But the parson was already speaking, and Kathleen forced her attention back to his words.

“Dearly beloved—” His voice was low and carefully modulated. Kathleen wondered if Lucas had brought him in just for the event. He sounded so proper—so perfect. But she quickly reminded herself that the man belonged to the whole town. She knew Wallis and Risa had made use of his services earlier that afternoon.

With that thought, Kathleen felt her face flush again. So why hadn’t Donnigan made arrangements? Or had he—and canceled them when he saw her lameness? Maybe she was a reject—just as her stepmother had warned.

Kathleen lost total concentration. Before she knew it the man with the book was saying, “May the God of heaven bless your union with His love, joy, and peace. Amen,” and she knew that the short ceremony was over.

* * *

Donnigan was still struggling. He didn’t feel any concern about the hotel dinner hour. That he had already arranged for, and it always seemed rather easy to chat over food if one felt that talk was necessary. And he knew that Kathleen was dreadfully tired and would wish to retire early—so that would take care of the evening. But what then? They had to talk seriously—sometime. They were due at the church at ten the next morning. But that hour seemed to be approaching awfully fast. He had a lot of thinking and sorting to do in a short time. He had thought himself prepared—and he would have been—had a girl like Erma stepped forward when the stage pulled into town. But a child? What was Jenks thinking of? Surely this—this—bit of a girl should still be at home in her family’s care. So what was she doing here—ready to promise herself in marriage? Ready to take on the responsibilities of a grown woman? It didn’t make a lick of sense to Donnigan.

He mulled over the problem all the time he waited for Lucas’s ceremony to end, but he was no nearer a solution when the last Amen was spoken.

As the couple turned from the altar, Donnigan rose to his feet. He was the only one in the small church except for the parson and the wedding party. He wasn’t sure if he should move forward with his congratulations or wait for the new bride and groom to come down the aisle. He waited.

The parson came first, with Lucas and Erma close behind him. With a bit of hesitation, Donnigan stepped forward and extended his hand.

“Congratulations,” he said heartily to Lucas. The man, who was usually so composed, couldn’t hide the merry twitching of his mustache. He had pulled the whole thing off—he was a married man, his twinkling eyes seemed to say.

Donnigan let his eyes shift back to his own bride of the morrow. She came slowly down the aisle on the arm of Grant Crayford, the town’s officious banker. Donnigan had never been particularly fond of the man but had accepted him as a necessary part of the town. Now as the man placed his overly soft hand on the small hand that rested on his arm and leaned down to say something quietly to the young girl, Donnigan liked him even less. It was one thing for him to escort Kathleen, but quite another for him to be so solicitous—so possessive. Donnigan’s starched collar suddenly felt too tight. He was a bit too quick in stepping forward and taking Kathleen’s other elbow, gently easing her away from the dark-suited man.

“Our dinner is waiting,” he said in explanation, and she allowed herself to be hurried away.

As she left the church, Kathleen saw Lucas assisting Erma back into the carriage for the short ride back to the hotel. Kathleen almost felt envy—and then Erma lifted her eyes and met Kathleen’s for just one moment.

The gentle smile was still firmly in place, but the eyes shadowed briefly. She’s frightened, thought Kathleen in that one quick exchange. She’s nervous and frightened.

Kathleen wished to pull her hand free and go to the girl, but she managed a wobbly smile in return, hoping that it conveyed to Erma some measure of warmth and assurance, and then the carriage door was closed and Erma was gone.

* * *

Kathleen felt so weary she could scarcely keep herself alert to enjoy the tasty meal that was set before them. Donnigan kept talking and she hoped that she was giving sensible responses.

She was still angry and concerned about the hotel arrangements. She wasn’t quite sure how she would handle it when the time came, but she had no intention whatever of sharing a room with a man who wasn’t her wedded spouse.

I could sleep right here on this chair, she assured herself, feeling tired enough to do just that. Or I could curl up on one of those settees in the lobby.

But Donnigan was speaking again. “I know you are very tired,” he was saying, “so rather than talk wedding plans tonight, we’ll wait until morning.”

Kathleen cast him a distant glance.

“I don’t have special clothes,” Kathleen admitted, her eyes held to her plate.

Donnigan shifted uneasily.

“Nor do I,” he admitted. “Only Lucas would think of all those things.”

“Do you mind?” asked Kathleen simply.

“No.” His answer was curt. Almost sharp. Then his voice softened. “Do you?”

Kathleen shrugged her slim shoulders. Erma had looked awfully nice. But when it came to the truth, she had never even considered a wedding gown. “No,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

“What you are wearing now looks real nice,” Donnigan went on. It was the closest any man had ever come to complimenting her. Kathleen felt her cheeks warm.

The meal ended in silence. When they were finished, Donnigan rose to his feet and offered his arm to Kathleen.

“We’d better go up before you fall asleep at the table,” he teased gently.

Kathleen longed for the soft bed in the room upstairs. Yet near panic gripped her. Now she would need to stand her ground. Now she—but how—and what would she say?

Donnigan led her up the steps and down the hall and again opened the door with the key. He held it for her to enter, but Kathleen stood rooted to the spot.

“This arrangement isn’t much to my liking, sir,” she said, her head lifting and her chin thrusting forward.

Donnigan looked puzzled. “Is something wrong with the room?” he asked innocently.

