“Here. Drink this, Rachel.” She felt the fingers slip behind her head, easing her up from the pillow even as a glass was pressed against her lips. The tea was warm and felt good as it glided down her sore throat. She opened her eyes to see the kindly woman who was so tenderly administering to her. It took a moment for her eyes to focus.
“Maggie?” The word came out a hoarse croak.
“Yes, Kitten. It’s me.”
“Why are you here? Where’s Gavin?”
“You’re home, Rachel. Mr. O’Donnell brought you. Don’t you remember?” Her memory was fuzzy. It was difficult to recall anything.
“Patrick’s here?” She closed her eyes.
“He’s in town at the Overland. He didn’t want to leave until he knew you would recover. He’s a nice man.” Rachel didn’t reply. The cobwebs were beginning to clear, allowing the memories to return with sharp clarity. The night in Gavin’s bed. His scorching rejection of her. The nights in the Gumbel Hotel while waiting for the stage. The ride to Killarney Hall in Patrick’s sleigh. Her insistence on returning to Boise, and Patrick’s insistence on bringing her. But mostly she remembered Gavin—the way he’d looked, the way he’d sounded when he said he wanted her off the Lucky Strike. She’d given him her heart, her body, her soul, and he had despised her gift of love. She groaned and turned her head toward the wall. Why hadn’t she died? She should have died. This hurt too much. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t.
“You rest now, Kitten,” Maggie said softly as her fingers brushed Rachel’s forehead.
“We’ll talk more later.” Rachel nodded. She wanted Maggie to leave before the hot tears fell from beneath closed eyelids. She couldn’t talk about it. Not to anyone. It was her private shame, her personal heartache. She couldn’t share this, not even with Maggie.
“I’ll be goin’ back to the ranch tomorrow, now that I know the lass is out of danger.”
“I’m afraid she isn’t up to company as yet, Mr. O’Donnell. Don’t you want to wait until she can see you? I know she’ll want to thank you for everything you did.”
““Tis not me she wants to see,” he replied in a solemn tone.
“But I would like a few words with you, Mrs. Branigan, before I go.” Maggie motioned the big man into the parlor.
“Of course, Mr. O’Donnell. You’re always welcome.” Patrick twisted his hat in his hands as he sat across from her. He reminded her a little of Tucker’s cousin, Keegan, the most Irish of the Branigan clan. Keegan had always had a big heart and usually a smile to match. She imagined that Patrick did too—most of the time.
“I told you Rachel had called off our engagement before I brought her back to Boise. I think you must know I love the lass and would do my best to make her happy. But I never could do it. She’s lost her heart elsewhere.”
“Gavin Blake,” Maggie murmured.
“So she’s told you.”
“No. I—I just guessed.”
“Mrs. Branigan-”
“Why don’t you call me Maggie?” He nodded and gave her an appreciative smile.
“Maggie, I’m not sure what happened between Rachel and Gavin that sent her back here. Not sure I’d want to know. But ‘tis easy to see the wrong of her being’ here when she belongs up north. And ‘tis something’ that shouldn’t be. Gavin loves her and she loves him.” Maggie sat up a little straighter.
“Are you sure of that?”
“As sure as I’ve ever been of anything. I knew all along that Rachel didn’t love me, but I was hopin’ she would with time. Then I saw the way it was between them, and I knew it wouldn’t happen.” Maggie recalled Gavin Blake from their one and only meeting as tall and darkly handsome. Tucker had taken his measure and not found him wanting. Maggie had noted his gentleness with his wife. His wife … That was the thing that troubled Maggie the most. Mrs. Blake had passed away only two months before. Did Gavin truly love Rachel or had he only turned to her in his grief? And just how much had he turned to her? She thought of the way Rachel had called for Gavin in her fevered sleep. It was more than influenza that had made her sister ill. It was a problem with her heart. Patrick rose abruptly from the sofa, placing his hat over his bright shock of red hair.
“I’ll be on my way.” He headed out of the room. Maggie followed after him. When he turned at the door, she offered him her hand.
“Thanks again for all you did. You’re always welcome in our home, Mr. O’Donnell.”
“Patrick. The name is Patrick.” He grinned.
“Patrick,” she repeated, mirroring his smile.
“Maggie…” His hand tightened around hers.
“About Rachel and Gavin … You may think I’m filled with blarney, but I think they were fated to be together. Don’t be hard on her for.. .” He seemed to search for the right words, then shrugged.
“Tell the lass I’ll be lookin’ forward to seem’ her again.” Maggie watched as he walked down the steps and climbed into his carriage. He
waved as he picked up the reins, and she returned the motion before closing the door against the January chill. She turned and gazed up the stairs. She wished she could be as sure as Patrick O’Donnell about what the fates had ordained. As soon as Sabrina and Petula were out of danger, Gavin’s thoughts returned to Rachel. He knew he had to go after her. He knew he had to tell her how wrong he’d been and how much he needed her. He might not be able to win her forgiveness, but he had to try.
He wasn’t sure if he cared much for these feelings. It had started with Dru, teaching him to trust just a little bit. Then it had been the two girls, wriggling their way into his affections with laughter and smiles and tears. And finally, there was Rachel, penetrating what was left of his resolve to remain detached. It had been a whole lot easier when he’d kept his feelings in check. He hadn’t had anything at risk. People could come and go from his life without it bothering him one way or another. But no more. Rachel, the children—they were his life. Such were Gavin’s thoughts when the loud pounding sounded on the door. He left the bedroom doorway, where he’d been standing and watching the children sleep. He strode quickly toward the door, hoping to stop the racket before it woke the girls. Almost immediately after he pulled open the door, Patrick’s meaty fist grabbed him by the collar and jerked him outside.
“Sure but I think I should knock some sense into that fool head of yours, Gavin Blake! I thought you a better man than this. You think I can’t guess what it is you’ve done? ‘you think I wouldn’t like to break your neck in two? Shame on you, man. If you weren’t a friend o’ mine-” Gavin pried Patrick’s fingers free from his shirt collar.
“Did she come back with you, Patrick?”
“Come back with me?” the Irishman exclaimed.
“Faith, she was lyin’ at death’s own door when I got her to Boise. I have only her sister’s word that she’s getting’ well again.” Gavin’s stomach dropped, and it was his turn to grab the other man’s shirt.
“What are you talking about?”
“The doctor called it the influenza. But if you’d’ve bothered to come after her like you should have, you’d have known it for yourself.” Gavin released his hold on Patrick’s shirt and turned toward the house.
“Brina and Pet have been sick with it, too. We nearly lost Pet last week. I couldn’t leave them.”
“Sorry, mate, I didn’t know.”
“Come inside. I’ve got coffee on the stove.” Patrick followed him into the house, closing the door behind him.
“The wee lass—is she—”
“Dr. Forester says she’s going to be fine. Sabrina too. I’ve been waiting for him to say they’re completely out of danger so I can leave.” Gavin turned from the stove, coffeepot in hand.
“I have some business in Boise City to see to.”
“You have at that,” Patrick agreed. He sat down at the table and accepted the cup of coffee from Gavin’s hand.
“Why not let them come stay at Killarney. It would bring Pearl a joy to have them there. And me too.” Gavin couldn’t help frowning as he looked across the table.