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

  “Two of them are. One, the blond, accepted her uncle’s offer to see the sights of the town with him.”

  Seamus rocked back on his heels, frowning. “The sights of this town? You know as well as I do, the only thing to see is one saloon after another an’ which man can piss farther.” He shook his head.

  The hotelier choked on a snicker. “Yes, and that’s the daytime activities.”

  Stilling at the quiet warning in the other man’s voice, Seamus murmured, “What do you know? What aren’t you telling me, Foster?”

  “I hear rumors, working at the hotel and so near my saloon.” He glanced over Seamus’s shoulder and nodded, satisfied no one was interested in his conversation with the shop owner. “Chaffee is keeping interesting company. He’s made friends with that man, Bell, who just opened up a new saloon a few doors down from me and next to your café.” He paused. “Called the Daybreak, it’s intent on luring customers away from the Sunrise Saloon. I’ve heard they are interested in competing with the Bordello.”

  Eamon took a step closer and glared at Foster. “Why would that have anything to do with Phoebe?”

  “Ah, a lovely name for a lovely young woman,” Aaron said. “Many would be willing to part with their cash or gold dust for time with such a lass.”

  Seamus grabbed Eamon’s arm to prevent him from vaulting over the hotel desk and pummeling the man. “No, son,” he rasped. He glared at Foster. “How could you have allowed her to leave with the man?”

  “How could I not have?” Foster countered. “I’m no relation. Besides, if he is her uncle, he has more right to determine what is appropriate for her than I do.”

  Studying him, Seamus whispered, “What’s he have on you?” When the proprietor remained quiet, Seamus swore under his breath and pushed his son outside. When they stood on the boardwalk again, he murmured, “Calm down. You won’t help the lass if you act like an eejit, attacking anyone who offends you.” He took a deep breath. “We have to keep cool heads if we’re to rescue your lass. An’ we have to find a way to protect the other ones too.”

  * * *

  Phoebe walked beside her uncle, casting furtive glances in his direction, as he seemed to be showing her off to the men who gazed at her with lascivious stares. She ducked her head, wishing she had worn her drabbest clothes and that she had a shawl to cover her shoulders and bosom, as she had no desire for these men to stare their full of her in her finery.

  She looked away from the bustling levee and the mounds of barrels, crates, and other supplies left to be distributed to shops in town and delivered throughout the growing Territory. Instead she focused on the land across from the ever-flowing river, dreaming of boarding a small vessel and floating away from the man beside her.

  Wishing she had found a way to convince her sisters to ignore her uncle’s letter months ago, encouraging them to travel to Fort Benton, she fought a profound sense of unease. Silently berating herself for her desire to placate him and to accept his tour of the town, she focused on her surroundings.

  A spit of land jutted out on the opposite side of the river before rising into cliffs that towered over the river and the small town. Although they were majestic and beautiful, at this moment, the cliffs made her feel caged in. As though they were contriving to keep her in a dangerous place. If possible, she would stand here, staring at the river and cliffs until suppertime.

  “Stop your dawdling,” her uncle hissed, as he grabbed her arm and towed her down the boardwalk. He jerked her upright when she stumbled, ignoring her cry of pain. “A friend of mine is eager to meet you.”

  Gasping for breath as she trotted beside her uncle, while he walked at an unforgiving pace, she saw an attractive woman, dressed in navy satin, watching her with concern. She sent her a pleading look but had to focus on the uneven boardwalk or risk falling. When her uncle pulled her into a saloon, she dug her heels into the boardwalk. However, she was no match for his strength, and she toppled forward, landing with a thud on her hands and knees in the darkened interior.

  Laughter and conversation halted at her precipitous arrival, and she looked up in horror to find every man in the room watching her lewdly. After pushing herself up, she brushed at her skirts, wincing at the splinters in her palms.

  “Uriah!” a man boomed from the shadows. “How delightful to see you. And how marvelous you’ve arrived with such an eager lass.”

