Keegan's Lady (10 page)

"There is another alternative." Caitlin rubbed her palms on her jeans, a pair of Patrick's hand-me-downs she'd confiscated to wear while working around the ranch. "I know it seems drastic, but we could sell this place." When her brother shot her a horrified look, she held up a staying hand. "Just think about it, Paddy. That's all I'm asking. We could pay Keegan off, and we'd still have plenty of money left over to make a fresh start somewhere else. You and me, in a completely new place. Wouldn't that be grand?"

Patrick's gaze shifted away from her and became fixed. "We can't sell the ranch, Caitlin." His voice sounded oddly scratchy. "I, um, took out a mortgage against it."

Caitlin wasn't sure she'd heard him right. "You what?"

"I invested in some of that railroad spur land," he said softly. "To get the money, I had to mortgage the ranch. If we sold out now, we wouldn't have two nickels to rub together after we paid everyone off."

Caitlin felt a falling sensation that bottomed out with such abruptness her legs jerked. "Railroad spur land?"

She had suspected. Even though she and Patrick had discussed such a move and agreed it was unethical, she had suspected. A dizzy feeling filled her head, and she held onto the counter for support. "Oh, Patrick. I was afraid you might have done something like that, but I figured you probably used the money you stole from me.

"I didn't exactly steal it. Borrowed, more like. I'll pay it back. As for using it to invest, it was only a thousand dollars, Caitlin. That much wouldn't have gone far to buy up a lot of land."

"Oh, Patrick, how could you?"

"I was drunk," he said hollowly. "My friends were all talking about what a great opportunity it was. Before I knew it, I was over at Barbary Coast Mortgage signing my name on the bottom line." He gestured feebly with one hand. "I, um, wanted to tell you. Almost did a couple of times. But I knew you'd pitch such a fit, I never got up my nerve."

"Your nerve? And how about the poor dirt farmers whose land you've bought? That takes nerve, Patrick, God forgive you."' Caitlin thought of the social the church was holding at the end of the month to raise money for those farmers, of all the hours she'd invested in the planning. And now she discovered her brother had mortgaged their ranch to take advantage of their misfortune?

"Those poor people have sweat blood on those parcels of land," she said shakily. "For years. Now, when a railroad company may come along and make all their toil worthwhile by buying their acreages at premium prices, you waltz in for a song and stand to make all the profit?"

Patrick pushed to his feet, his tautly held body swaying slightly from the lingering effects of whiskey. Looking into his eyes, Caitlin knew she should keep her mouth shut, that to anger him right now might be a grave mistake, but her Irish got the best of her.

"Blast you, Patrick! And blast your damnable whiskey! How could you do such a thing when you knew how strongly I felt about it! While you were off signing your name on that bottom line, I was here keeping this place afloat." She held out her hands. "Bloody blisters! Working until I could scarcely walk. And all for what? So you could cheat people?"

Patrick doubled his fists. The wildness she'd come to dread was there in his eyes. "Those farmers were already mortgaged up to their eyebrows because of the drought!" he shot back. "It's not my fault it didn't rain for two goddamned years! They would've lost their shirts, no matter what. Buying their land before they lost it saved them from complete financial ruin!"

"I've already heard all the arguments, thank you very much. Please spare me. The end result is, you'll make money, and those poor people will crawl away with little more than the clothes on their backs. I find that disgusting and indefensible."

His fist still knotted, Patrick jutted out one rigid finger and shook it under her nose. "Shut your mouth!" he bit out. "Or so help me God, I'll shut it for you! You're just a woman. What do you know about business? I did it. It's done. Live with it!"

For the first time, Caitlin felt afraid of her brother. For a terrible moment, she nearly gave way to the habits of a lifetime and backed away from him. Then outrage filled her. "If you're going to hit me, Patrick, do it," she said in a voice pitched to a throbbing whisper. "Just understand that if you do, it will be the one and only time. You aren't our father. You can't make me stay here and suffer your abuse. I'll be gone so fast it will make your head swim."

