Pioneer Longing: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four Read online

  Pioneer Longing

  The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four

  Ramona Flightner

  Grizzly Damsel Publishing

  Copyright © 2020 by Ramona Flightner

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its publisher, Ramona Flightner and Grizzly Damsel Publishing. Copyright protection extends to all excerpts and previews by this author included in this book.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. The author or publisher is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Cover design by Jennifer Quinlan.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

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  Also by Ramona Flightner

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Missouri River, May 1866

  Hell must feel like this, Eamon O’Rourke said to himself, as he felt he were on the verge of being baked alive. With a groan, he sat down and stared with abject longing at the river rumbling by. Although it appeared calm at the surface, he had seen its power as it ripped pieces of riverbank loose and smashed driftwood into the hull of the steamboat. He knew it would be foolish to attempt to swim or bathe in the rapid current, but he yearned for just such a respite from the heat on this early May day. Instead today’s entertainment consisted of watching the steamboat captain discern how to maneuver the stranded vessel over a sandbar that stretched the width of the river.

  “Ugh,” moaned his younger brother and best friend, Finn, as he flopped onto his back beside Eamon. Less than two years separated them in age, and they looked and acted so much alike that they were affectionately called the twins. “I can’t believe you’re not upset that we’re just stuck here.” After months in Saint Louis, his voice now only held a hint of his native Ireland.

  Eamon crossed his long legs, a boot heel digging into the dirt as he rested on his back, his hat covering his face and protecting him from the harsh midday sun. “What is there to do, Finn?” He yawned. “I’d take a nap, but it’s too hot. An’ the women have congregated in the bushes, takin’ all the shade.”

  “Aye, an’ we’re too sweaty after unloading all the cargo. I can only imagine what the women would say should we invade their space.”

  Eamon grunted his agreement. “I’ve no desire to loiter nearer the boat, or the captain would put us to work again,” he muttered. “I’ve no patience for the man’s ineptitude. Nor do I wish to drown because one of his harebrained ideas doesn’t work.”

  The captain had hoped the steamboat could slip over the sandbar, if the boat were empty. However, that had proved a fruitless endeavor, and now tons of supplies and materials bound for Fort Benton lay scattered along the riverbank, as they waited to see if the captain had the ability to outmaneuver the river. The poorer men who slept on the ship’s deck now acted like an extension of the captain’s crew, working to tug the steamboat up the river with heavy ropes.

  “Da will be upset if we lose our cargo,” Finn said, as he sat up, resting on one elbow as he watched the ongoing struggle with the steamboat.

  “Where is it to go, Finn?” Eamon asked, his voice tinged with exasperation. “We’re sittin’ here in the middle of nowhere. The Indians might attack, but, other than that, our cargo will arrive fine. As long as that man can figure out how to continue the journey upriver.” Eamon also sat up to lean on his elbows, his hat now on his chest, as he stared at the moored boat and the captain waving his arms about in an ineffectual manner. “Eejit.”

  “Ah, the captain’s a nice man,” Finn protested.

  “Nice isn’t goin’ to get the bluidy thing movin’,” Eamon said, sounding more like his father, Seamus. Eamon sighed and glanced around, his gaze pausing on a small group of women sitting in the shade of cottonwood trees closer to the riverbank. “I wish they weren’t so unsociable. There’s no reason they should hoard all the shade.”

  Finn groaned and laid on his back again. “I’d rather stare at the sky and try to find shapes in the clouds. Who needs to have another argument with the likes of Winnifred Mortimer?”

  Eamon laughed. “You’re upset she took an instant dislike to you. Every other lass has thought you charming.” Eamon peered down the slight slope at the group he barely saw in the shadows. “Phoebe is nice.”

  “As nice as Lorena is boring,” Finn said, as he sighed and rolled to his belly. He yanked on a piece of prairie grass and tore it into small pieces.

  “She can’t help preferring to read,” Eamon said with a chuckle. “Don’t you find it remarkable they’re sisters? They barely look anything alike.”

  “’Tis odd,” his brother muttered, as he stared at Eamon with intrigue in his gaze. “Makes me wonder if there isn’t more to their story. How can they be sisters with the same parents if they only share eye color? Maybe they’re like our brothers, Henri and Luc, or the younger lads.”

  Eamon nodded, thinking about his large family and the siblings he shared with Finn who were only half siblings. Three of his youngest brothers—Niall, Oran, and Bryan—had a different mother. And Lucien and Henri had a different father. However, all seven siblings who shared Seamus and Mary as parents considered their half siblings as full siblings, wholly accepting them into the sprawling O’Rourke family. “If there is a story, I doubt they’ll ever share it with us. Winnifred would kill you first. Lorena barely speaks to us, an’ Phoebe …” He shrugged.

  Finn sighed. “Phoebe’s too afraid of her own shadow around you.” He smirked when Eamon stared at him in bewilderment. “Besides,” Finn said, yawning, “I heard one of the sisters whining in their cabin that, if it were the last thing she ever did, she would ensure they were seen as respectable.”