  Phoebe took a step backward, squealing when she stepped into a man who had sidled up behind her. She moved away from him, forcing herself to take deep breaths in an attempt to calm her panic. She feared what would happen were she to lose consciousness. “I am not eager, sir. I have been manhandled into coming into this den of iniquity. I am most eager to depart.”

  The man laughed. Rather than soothing her fraying nerves, it sent the hair on her arms on edge and a shiver down her spine, for no sympathy was in his tone. Instead, amusement at her predicament shone through. He stepped from the shadows, and she swallowed. Unable to hide her reaction, her eyes rounded, and she felt lightheaded. She dug her nails into her hands so she would not faint.

  The man was a giant at well over six feet tall. He had a large muscular chest that rippled with movement, and she had no doubt he could pick her up with one arm. His long mahogany-colored hair was tied back, and his brown eyes held no sympathy.

  Phoebe thrust her shoulders back, meeting his stare, as she forced a bravado she did not feel. “You have no right to detain me here.”

  “Uriah?” the man asked.

  “She is my niece,” Uriah murmured. “None will come to protest.”

  “Excellent,” the giant said, as he reached for her. His hand slid down the silky material of her dress to rest on her waist. He smiled at the panic she could not hide in her gaze as she swatted at his hand. “Tonight, we’ll make a fortune off you.”

  “No,” she gasped, looking around the room for someone to show her mercy. None were to be found, and she shrieked as she was tossed over the giant’s shoulder, carried away to an upstairs room.

  Chapter 4

  “She can’t have disappeared into thin air,” Eamon muttered, as he stared up and down the boardwalk. His gaze searched for some sign of her beautiful dress, of her shiny blond hair. Of her mesmerizing green eyes.

  “Nay,” his da said. “Somethin’s afoot, but I don’t know what it is. Too many newcomers are come to town, and I don’t know them all.” He sighed, as he rubbed at his head. “I understand the desire to earn money, but I don’t understand the desire to harm innocents in the pursuit of profit.”

  Eamon watched the Daybreak Saloon, his mood souring the longer he studied it. The most disreputable men seemed drawn to the establishment. “Why’d we need more saloons?”

  “Ah, lad, you know there will always be work helping those who are thirsty,” Seamus said. He paused. “One person in town always knows what’s going on. The Madam. Come. Let’s visit her.”

  Eamon gripped his father’s jacket, stilling his da’s movement to the Bordello. “Da, you always told me that I was never to enter such a place.”

  “Aye, and you’re not. But this is a special circumstance. And we must do what we can to help your lass.” He paused as he studied his son, who appeared embarrassed by his words. “She is your lass?”

  Eamon shrugged. “I don’t know what she is, Da. I like her. She’s nice. But I know I’ll never marry.”

  “Never marry? What sort of nonsense is this?” His da gazed at him with concern. “You’ll wed and have fine strong lads, like you.”

  Flushing under his father’s praise and words of confidence, Eamon whispered, “I have no faith in constancy or forever, Da. And that’s not fair for a woman. She would want more. Deserve more.”

  Seamus made a sound of displeasure before pulling his son into motion. “’Tis a conversation for another day. For now, we must find your Phoebe. For she’s your friend, if not your future wife.” Ignoring his son’s sputter of protest at the use of the word wife, Seamus knocked o
n the Bordello door. It was early yet for many visitors, and he was not here as a patron.

  Ezra, the Bordello’s protector, answered the door with his billy club in his hand. When he saw Seamus, he relaxed. “’Bout time you showed up. The Madam was about to send for you.” He motioned for Seamus and Eamon to go down the long hallway to the Madam’s private office.

  Eamon peered at the infamous interior in awe. Comfortable chairs were scattered around the room in dark nooks and crannies for men to acquaint themselves with a Siren, before joining her in her crib upstairs. A bar to one side of the room provided libations, as the customers listened to a piano player, chatted, flirted, or waited their turn. Eamon could envision just such a scene, imagining the room during its busy business hours, rather than empty and rather forlorn during the midafternoon lull.

  “Madam,” Seamus said, with a deferential smile at the doorway to what appeared to be an office. “’Tis always a joy to see you.”

