it with fists or six-shooters, and, even if he did say so himself, he'd been a damn fine teacher. In defense of one of their own, the Paxton boys would fight fair and square—or mean and dirty. Whatever it took to get the job done, that was their motto.

Ace held up a staying hand. Whether he liked Patrick O'Shannessy or not, the man was Caitlin's brother and she loved him. If it came to a physical confrontation, Ace would take care of it himself.

"You get my sister out here! I was out of my head last night. Didn't realize what I was doing. You're the last man on earth I want her with. I'm taking her home."

Ace placed his hands on his hips. "Caitlin isn't a piece of baggage to be bandied about. I admit, you were drunk last night, and if you say you didn't know what you were doing, I won't argue the point. But that doesn't change what happened, does it? It's a little late now to start having second thoughts."

"You bastard! If you touched her . . ." Patrick knotted his shooting hand into a tight fist, then slowly extended and flexed his fingers.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Ace said softly.

Behind him, Ace heard the front door crash open. Before he could react, Caitlin dashed past him and down the steps. Still clad only in her nightgown and whatever undergarments were concealed beneath it, she placed herself squarely in Patrick's line of fire. "Don't be stupid, Patrick. Do you want to get yourself killed?"

"Get out of my way!" Patrick's voice shook with fury. "I mean it, Caitlin."

Signaling for his brothers to stay back, Ace moved slowly down the steps. Damn it to hell. If lead started flying, Caitlin would be the first to take a bullet.

The thought made Ace feel weak at the knees. He had to do something. The problem was, what. As Caitlin had pointed out, Patrick was crazy when he got like this. He didn't have sense enough to consider the consequences of his actions; he just reacted and cried over the spilled milk later.

As Ace drew up behind Caitlin, he grasped her gently by the arm. A bullet. Sweet Jesus. He'd seen the damage a slug could do when it impacted flesh and bone. Caitlin didn't have enough extra meat on her to survive such an injury.

"Sweetheart, I think you'd better go back in the house," Ace said in a voice rough with fear. It had been a long time since the prospect of gunfire had made him quake in his boots. He didn't like the feeling. It was one thing to risk death for himself, and quite another to have his wife standing in the line of fire.

The depth of feeling Ace was beginning to have for this girl was driven home as he stood behind her, helpless to protect her. If anything happened to her, he'd never forgive himself.

"Let Patrick and I work this out between ourselves, Caitlin. It'll be all right, I promise."

She looked back at him, her eyes filled with distrust. "If I go back in the house, you'll end up shooting him. I just know it!"

"I give you my word that I won't hurt him."

She jerked her arm free. "Right. And if he draws on you? I suppose you're just going to stand there and let him kill you."

Ace turned his gaze back to Patrick. Standing in such close proximity to the younger man, he was almost overcome by the sour stench of whiskey. "We're both grown men. Aren't we, Patrick? I'm sure we can settle this by talking it out."

"Go in the house and get your things, Caitlin. We're leaving."

To Ace's surprise, Caitlin made no move to obey her brother. Instead she squared her shoulders and raised her chin. "I can't do that," she pronounced in a tremulous voice. "I spoke marriage vows. I never break my word, you know that."

"What do you mean, vows? Have you lost your mind? Staying with him would be crazy. He despises us and everything we stand for. He'll make every day of your life a misery."

Caitlin stiffened. Her brother's predictions had clearly struck home. "Yes, well, perhaps you should have thought of that last night, Patrick, before you went off half-cocked and forced me to marry him. Now it's done." She hesitated for a second that seemed to last an eternity. When she resumed speaking, there was no doubt in Ace's mind that every word cost her dearly. "What God has joined together, let no man put asunder."

A fiery glint entered Patrick's blue eyes. He stared at his sister as if he'd never seen her before. A muscle along his jaw twitched as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. "You slept with him? That's what you're saying, isn't it? The marriage is consummated. You played the whore for him!"

For an instant, Ace thought Caitlin would deny the accusation. In the end, she faced him in silence. A silence that clearly damned her in his eyes. Ace's heart broke for her. Misguided or not, she obviously adored her brother. He knew it had to be killing her to see the contempt in his expression.

Patrick went ruddy with anger. Jabbing a finger toward Ace, he said, "Ever since that bastard came back to No Name, he's been telling anyone willing to listen that our father was a crook and a cold-blooded murderer, goddammit. He spits on the O'Shannessy name and everything it stands for. And you played the whore for him?"

Where Ace came from, calling a lady a whore went beyond the pale. He knotted his hands into aching fists, every muscle in his body tight with the yearning to pound the words back down Patrick's throat. For Caitlin's sake, he held himself in check. Barely. Patrick O'Shannessy needed to be taught a few manners. No question about it. But not in front of his sister.

So outraged he was almost shouting, every inflection of his voice dripping with contempt, Patrick said, "Dear God, how could you?"

Before Ace could guess the younger man's intent, Patrick drew back his arm and backhanded Caitlin across the cheek. At the force of the blow, she reeled into Ace's chest. He was so taken by surprise, he had to scramble to keep her from falling. The instant he felt her catch her balance, he set her gently aside.