  “Hmm,” Eamon said, chewing on a piece of prairie grass, as he stared in the direction of the cottonwoods. “Which means something must make them disreputable.”

  Finn laughed. “Of that there is no doubt. Winnifred is proof.”

  Eamon rolled his eyes at Finn’s dislike of the youngest Mortimer sister. They had met the sisters on the first night of their journey, and, during the subsequent weeks, Eamon had forged a friendship of sorts with the middle sister, Phoebe, while Finn and Winnifred relished each verbal sparring match. Lorena ignored them, preferring to read or to stare ou
t at the river.

  After a long pause, Eamon murmured, “I imagine many would claim one of the O’Rourkes is boring.” He saw Finn tilt his head to one side as he picked up on an earlier comment before Finn speared him with a baleful stare.

  “Who? An’ which one of us? Ardan?” Finn shook his head. “He’s responsible and the eldest. Kevin’s not dull, not after he fought Declan in a saloon brawl for his wife.”

  They snickered. “Wish we could have seen that,” Eamon said with an aggrieved sigh. “And now Declan’s decided to separate from the family for another year. It makes no sense.” He shook his head in frustration.

  Finn shrugged and blew on his blade of grass, hoping to make a whistle. When he was unsuccessful, he focused on his brother again. “Dec will come around and will realize he wants to return home. He has to lick his wounds first.”

  “Fine, but you’re the one tellin’ Mum why her son isn’t coming home,” Eamon said. When Finn shook his head, Eamon groaned. “I wonder what’s happened while we’ve been away? Do you think Niamh is finally happy with Connor?”

  Finn snorted. “How could anyone be happy with him? If she’s lucky, he’s died.”

  “Finn!” Eamon hissed and then shook his head. “’Tis blasphemous to wish for another’s demise.” When his younger brother and closest friend shrugged unrepentantly, Eamon grinned at him. “Although I’ve wished for the same thing since she married the man. I’ll never find myself in a situation where I have to marry a woman I don’t know or love.”

  Finn rolled onto his back and dropped his bent arm over his eyes. “I’ll never marry. Perhaps I’ll start visiting the women at the Bordello.” He yelped when Eamon hit him on his arm.

  “You know Da would scalp you if you did.”

  “I wonder if wee Maggie has finally realized how much Dunmore cares for her?” Finn murmured.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Eamon said with a huff of indignation. “She’s too young. She’s barely eighteen.” He paused, as though envisioning his youngest sister. “We need time with her before she’s taken away from us again.”

  “Aye, but she might have other ideas. Eighteen isn’t too young to marry, Eamon.” He stared wickedly at his brother. “Just because you’re twenty-three, with no desire to wed, doesn’t mean she won’t want to.”

  Brushing off a sense of foreboding and an impending sense of loss, Eamon stood. “Come. Let’s rile the womenfolk. It’s been too quiet a day, and I’m bored.”

  Finn rose with alacrity. “Oh, yes.”

  * * *

  Phoebe Mortimer tucked a strand of blond hair behind one ear, giving up her attempt to keep her long hair tamed. She glanced at the expanse of prairie in the distance as the river gurgled nearby, silently asking herself why she cared what she looked like in such a wild place. Her sisters did not seem concerned, which was highly unusual for them, as appearances were paramount to them. Phoebe frowned as she realized the majority of the men on the steamboat had largely given them a wide berth. “It’s as though we have the plague,” she muttered to herself.

  Although she yearned for more company than her sisters, Phoebe was thankful for their companionship. She had never realized how boring a river trip could be, nor how tedious the travel would become during the months-long journey from Saint Louis to Fort Benton. She rested on a tree stump under a grove of cottonwood trees, grateful for the shade on the blindingly bright day. Her youngest sister, Winnifred, had insisted the cool sheltered area was solely for the women, and the men had agreed after a little grumbling.

  “Stop sighing like a you’ve lost your greatest love,” Winnifred hissed, as she rested on the ground, her back against a tree trunk. Her long black hair flowed around her shoulders, as she worked out knots before braiding it again. “Be thankful I chased the men away, and we don’t have to listen to their mindless boasting about embarrassing body functions.”

  Phoebe giggled and shook her head. “You’re incorrigible, Winnie.”

  “You only protest about their presence because you’re annoyed that the younger O’Rourke brother is as witty as you are,” their eldest sister, Lorena, called out. She sat on a rock, rereading a novel, her red hair pulled back in a bun.

  “At least he notices me,” Winnifred said with a pouty snicker. “The other one barely gives poor Phoebe the time of day.”

  Phoebe flinched and looked down at her hands, now clenching her skirts. She forced her fingers to relax, as she feared she’d rend the cloth in her agitation at her sister’s words. “I don’t know what you imply.”