Seconds passed. She heard the clock ticking. The labored rasp of Patrick's breathing filled the air. He stared at her, his anger a pulsating, suffocating thickness between them. Then he blinked.

"I have never lifted a hand to you in my entire life," he rasped. "How can you think I might now?"

Caitlin brushed his hand away, watched his arm fall limply to his side. "When a man shoves his fist in my face, I tend to anticipate a blow. I wonder why?"

A muscle in Patrick's cheek twitched, and his blue eyes grew suspiciously bright. "I'd never hit you, Caitlin. I'm sorry I mouthed off like I might. It's just—" He spun away and raked a hand through his tousled hair, "My head's splitting, that's all. You yelling feels like a knife slicing through my brains." He planted his hands on his hips, leaned his head back, and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry about mortgaging the ranch. Sorry I invested in the railroad spur land. I know it was wrong. That's why I couldn't bring myself to tell you. Because I knew you'd detest me for it, and I was ashamed."

Caitlin pressed a hand to her turning stomach. Following her brother's example, she took a deep, calming breath. "I don't detest you, Patrick. I'm angry, yes. It was a stupid, thoughtless thing to do. But I don't hate you."

He opened his eyes. The smile he flashed was ill-timed and pathetically shaky. "Wanna haul out the paddle? I'll grab my ankles and take my licks. Just like the old days. Only, please, don't talk about leaving. Okay? I, um . . ." His mouth twisted. "I need you right now, Caitie. I'm never gonna make it without you."

She couldn't remember the last time he'd called her Caitie. A burning sensation washed over her eyes. She stood there, wrestling with her anger and a pain that cut so deep, it hurt to breathe. He had come just that close to striking her. She'd seen it in his eyes.

But he hadn't. That was the important thing, what she should focus on. Their father had never hesitated. If nothing else, this confrontation drove home to her that Patrick was nothing like Conor. No matter what he'd done—no matter what he still might do—there was hope for him. As long as there was hope, she couldn't turn her back on him.

Trying to inject a note of teasing into her tremulous voice, she said, "I only took the paddle to you once, Patrick O'Shannessy, and that was when you nearly blew your head off, playing with Pa's pistol."

"Yeah, well. . . you made that one time stick in my memory."

Unaware until that instant that she'd knotted her hands, Caitlin flexed her fingers. "You never played with guns again."

His gaze clung to hers, his expression aching with regret. "I'll never shake my fist at you again, either."

Caitlin didn't feel herself move. The next thing she knew, she was in her brother's arms, hugging his neck fiercely. "Oh, Patrick, what am I going to do with you?"

"Love me. Just love me, Caitie. Don't give up on me. Please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sorry wasn't going to get them out of this fix. Caitlin ran a hand into his hair. She wished he were a little boy again, that she could still try to make everything all right simply by hugging him and telling him it was so.

"The ranch," she whispered. "If it's mortgaged, we can't sell it. And that means even more in payments. What're we going to do?"

He pressed his face against her hair, clung to her. "As much as I hate to say it, I think we better hope and pray that investment I made on the railroad land pays off. If it does, we'll be okay. It's just going to take a few months."

Tightening his arms around her waist, he began to sway with her. She wasn't sure if he was trying to soothe her or himself. "I'm sorry I went against your wishes and made the investment. All I can say in my defense is that I got drunk. I won't again, Caitlin. I need you to believe in me, that's all."

"I do," she whispered. "We'll find a way out of this, Paddy. Somehow. We've been through worse."

They held each other for a long while, remembering those times when all they'd had was their love to get them through. When Caitlin finally drew away, she felt strengthened. There had to be a way to make payments to Keegan and keep abreast of the mortgage installments. Other people had debts, after all, and they seemed to manage. It would mean a lot of hard work, but neither she nor Patrick was a stranger to that.

"Sit down." She patted his arm, then gave it a squeeze. "I'll finish fixing you some breakfast."

Patrick's stride was a little unsteady as he returned to the table. "I'm not sure I can eat."

"You have to try. Otherwise you'll feel sick all day."