  “Seamus.” Her smile was one of a familiar friend but not one of shared intimacy. She stood nearly a foot shorter than Seamus and Eamon, her brown hair tied back in an intricate knot. Her brown eyes, which usually sparkled with mischief, were filled with worry as she beheld her friend. “I see you’ve brought one of your sons with you.” She motioned for them to enter her office and shut the door behind them.

  Eamon looked around the comfortable room at a desk piled high with paperwork, which faced the door, while two comfortable chairs angled toward a potbellied stove sat in a corner of the room. He focused on the Madam again, silently marveling at his da’s friendship with her.

  Slapping Eamon on his shoulder, Seamus looked at him with pride. “Aye. Eamon returned today from Saint Louis. I’ve yet to hear of his escapades while away from the family.” He waited until Eamon had nodded his respects to the Madam. “Nora is a good friend of the family and a close friend of your mum’s.” He ignored Eamon’s confused stare, for Nora had not been on intimate terms with the O’Rourke family when Eamon had departed for Saint Louis in August.

  She motioned for the two men to sit, with Seamus sitting in his customary comfortable chair and Eamon on a wooden desk chair she had pulled out for him. She nodded. “It appears the adventures on the steamboat have proven more entertaining than what occurred in Saint Louis.” When Eamon stared at her guilelessly, she said, “Your young friend is not as fortunate in her relations as you, dear boy.”

  “How do you know this?” he asked, nodding his thanks as she handed him a glass of whiskey.

  Nora passed another to Seamus before settling into her chair. “I find the Bordello to be confining at times, and a daily stroll helps clear my mind. Especially when I have a problem to consider. During today’s walk, I was intrigued to notice a well-dressed young woman being towed down the boardwalk by Uriah. She seemed displeased by his behavior but helpless to prevent his mistreatment.”

  Eamon inched forward in his chair, his whiskey forgotten. “Do you know where she went? We’ve visited all the saloons, but none report seeing her.”

  Nora nodded, as though contemplating the ethics of each saloon owner. “I imagine they would claim that. But then Mr. Bell has never been one to allow scruples to interfere with profit.”

  Eamon shared a long look with his da and then asked, “I—we—heard a rumor he wishes to compete with the Bordello.”

  Nora tilted her head back and laughed, highlighting her long elegant neck, encircled by a simple gold chain. “He will attempt, but he will not succeed. You will never succeed when you abuse a woman to force her to do what you desire. She will rebel and will find a way to flee.” Nora made a motion to encompass her establishment. “The Bordello is successful because the Sirens know Ezra will protect them, a decent meal always awaits them, and they can leave whenever they choose. They are in control.”

  Before Eamon could rise and race to the Daybreak Saloon to challenge the owner, Nora shook her head. “Mr. Bell is at least twice as strong as you and would have you resting beside your worthless brother-in-law by midnight,” she murmured, referring to Connor Ahern, Niamh’s first husband, who lay dead in a grave on a small hill overlooking the town. “A man like Bell doesn’t understand strategy. He knows only brute strength.”

  “What do you recommend, Madam?” Eamon asked.

  She studied him a long moment. “I’ve heard a rumor. That Chaffee and Bell are hoping to offer a series of auctions for their customers. It seems more than one sister arrived today.”

  Eamon paled at her words. “No one could be that cruel.”

  Nora gave a mirthless chuckle. “Oh, my boy, you have no idea how cruel the world can be to an unprotected woman.”

  * * *

  Phoebe pounded on the door again, to no avail. Either no one heard or no one cared. She turned around the small confining space, wishing for a window. However, she had been locked in a cave-like room with only a candle for light. She had no idea how much time had passed, nor when they would come to retrieve her.

  Shivering at what could befall her, she rose to pace. With an aggrieved roar, she slammed into one of the walls, pausing when she heard a cracking noise. She listened intently, but no one approached, so she hit the wall again. The noise intensified, and soon she panted and sweated as she attempted to make a hole in the wall. She sat down, resting on her back, her legs in the air, and used her booted feet to kick at the wooden planks. After she was truly sweaty and sore, a rending sound echoed through the room as a board gave way.

