Long Journey Home (Longing for Home Book 5) Page 19

  A bit of sleep would do him good. He excused himself, then slipped inside the room where Ma slept, careful not to wake the exhausted woman. She slept deeply, thank the heavens. By the time they reached home other nights, she was rattled and pained and suffering, making sleep difficult to claim.

  I cannot keep forcing that journey on her. But what choice did he have? He lay on the floor, staring at the dark ceiling. What could he do? Leaving Ma at James’s every day wouldn’t do at all. Making the twice-daily journey had proved a source of suffering for her and a drain on his time.

  He wove his fingers together, then set his hands on his forehead, his elbows jutting out in both directions. Heaven help him, he needed this house. Did Maura have the first idea how badly he needed it? Did Tavish and Cecily? ’Twasn’t merely the livelihood offered him by the land, but the nearness of this house in particular to the very fields he’d made successful. It was a roof over Ma’s head. It was her long-term health and happiness. And, owing to the income he’d have and the stability that income would provide, this house was likely his best chance to someday have the family he dreamed of.

  * * *

  Ryan hadn’t, in all the years he’d worked the Claire place, been able to begin his day at the early hour other farmers usually did. Arriving from James’s house always set him behind the usual schedule, and even more so of late. The morning after he’d been permitted to sleep in Ma’s bedroom, however, he was not only awake long before the sun, but he was also already at work.

  He’d just finished forking hay off the loft for the cow when he heard footsteps. He’d not milked, wanting to give Aidan the chance to continue improving his skills there. But he didn’t think the lad would be up this early.

  Ryan leaned his pitchfork against the barn wall and crossed to the door. Instead of seeing Aidan, he found Maura. She’d stepped into the chicken coop, heading for the henhouse. She’d wrapped herself in a blanket. Did she not have a coat? He’d heard her negotiating for the material to make a coat, but thought the coat was meant for Aidan. She clearly needed one as well. Wyoming winters could be punishing. Lands, if she hadn’t a proper coat, she could freeze to death.

  He crossed to the coop, then leaned forward against one of the posts. “I can fetch the eggs for you in the mornings, Maura, especially as the weather turns colder.”

  She stepped gingerly over one hen, then another. “I don’t mind,” she said. “In fact, I like feeling as though I’m beginning to understand at least this part of living on a farm. We haven’t had any eggs yet. Finbarr tells me it can take a little while.”

  “He’s right about that.”

  “I come out each morning, choosing to be hopeful.”

  He adjusted the collar of his coat, hoping to keep out a little of the cold morning air. “That’s a mighty optimistic viewpoint for a woman who insisted only yesterday that she’s beaten down by her struggles.”

  She smiled at him. Saints, that smile of hers did odd things to his heart. “Perhaps I’m growing senile in my old age.”

  “You’re that ancient, are you?”

  “Some days, I feel old as the mountains themselves.” She pulled open the hatch of the henhouse and peeked inside. He heard her take a sharp breath. “There’s an egg.” She couldn’t have sounded more excited if she’d discovered a gold nugget.

  “That’s a fine bit of luck, isn’t it?” Sometimes a new brood of hens took ages to start laying. He slipped inside the chicken coop and made his way to where she stood.

  She reached in and pulled out the egg, only to exclaim, “Another one. And another.” She pulled out several, setting them in her upturned apron. “Seven.” She turned and faced him, carefully holding eggs in her hands. “Oh, Ryan. We have seven eggs.”

  “Were you optimistic enough to bring a basket?”

  She nodded and motioned toward her feet. Sure enough, a basket sat there waiting. He reached down and picked it up, holding it out while she set her precious discoveries inside.

  “We have eggs,” she repeated in an excited whisper. “I’ve been so worried I’d bungle the chickens; they’re the only thing I am solely overseeing, and I just knew I’d do something terribly wrong.”

  Guilt clutched at him over how he’d pointed out her inadequacies, reiterated how ill-suited she was to run a farm. He’d been frustrated by her sudden arrival and how it had upended his carefully laid plans. He’d been unfair. “I haven’t exactly been encouraging, have I?”

  “No one is required to encourage a thorn in their side.” She set her hand on the basket, clearly intending to take it back.

  He set his hand over hers. “You haven’t been a thorn, Maura. Ours is a difficult arrangement, is all.”

  A degree of empathy he hadn’t been expecting entered her expression. “Like your living arrangement with your brother?”

  “I seem to collect difficult arrangements.”

  She smiled a little. “Do you like eggs? We could have eggs for breakfast. It’d make our arrangement a little less uncomfortable for a morning.”

  “I won’t take your eggs, Maura.” He knew all too well how much she struggled with food.

  “You’re not taking. I’m offering. Besides, you are the reason I have a coop and a henhouse and eggs. I think it fitting you should enjoy the first fruits of that undertaking.”

  She was giving him too much credit. “The O’Connors did nearly all the work.”

  “After you told them I needed the help,” she countered. “I’ll accept no arguments.”