As she moved across the kitchen to get the bowl of flapjack batter, Caitlin peeked out the window at the barn. She half expected to see Keegan standing in the doorway. He wasn't, of course. But that didn't make her feel much better.

As she returned to the stove, she glanced back at her brother, who was rubbing his temples, clearly suffering. "I don't want you going off alone for the next few days, Patrick." Batter sizzled as she poured a measure onto the greased griddle. Within moments, the smell of hot flapjacks filled the air. "Please, promise me you won't."

He glanced up at her through splayed fingers. "I won't. You can bet on that, and the same precautions should apply to you. Last night, you got off lucky. If the bastard comes back, he might hold you to that bargain you made with him."

Trapped. That was how she felt. With a lien against the ranch, they couldn't sell the place and leave. No way out. During the night and first thing this morning, she'd comforted herself with the thought that she and Patrick could pay Keegan off and skedaddle. No unholy bargain. No moment of reckoning.

Caitlin couldn't quite bring herself to meet Patrick's gaze for fear he might read more in her eyes than she wanted him to. Last night she had deliberately neglected to tell him anything about Keegan's mention of a raincheck. If Patrick found out, she was afraid he'd go off half cocked and do something incredibly stupid, like challenge Keegan to another gunfight.

Keeping her expression carefully blank, she said, "Oh, I rather doubt he'll be back."

"Nonetheless, sis, I'd appreciate it if you'd be extra careful the next few days. You don't want to be caught off alone, away from the house, any more than I do."

If Keegan did come back, Caitlin prayed she would be alone. God forbid that there should be a confrontation. Patrick wouldn't stand a chance against Keegan, with fists or guns. "I have to cut and bale more grass hay today," she reminded him. "We can't count on this dry weather to hold much longer, and we can't afford to lose any of the crop."

"I'll go out with you then and help."

Sitting with his elbows propped on the scarred mahogany table and his chin cupped in one hand, Patrick looked in no shape to put in a long day of physical labor. His eyes were rimmed with red. His face was pale. With his hair standing on end from sleep and still wearing the clothes he'd had on last night, he looked as if he'd been dragged behind a horse for several miles.

"Are you sure you feel up to working?"

"I'll manage."

"You look like you need"—she nearly said some hair off the dog that bit you, but caught herself just in time— "to sleep a few more hours."

"
Nan
, I'll be fine."

His willingness to help with the heavy work was such a welcome change that Caitlin hated to discourage him.

"Well, I'll certainly appreciate the extra pair of hands," she finally said. "Hank and Shorty do what they can, but there's only so much they're still capable of. That's not to mention I'll enjoy your company. It's been a while since we worked together." She flashed him a smile. "I miss sitting with you in the sunshine, having lunch and talking. I tend not to take as many breaks because it seems so lonely."

"Yeah, well... I apologize for that. No more, hmm? I'll stay away from the whiskey and start taking care of things around here again like I should. I know it's been hard on you."

Her brother turned a little green when she put two flapjacks on his plate. Smiling sympathetically, she set out the butter and honey, then left him to manage breakfast the best way he could while she went to gather the eggs.

En route to the henhouse, she had to walk directly past the barn. Perhaps it was morbid curiosity, or simply a need to face her demons, but she felt compelled to step inside. The empty noose still hung from the rafter, silent testimony to the tragedy that had almost occurred.

Unable to bear the sight of it, and not wanting Patrick to have to either, Caitlin took the rope down and tossed it in a corner already piled knee-high with junk. Unfortunately, Ace Keegan's presence in the barn wasn't quite so easy to dispel. Everywhere she turned, something reminded her of him.

No stranger to bad memories and how to deal with them, she forced herself to stand in the gloom until her fear receded a bit. Then she closed her eyes, recalling how she and Patrick had played in here on rainy days when they were small, the barn their only refuge because their father was in the house. Playing hide and seek. Swinging from a rope onto a hay pile. Pretending they were the cavalry fighting off make-believe Indians. Good times. Happy memories to help shove away the bad.