  Rising, she poked her head though the hole and realized she had kicked through the outer wall. With renewed determination, she kicked and pushed at surrounding boards until a large-enough space for her to crawl through had been created.

  As she heard the sound of the giant approaching her room, tears coursed down her cheeks. His voice called out to her, “Kitten, it’s almost time for you to come out of your den. The men …” His voice broke off, as though he had been interrupted.

  Galvanized by this momentary reprieve, she stripped the cot and placed a blanket over the rough patches of wood. With a prayer, she pushed herself out of the small opening, crying out as a shard of wood cut into her thigh.

  Flying through the air, she thought she’d never land. Then she thought she’d die upon landing. When she crashed with a thud onto the roof of the next-door single-story barber shop, it cracked and groaned but did not collapse. Her breath left her in a whoosh, and she gasped in short painful gulps of air in an attempt to gain her breath back. Black spots danced in her eyes, and she blinked in an attempt to clear her vision. With more tears coursing down her cheeks, she crawled to the rear of the building, staring down at the back alley one story below.

  Gathering the remnants of her courage, Phoebe crouched and gripped the edge of the roof so she could swing herself down. She swallowed a shriek as her skirts caught on something on the roof. She swayed back and forth, tearing herself loose. Finally she closed her eyes and dropped free, landing on the soft earth with a moan.

  Although she wished she could lay here and rest, she knew the giant and her uncle would be after her. Rising, she ignored the pain in her right thigh, the blood seeping from her wound, saturating the cloth, and stumbled down the alleyway behind Front Street. The sky was a pale pink, and she tried to find joy in seeing another sunset rather than focusing on her terror and pain. In the distance, she saw a two-story house, and she used it like a beacon, praying someone kind lived in such a place.

  * * *

  Eamon had returned to the large two-story O’Rourke family home with his da, with every intention of rounding up his older brothers to immediately journey to the Daybreak saloon with him. Instead he sat at the large kitchen table and prayed for patience. After a quick hug for his mum and sister Maggie, he had asked his mum to postpone the welcome home dinner for a night when he felt like celebrating. She had taken one look at him, cupped his cheek, and nodded, her relief at having him home evident in her gaze.

  Little had changed in the large O’Rourke hom
e since his departure last summer. The two-story structure with kitchen built on the back exuded a sense of hominess and welcome. The kitchen—with a large stove, a sink, and a countertop area to one side—had a massive table against the opposite wall, where the O’Rourkes gathered for meals. A back door led to the summer garden, a chicken coop, and the privy. The main house had two more large rooms on the main floor. A living room with another stove and a large room that had been Niamh’s before her marriage. Upstairs were four bedrooms.

  Now Eamon sat at the kitchen table, as anxiety and determination filled him to take some action, rather than continue to talk and plan. Eamon knew they would need to pool all their funds in an attempt to outbid the men who had more money than sense. A quick glance outside the kitchen window revealed it was close to sunset, and they should return to the saloon soon. “We can’t miss the auction,” he said to the men gathered. He relaxed marginally as his father nodded in agreement.

  Glancing around the table, Eamon gave a sigh of relief to have his family around him. Finn glowered and appeared as serious as Eamon had ever seen him, while his oldest brothers, Ardan and Kevin, were somber in their intensity. His brother-in-law, Cormac, sat at the table beside Ardan, while their friend Dunmore had joined them too. Eamon’s chest filled with fiery determination at the sight of the strong men who would be at his back. He refused to fail Phoebe.

  “I think you’re missing an important piece,” Dunmore murmured in a lull in the planning. His blue-green eyes shone with concern, as he tapped a finger on the tabletop. A stagecoach driver, Dunmore would leave in a day or two to deliver men to Virginia City or Helena. For the rest of the season, he would be busy and rarely in Fort Benton. Although focused on the topic at hand, his gaze often flit to Eamon’s youngest sister, Maggie, who worked at the stove. Their mum had slipped out of the room, ostensibly to prepare a room for Phoebe.