  He could see by the set of her shoulders that she really wouldn’t bend on this. “You let my ma and me stay. You fed her and me last night. You’re making it mighty difficult to remember that we’re at war over this place.”

  “I know the cost of war.” Her expression had turned more somber. “I’m not willing to fight.”

  “I’m sorry, Maura. I ought to have chosen my words with more care.” He knew she’d lost her husband to war. Like a fool, he’d tossed that word out so casually. “I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”

  She hooked her arm through the handle of her basket, and, to his surprise, took one of his hands between both of hers. “You didn’t cause me pain. I meant what I said. We’re both hoping to claim what only one of us can have in the end. That makes us rivals. We can’t avoid that. But I don’t want to be enemies. I don’t want to fight.”

  “Neither do I.” He held fast to her hand. “What do we do, then?”

  She smiled a little. “We have breakfast.” She slipped her hand free. “And we do our best not to hate each other.” She stepped toward the gate.

  “Is that how you feel about me?” His heart dropped to his feet. “You hate me?”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “No. But our situation can only end well for one of us. In the end, someone is going to lose.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sometimes I wonder if anything in life is ever going to ‘end well.’”

  He crossed to the gate, and they stepped out of the coop.

  She watched him with drawn brow. “Has something happened, Ryan?”

  He wasn’t particularly keen on baring his soul, but speaking his worries out loud made them easier to sort through. “I don’t know what to do about Ma. She’s too worn to make the journey here and back every day, but she’s also in need of having me nearby, so she can’t remain at James’s during the day. And the time I spend fetching the wagon and taking her back and forth means I’m running short on time to do m’ chores, and, if I can’t make up the work, I’ll start losing crops. I’ve tried to formulate a solution, but I haven’t the first idea what could be done.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, actually.” She tugged the blanket more firmly around her shoulders. ’Twasn’t an overly cold morning, but neither was it warm.

  “Let’s go back inside,” he suggested.

  She didn’t argue. “We agree that your ma needs to not have to move about so much,” she said as they took the first of the po
rch steps. “My Aidan needs to learn more about working on a farm. Both would be accomplished if you and your ma lived here.”

  That was true, but what was she suggesting? He didn’t dare hazard a guess.

  “But Aidan and I would need to live here as well.” She stepped inside. He followed close behind as she went on. “I’ve not been able to think of a way for us to share this house that wouldn’t be both horribly uncomfortable and more than a touch scandalous.” Shrugging, she set the basket of eggs on the table.

  If Ryan stayed in the house day to day, that would strengthen his claim on it. Perhaps she hadn’t thought of that. She’d not have suggested it if she had. Living here would also save him time and Ma significant suffering. But Maura was right: an unmarried man and a young widow could not share a home without raising eyebrows. Neither of them wanted that.

  “I could sleep in the barn until the weather turns too cold for comfort,” he offered.

  She eyed him doubtfully as she pulled a mixing bowl off a shelf. “How long before the nights are uncomfortably chilly?”

  “They are a little already,” he admitted.

  “That won’t do, then,” she said. “Besides, your ma would never agree to an arrangement where you slept with the animals. She speaks fondly enough of you for me to know that for certain.”

  Ryan’s head was beginning to ache. “I won’t stay at James’s while Ma stays here. That wouldn’t be fair to you or to her.”

  “Or to you,” Maura added. “You’d still have the difficulty of losing time in traveling back and forth.”

  That was as true as the day was long. Heavens, this whole thing seemed so impossible.

  “There doesn’t happen to be a secret house tucked away somewhere among the fields, does there?” she asked.

  He smiled at the jest. “Only the soddie.”

  In a flash, his own words settled on his mind. The soddie. Though ’twas used as a shed now, it had once been a house.

  His mind spun, attempting to fill in the bits of the fast-forming idea. “My ma wouldn’t do well in the soddie, but I could make it do for me. I’d be nearby. Were something to happen to Ma in the nighttime, you could send Aidan for me.”

  She eyed him closely. “And you’d not be living in the house, which should meet with the approval of even the preacher.”

  Begor, this might work. “We could at least try,” he said.

  “You’re willing to continue helping Aidan?” she pressed.

  “If you’re willing to help Ma.”

  “Agreed.” She held out her hand.

  Uncertain, but with a growing measure of hope, he shook the hand she offered. “Agreed.”

  “See how much better this is, not being entirely at odds with each other?” she said.

  “Much better.” He kept hold of her hand, finding comfort in it—and a surprising amount of pleasure.

  “And we get to be neighbors instead of enemies,” Maura said. That smile of hers sent his heart flipping.

  An awareness of her grew, expanding in his chest. His pulse thrummed in his neck, heat stealing up with it. Maura was compassionate and beautiful, clever and kind, fierce and determined.

  And he . . . was quickly finding himself on unfamiliar footing.

  He stepped back and offered a quick nod before moving to the door. Making his claim on this land was part of the plan. Moving Ma into this house was part of the plan.