Kathleen’s brogue was thick as she tipped her head and answered, “Sure, and the room is fine. It’s the company that concerns me.”

“The company?” It was clear that Donnigan was confused.

“On this journey I’ve shared a tiny closet-sized room with more women than I could count,” went on Kathleen, “an’ it didn’t cause me one troubled moment—but sharing so large a room—with a man—now that I’ve no mind to do.”

“A man?” Donnigan found himself peering around the door and into the room. His face still registered puzzlement.

“If you count yourself a man, sir,” said Kathleen, her voice edged with anger.

“Me?” he asked incredulously.

Then Donnigan began to chuckle softly. “You thought—I mean, you thought that—that … ?” He couldn’t finish the question.

“We won’t be married until tomorrow,” he reminded her.

Kathleen just stood and stared, her anger turning to confusion.

“My room is down the hall,” explained Donnigan quickly, pointing his long arm with outstretched finger.

With the words he reached out and pressed the room key into Kathleen’s hand. “Your key,” he said and pulled another key from his pocket. Then he reached up and ran a hand through his blond hair. Kathleen could see the red gradually stain his tanned cheeks. Only the white scar stayed untouched. He licked his lips nervously and fingered the hat in his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to cause you concern. I—I guess I didn’t explain. I just didn’t think. I’m—I’m sorry.”

Kathleen felt the air leave her lungs—the anger leave her eyes. She stood for one brief moment trying to get back her control, and then a slow smile began to lighten her face.

“Sure now—and I did make a bit of a scene, didn’t I?” she admitted.

He looked steadily into the dark eyes. Unexpectedly his hand lifted to touch the slim shoulder. “I—I’m glad,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’re that kind of girl.”

Kathleen felt a stirring to her very soul. She swallowed hard, managed a nod, and moved into the room.

“I’ll knock on your door in the morning,” he called softly after her, and Kathleen heard her door close firmly.

Chapter Eleven

A Start


Kathleen had been fearful that once she fell asleep, she would not wake up until the afternoon of the next day. She was so weary from all the travel—all the emotional turmoil—but to her surprise she had a restless night.

First she had a difficult time getting to sleep. She thought of Erma and Risa and wondered how they would adjust to being wives of men they hardly new. She thought of Donnigan, her own man she did not know, and wondered if there were any secrets he was hiding. Indeed, she even wondered if his claiming another room was just a ruse so he might sneak off in the night, leaving her stranded and without means in this western town.

From there her thoughts turned to home. They quickly skipped over her stepmother and her plans for the marriage that would by now have taken place. She didn’t even stop to wonder if the woman had found the happiness she had sought. Instead, Kathleen passed on to Bridget, and emptiness seemed to press in upon her. She missed Bridget. It was true that the girl was rather spoiled and undisciplined, but they held a fondness for each other.

Would Bridget be off to school? Yes. They were already into the fall of the year. The young girl would be in boarding school by now. Kathleen wondered how she was doing. Was the bit that Kathleen had been able to teach her standing her in good stead?

Kathleen even thought of Charles and young Edmund. Did they like the countryside? Had they been favored with ponies of their own?

Strangely enough, Kathleen even thought of the cranky old baker. Had he passed on her hawker’s basket to another poor girl? Kathleen didn’t even want to picture the girl in her mind. The back streets of London were really not a place for a young girl to be.

And over and over, Kathleen’s mind went to Donnigan. Once again she said to herself, the disappointment still intense within her, “Sure—he’s no Irishman, and that’s the truth of it.”

But what was he? And who was he? He was fine enough to look at—though his size disquieted her. He said he had a farm. Kathleen felt pleased about that. A farm would be a nice change from cluttered, dirty streets and dark, tall buildings.

He seemed a gentleman—though certainly not as polished and sure of himself as Erma’s Lucas. But even as Kathleen had the thought, she stirred uneasily. She wasn’t quite sure if she would have been pleased with a man like Lucas. He seemed so intense—so in control—so totally mechanical. Again Kathleen wondered if Erma would be happy.

“I must stop this,” Kathleen scolded herself once again. “I will be a rag in the morning and not fit for a wedding and that’s the truth of it.” But even as she thought the words, Kathleen wondered again if there really would be a wedding.

* * *

Donnigan retired earlier than he should have. He just didn’t know what else to do with his long evening. But he may as well have stayed up and paced the streets. He tossed and turned and thumped his pillow, then wadded it beneath his head and tossed again.

Never had his mind been in such a state. Never had he faced such a difficult decision.

“Twenty-one! That’s ridiculous. She’s more like—like—I know what I should do,” he told himself firmly. “I should bundle her up and put her right back on the stage and send her home to wherever she came from.”

But Donnigan knew that he didn’t have the money for a second passage aboard an ocean-sailing ship.

“Maybe someone would take her on as hired help—let her grow up a bit,” he thought next. But he quickly dismissed that idea. How would he know if she was properly treated or whether she was taken advantage of?

“Well, I shouldn’t marry her, and that’s for sure,” he told himself. But if he didn’t marry her, what would he do with her?

It was quite obvious from the little luggage she carried that she wouldn’t be able to financially care for herself.

“Well, I can’t just take her to the farm without marrying her,” fumed Donnigan. “Even if I slept in the barn.”