A Bride for Donnigan (11 page)

He would have loved to show up in town with the black. Everyone around admired the magnificent horse, and Donnigan couldn’t help but feel that the big stallion would make some kind of favorable impression.

But the black hated the harness, and Donnigan knew that he could hardly ask his new wife to climb up behind him and be toted back to the farm cowboy fashion. Then there would be all the trunks and cases that she would have with her. No, it just wouldn’t work to take the saddle horse. Donnigan hitched the team to the wagon and started off to town.

The stage was late. Most of the town didn’t even notice, but the three men who paced back and forth waiting anxiously for its arrival and trying hard to hide their jitters certainly did.

Lucas, who felt in charge because of having collected the passage money from the other two men, pulled out his gold watch on the long gold chain over and over to study the time.

Donnigan simply checked the sky. The sun was moving on past where it should have been at the proper arrival time. Wallis stomped back and forth, back and forth, spitting chewing tobacco at the end of his boots. Then the three would shift positions slightly and begin all over again.

“Fool driver!” exclaimed Wallis angrily, letting go with another streak of brown stain. “Shouldn’t be allowed to fritter away his time and keep workin’ men waitin’.”

Donnigan had to smile in spite of his own impatience.

“Do you want to come over to the hotel for coffee?” asked Lucas hospitably, but just as he asked the question a cloud of dust appeared in the distance.

With the sighting of the stage, Donnigan really felt his stomach begin to rile up. “This is it! This is it for sure,” he said to himself. “There’s no turning back now.”

Then a new thought struck him. “What if she isn’t even on the stage. Maybe she changed her mind or got sick or—”

He felt sudden exultation like he had when he had escaped the bear’s long fangs. But only for a moment. He admitted to himself that even though he was terribly nervous about the whole doings, he would be dreadfully disappointed if she did not show up.

The stage rolled to a halt in a whirl of dust. As the three men held their breath, the stage master stepped forward and opened the door.

Out stepped a lady. She was not too tall, rather pleasingly plump and had a slightly nervous yet generous smile. She scanned the three men before her, then looked again at the tall blond man with the broad shoulders and wide Stetson and gave him a special smile. As Donnigan’s heart leaped in response, Lucas stepped forward.

“Welcome, Miss—?” he said, lifting his hand to doff his hat.

“Kingsley,” said the young woman; her voice was soft and husky with emotion. “Erma Kingsley.”

Lucas suddenly looked as nervous as a schoolboy. “You’re mine,” he blurted, then flushed with embarrassment. “I mean—Lucas Stein here, ma’am.” He reached out a hand and she accepted it.

Donnigan was momentarily disappointed, and then his attention jerked back to the stagecoach where another woman was making her appearance. She was tall and a little stiff, her eyes dark and piercing. She straightened to her full height and surveyed the men. Before any of them could make a move she spoke in broken but careful English, “Which of you is the gentleman Tremont?”

Wallis swallowed his chew of tobacco and his face turned deep red. Donnigan wasn’t sure if it was the fault of the potent chew or his nervousness over meeting his Risa.

At length he seemed to get hold of himself, but not before the woman had given him a dark, stern look.

“Ma’am,” he said and copied what he had seen Lucas do. Only in his great agitation, the hat that he had intended to doff flipped from his shaky fingers and went flying into the dust at his feet. He stammered and stuttered and bent to retrieve it, slapping it on his thigh and making a little puff of dust lift almost in the lady’s face.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he had the good sense to apologize. She did not look pleased.

Donnigan turned his attention back to the stagecoach door. So far two very different women had descended. If Donnigan could have had anything at all to say in the matter, he would have hoped the third one would be somewhat like the first one.

But as he lifted his head, a little wisp of a thing was descending the steps. Maybe his wife-to-be wasn’t on that stage, after all.

The young girl moved slowly toward the little group, and Donnigan noticed that she walked with just the slightest limp. She was a pretty youngster. Donnigan wondered fleetingly if she was the daughter of a local farmer or rancher, but he hadn’t seen her around before. Perhaps she was a visiting niece of someone.

Miss Erma Kingsley turned as the young girl neared them. She spoke again in a voice that didn’t sound quite as strained now. “This is Miss Kathleen O’Malley,” she said evenly, and Donnigan was glad he didn’t have a chaw of tobacco in his lip. He surely would have swallowed it just as Wallis had.

Kathleen O’Malley?
His thoughts ran quickly
But she’s a child. I—I ordered a—a woman.

“I guess you must be Mr. Harrison,” Miss Kingsley said to Donnigan, “as you are the only one left.” She gave him a warm, candid smile and Donnigan found himself wishing again that the fates had been kinder to him. For a brief moment he envied Lucas. Then he turned to the approaching Miss O’Malley and carefully doffed his Stetson.

“Miss,” he said and forced a smile. He could hardly address her as ma’am, now could he?

She returned his smile with a hesitant one of her own—and as Donnigan looked into the clear dark eyes, he felt his heart give a little flip.

Chapter Nine

Adjustments Begin

Kathleen had stopped to take a deep breath before disembarking from the stagecoach. Her heart was thumping and her hands felt sweaty. She straightened her bargain bonnet on her dark curls and smoothed the nearly new gloves over her small hands. Her whole outfit had been purchased in Boston as part of the “passage deal.” It was simple and inexpensive, but it was new. Kathleen was grateful for that. Her own patched wardrobe had been painfully inadequate.