Rage rolled over him in molten waves. Without conscious thought, he reacted instinctively, and with all his strength. The next thing he knew, Patrick hit the dirt, dust billowing around him. In two strides, Ace stood over him, his fist aching where it had connected with the younger man's mouth.

"Get up, you miserable son of a bitch. Let's see how tough you are with someone who can fight back!"

"No!" Caitlin threw herself forward to cling to Ace's arm. "No, please! He's drunk!"

"Drunk, my ass. That's no excuse!" Ace jerked his arm free and grabbed Patrick by the front of his shirt. Scarcely feeling the younger man's weight, he hauled him to his feet, drew back his fist, and hit him again. Caitlin shrieked. This time, Patrick staggered backward under the blow, but managed to stay standing.

"Feel good, asshole?" Ace advanced on him as he spoke. "Not much fun to be on the receiving end, is it?"

"Stop it! Please, stop it!"

The panic in Caitlin's voice brought Ace back to his senses. He halted mid-stride toward Patrick and lowered his arms. He'd gotten his message across. There was no point in driving it into the ground, not at Caitlin's expense.

Patrick touched the back of his hand to his mouth, then stared down at the blood that came away on his skin. He blinked and shook his head. Caitlin ran over to him, hands hovering, face pale.

"Oh, God, Patrick. Are you all right?" She threw an accusing look at Ace. "How could you? So much for your promise not to lift a hand to him!"

After swallowing and hauling in a deep breath, Ace finally felt calm enough to reply, "He hit you, dammit!"

"And so you took it upon yourself to hit him? At least he's drunk. You're not!"

Ace happily could have remedied that. "No man strikes a woman in front of me and gets away with it."

"He didn't really hurt me! I've survived far worse, believe me!"

Ace's gaze shot to the red mark along her cheekbone. By this time tomorrow, she'd be sporting a God-awful bruise on her beautiful face. Yet she claimed Patrick hadn't hurt her? What, exactly, did she call it? The son of a bitch had knocked her clear off her feet. Rage welled up in him again. In some distant corner of his mind Ace knew that he should keep his mouth shut, but God help him, he couldn't. No woman should have to take the abuse of a man's fists, especially not someone as fragilely built as Caitlin.

He narrowed his eyes at Patrick. "Get off my land, you rotten little bastard. The only reason you're so determined to keep your sister at home is because, without her, you won't have any means of keeping yourself in drinking money."

Caitlin clamped a hand over her chest, as if his words were knives being driven straight into her heart. Ace didn't care. Protecting her was all that mattered to him right then, and keeping her away from Patrick had to be a good step in that direction.

"If I see you around here again," he bit out, "I'll stomp the ever-loving shit right out of you. Do you understand me, Patrick? Get off my land, and stay off."

Patrick spat blood. "Come with me, Caitlin. You don't have to stay here."

"She sure as hell does!" Temper was doing Ace's talking for him now. He knew it, but he had crossed over the line. "She's my wife, in case you've forgotten. By law, she belongs with me. At least here, no one will knock the shit out of her."

"Right!" Patrick sneered the word. "Conor O'Shannessy's daughter, and you'll treat her like a regular little princess, won't you?" He shot a look at Caitlin. "This is your last chance, sis. Get your things."

"We're married!" she cried. "I can't just walk away from that. I gave my word, Patrick. Maybe that doesn't mean much to you, but it does to me."

"Your word? Jesus, Caitlin, use your head. I don't care if you slept with him. Short of having you examined by a doctor, he can't very well prove it, can he? We'll have the marriage annulled!"

"No," she said thinly. "I made promises, and unless he releases me from them, I won't break them."

At any other time, Ace might have felt a stab of guilt for holding promises over the girl's head that she hadn't wanted to make. Coming on the heels of Patrick's mistreatment of her, though, he didn't have it in him to feel so much as a trace of remorse. "It'll be a cold day in hell before I release you from your marriage vows," he said succinctly. To Patrick, he added, "Now get on your horse before I decide to finish what I started. Nothing would please me more."

As her brother turned to walk away, Caitlin wrung her hands, her expression one of such torment that Ace reached out to grasp her shoulder. As if his touch were the most vile thing she'd ever encountered, she tried to twist away from him. He clamped down hard to maintain his grip. "He's not badly hurt," he bit out. "Just let him go."

"He's my brother!"

"He's an abusive bastard, that's what he is."

Her blue eyes lifted imploringly to his. "If not for the drink, he never would have hit me. I know you're angry, but, please, don't let him leave thinking he can't ever come back. Please!"

Ace had a feeling that "if not for the drink" was Patrick's favorite song. In Ace's books, that was no excuse, and as far as he was concerned, Caitlin would be better off if she never saw the asshole again.

With one last look toward Caitlin, Patrick headed for his horse. As he saddled up, he cried, "Stay then! Just remember, you've made your bed. The first time he decides to take his temper out on you, don't come running to me. As his wife, you're his property. If you choose to stay here, my hands will be tied."