  “Protest all you want,” her younger sister proclaimed. “I know you’re bothered he’s taken no notice of you, other than to talk about the weather or the progress we make each day.”

  Phoebe rose and walked to the edge of the shadowed space, fighting an urge to storm away from her sister’s hurtful words. However, unable to forego her peacemaking nature, she murmured her agreement. “I’ve always known I was the plainest of the three of us,” she whispered in a voice that didn’t carry to her sisters. She smoothed a hand down her navy cotton skirts again.

  When she heard the voices of the O’Rourke brothers approaching, she admitted to herself that they were the reason why she tried to appear put together. Since she had first seen them on the steamboat, she had felt an affinity with them. Upon meeting the brothers, her attraction to the older brother, Eamon, had grown. However, Eamon seemed interested in just a friendship, and she feared he only saw her as another sibling, not as a woman he would choose to court and to wed.

  She shook her head in consternation, as she knew she should not be concerning herself with thoughts of marriage. She should be worried about locating her uncle and ensuring all the sisters were taken care of. Admonishing herself for her selfish thoughts, she turned with an impersonal smile to greet the brothers as they stepped into the shaded area. “Hello,” she breathed.

  “Miss Mortimer,” Finn said with a smile.

  Winnifred snorted from the ground. “You could be speaking to the three of us, not Phoebe.”

  “Aye, I could, but seein’ as you’re sitting on the ground on an ant hill, an’ your other sister is engaged in a book, I thought I’d address my greeting to the woman who seemed sensible and friendly.” Finn’s blue eyes flashed with distaste as he stared at Winnifred. When she jumped up and patted at her skirts, belatedly realizing they were covered in red ants, he chuckled.

  Eamon bit back a laugh, as he slapped a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “Hello, Miss Phoebe,” he said in his low baritone, his cobalt-blue eyes focusing on her for a moment. “’Tis lovely to see you and your sisters. We hope you don’t mind us invading your sanctuary, but we found ourselves in need of company.”

  At Winnifred’s snort of disbelief, Phoebe approached them and motioned for the brothers to join her sisters. She glared at her youngest sister, until Winnifred bit her lip and quieted. “We are uncertain how long we are to wait.”

  Eamon looked at the boat and shrugged. “I fear it could be a day or two, until they discern what’s to be done.”

  “Must we sleep off the boat?”

  Eamon shrugged. “I doubt they’d ask that of you, Miss Phoebe. Although I imagine we’ll have to be careful, as we are more vulnerable to an Indian attack while tied up on the side of the river at night.”

  “Attack?” Phoebe gasped, paling.

  “Eamon,” Finn muttered, hitting Eamon’s arm.

  At Winnifred’s proclamation that she could shoot better than any man present, Finn wandered off to bicker with her, leaving Phoebe and Eamon alone. “You are well, miss?” he asked. At her subtle nod, he whispered, “Do you need anything?”

  She shrugged. “I need to be on my way to Fort Benton so we can begin our journey into Montana Territory. We need to reunite with our uncle.”

  Eamon stared at her in confusion. “That’s why you’re travelin’ upriver?”

  “Yes. He wrote us last summer, when it was already too late to travel to the Territory, a
sking us to join him.”

  “He’s your reason for travel?” At her shrug, he smiled. “I assumed you were mail order brides and already promised to men upstream.”

  She gasped and shook her head frantically. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” Biting her lip to cease repeating the same word like a senseless ninny, she blushed as bright as the previous night’s sunset. “I don’t know how you could have come to that erroneous conclusion.”

  Eamon’s lips quirked up into a smile, and he ran a hand through his inky-black hair, now longer than usual, as he mimicked his older brother, Declan. “My second-eldest brother, Kevin, met a woman on a steamboat last year. She was promised to my brother Declan, although neither knew it.”

  Phoebe gasped, her green eyes lit with interest. “What happened? Did he break your brother’s heart?” Her gaze veered to her sisters and then back to Eamon, and she fidgeted under his astute gaze.

  “No, Declan didn’t know Aileen as Kev did. Declan didn’t care for her as Kev did. In the end, Kevin married her, after rescuing her from the Bordello.” When she gasped again, he winked at her. “So, you can see why I’d be cautious about meeting a woman on the steamboat.”

  Preening a little, Phoebe tilted her head back, hoping it showed off the fine length of her neck or the delicate curve of her earlobe.

  “Besides, you remind me of my youngest sister, Maggie. ’Tis always nice to have good company on a long journey.”

  Fighting the urge to collapse at his feet in dismay, amid a pool of petticoats and lace-edged skirts, she looked away from him on the pretense of studying the men working on the steamboat. After blinking rapidly to clear her eyes of unwanted—and, she feared, unwarranted—tears, she motioned in the direction of the men laboring to move the steamboat over the sandbar. “It seems they need strong men to aid the captain’s plan. Why don’t you and your brother help?” she asked, clearing her throat to rid it of any huskiness, following her emotional response to him seeing her as a sister.