Now as she paused at the top of the steps and brushed the dust and wrinkles from her skirts, she took one more deep breath.
Please
, she begged whoever was “in charge,”
Please let him be Irish.

There was a little cluster before her when she stepped out. For a minute she stopped and squinted into the harsh afternoon sun, letting her eyes adjust from the dark interior of the stage.

There was Erma, already smiling confidently at a short, well-dressed, bespectacled gentleman who stood with his watch still in his hand as though he were timing something. “Surely he’s not,” Kathleen murmured under her breath, then quickly switched to, “He must be Mr. Stein.” The gentleman was well into his forties, she guessed.

Kathleen’s eyes shifted quickly to the other little man who was bustling about, thumping his hat against his leg and grinning rather ridiculously. The stern Risa stood frowning at him—and Kathleen judged that she was looking at another “match.” The man was rather ill-kept, but his hair was slicked down and his face shining from a morning scrubbing. Kathleen judged him to be even a bit older than Mr. Stein.

“But I don’t see Donnigan,” she whispered to herself, and a stab of fear shot through her. Had there been a mistake? Had Mr. Jenks sent her all this long way out west with the name of a man who didn’t really exist—just for spite?

Then her eyes looked beyond the two couples and she saw another man. Tall and broad and blond—and looking pained and worried. For a moment she thought she was looking at the very man Erma had described to her on board ship. Surely—surely this was Erma’s intended. But no. Erma was already paired.

“Sure now, and he’s a—a giant,” Kathleen mused, her feet refusing to move farther. Just as she thought of turning and retreating to the safety of the stagecoach, the man looked up, seemed to realize who she was, and smiled. In that one warm, nervous smile, Kathleen saw a reflection of her own feelings. She managed a tentative smile in return—and then he was moving toward her with confidence and more grace than she would have expected from such a large man. Kathleen stepped forward to meet him. One thought was uppermost in her mind.
He’s not Irish—and that’s the truth of it.

Lucas had made arrangements for them all to take tea together at his hotel. “We need to get acquainted,” he’d said calmly to Wallis and Donnigan, and the two men had nodded in agreement. Donnigan had been glad to let Lucas take charge.

Now Lucas cleared his throat, nodded his head to Will, one of his hired hands, and offered his arm to Erma, who accepted it with a slight flushing of her round, dimpling cheeks.

“You must be weary. All of you,” said Lucas, letting his glance take in the three women. “It’s a long, tiring trip. We will take tea at the hotel.”

Donnigan noticed that he didn’t say “my hotel,” though he could have. Lucas already owned half the little town.

Wallis, who still hadn’t put his hat back on his head, self-consciously stuck an elbow out in the direction of Risa. She appeared not to notice.

Donnigan turned to Kathleen. She looked so tiny. So frail. So very young. His immediate instincts were to protect her. He reached to place his hand under her elbow to guide her across the roughness of the town’s main street.
She shouldn’t be in the West
, he found himself thinking.
It’s too harsh. Too rugged. She’ll—she’ll—

But she interrupted his thoughts. “Sure now, and I’m glad to be back on my own two feet.” Then Kathleen bit her lip, remembering that men do not like chattering women.

He couldn’t help but grin. Her accent was so thick that he had to concentrate to catch the words. She sure did talk cute.

He did have presence of mind enough to offer, “How long have you been traveling?”

It was Kathleen’s turn to strain to untangle the strange-sounding words. My, he had an odd accent. She had never heard one speak in that manner before. He sure wasn’t Irish.

She shook her head. She still felt nervous—almost to the point of being giddy, but she controlled her voice the best she could and replied softly, “I’m not sure.” The “r” seemed to roll on her tongue. “It seems forever. The ship—then the train—then this here fancy cart.” She nodded her head back in the direction of the stage, and Donnigan would have laughed except he saw the seriousness in her little face.

They reached the hotel and followed Lucas, who led the way with Erma. Donnigan could see the eyes of the three women carefully scanning the interior. It was really quite a nice hotel for such a small town. But then, Lucas did everything in splendid fashion.

The little side room was especially ornate. Donnigan found himself wondering if Lucas had carefully redone it for just this occasion. He heard Erma exclaim “Oh, my!” as her eyes surveyed the room and a smile deepened the dimples.

Risa slyly took in the room in one quick glance, and Donnigan wondered if he hadn’t seen her eyes light up briefly.

But it was Kathleen who captured his attention. He heard her quick intake of breath and saw her dark eyes widen as they quickly scanned the room. Pleasure and wonder seemed to eminate from her very being. Some word escaped her lips, though he wasn’t able to catch it because of her heavy accent.

She likes pretty things
, he observed, and it pleased him. Then he thought of his own plain cabin. Certainly there were no plush draperies, brocaded settees, ornate wallpapers, or thick carpets there. Stirrings of concern tightened his throat again.

But Lucas was inviting them to the linened table and nodding toward the side door to a waiter who stood ready to give the signal to the kitchen staff.

Donnigan was surprised by the whole affair. He had thought he knew Lucas. Now he realized that he really did not. It became clear that the man had class far more befitting an eastern city than their little town. He was refined, gentlemanly, almost suave.
He sure must have been studying his books or practicing somewhere
, Donnigan observed silently.
He sure didn’t learn all this around here.

The truth was, unknown to any of the town folk, Lucas had spent considerable time in careful research and preparation for the event. And he had practiced, night after night, in his own suite of rooms until he felt he would be totally comfortable in his new role.