  Growing tenderly attached to Maura O’Connor was not.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The O’Connor family held weekly family suppers on Sundays, rotating from one house to the next. Today was Maura’s turn to be hostess. She fully suspected ’twas not actually her turn in the rotation, but rather a ploy to get her and Aidan to attend an O’Connor supper at all.

  They’d been invited before, but she’d not felt ready herself yet. She was finding her footing, accustoming herself to being with Grady’s family again, of hearing voices so like his, smiles matching the one she’d loved so well. She might have demurred again when Mrs. O’Connor gently informed Maura that her turn had come ’round. But looking at Aidan’s hopeful face when his grandmother spoke of the family being together, Maura knew she couldn’t refuse. He was ready to truly join his father’s family; she would not deny him that.

  They would arrive any moment. She’d prepared all she could, but was still nervous. Suppose there wasn’t room enough, or she’d forgotten something significant? She wanted the evening to be a success.

  Her gaze fell on Mrs. Callaghan. “Are you certain you’ll not suffer for enduring company?” Maura must’ve asked her that same question four dozen times over the past week.

  Mrs. Callaghan had insisted again and again that she wasn’t worried about overtaxing herself or having her peace disturbed. “I enjoy the O’Connors. It’ll be lovely to have them here.”

  “Why is it you’ve not asked me how I feel about being overrun with O’Connors?” Ryan sat near the fireplace, eying Maura with mingled amusement and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a bit of playfulness.

  “In that case, do tell, Ryan.” She sat on a chair facing his and gave him her most overdone look of eager curiosity. “How do you feel about having this house filled to the rafters with O’Connors? Have you had trouble sleeping with so exciting a prospect before you?”

  He leaned back in his seat, crossing his boots at the ankles. “You, Maura O’Connor, are funnier than you first let on.”

  “Ma’s always been funny,” Aidan said. “Lydia giggled and giggled whenever she looked after her.”

  “Who is Lydia?” Mrs. Callaghan asked.

  “The wee daughter of a dear friend of mine back in New York,” Maura said. “Eliza—that’s the lass’s mother—is like a sister to me.”

  “You must miss her,” Mrs. Callaghan said. “I’ve a sister in Cork, and I miss her fiercely.”

  “I’m hoping, if I can save a bit of money, that I can send for her. She would love Hope Springs, and this town would love her, I’m certain of it.”

  “And Ivy would insist that Lydia be her friend,” Aidan tossed in.

  Ryan gave Aidan a commiserating look, one that barely concealed his mirth. “Ivy is a force of nature.”

  Aidan smiled, something he did more often and far more easily than he used to. “I think she drives her sister a little mad.”

  She detected the hint of tenderness that Ryan had mentioned hearing in Aidan’s voice when he spoke of Emma. Ryan hadn’t imagined it. She met his gaze with wide-eyed amazement. He silently nodded in acknowledgment, a half-hidden smile on his lips.

  “You know, Aidan,” Ryan said, “when your family’s here, you could give them a milking demonstration. I’d wager you’d receive a rousing round of applause.”

  “And you could give ’em a tour of your soddie,” Aidan tossed back. “You’d be the envy of the entire town.”

  “We’d have to manage such a tour with only a couple of amazed visitors at a time,” Ryan said. “Three, if the third was of the narrow variety.”

  More than once, he’d mentioned the soddie was small. He’d also commented on it being cold at night. Neither observation, however, had been made in a tone of complaining. Indeed, Maura wondered if he even realized how often he spoke about the size and temperature of the mud-built house he currently called home.

  She felt bad about the discomfort he was enduring. Truly, she did. Yet she couldn’t yield. She had so little to leave Aidan as it was. At the very least, he needed a place to live, land he could one day live on, and a ma who wasn’t whispered about for having a man she wasn’t related to living in her house.

  “I’d be willing to forego the luxury of my very fine soddie to join the gathering, if that’s permitted.” Ryan posed the idea with just enough hopeful uncertainty to tell her that he wanted to be included but hesitated to set his heart on the idea at all. ’Twas a bit of vulnerability she understood all too well. She wasn’t certain what her own welcome would be that day. The O’Connors had been friendly
to her whenever she crossed paths with them, but she didn’t see them often.

  “Everyone is welcome at my supper table,” she said, “provided they know the secret code.”

  Ryan fought back a smile. “I’ll do my very best ferreting.”

  He had such a knack for lightening her spirits with a simple glance or a quick-witted comment. Her heart had begun flipping about every time he tucked away one of his smiles. Something about the way he hid them gave the expression added charm.

  Maura turned away and set herself to the unnecessary task of checking the colcannon hanging over the low-burning fire. Though the supper was to be held at her home, she hadn’t been tasked with providing the entire meal. Not even most of it.

  “A pot of colcannon will do perfectly,” Mrs. O’Connor had said. “Everyone will bring bits and pieces. We’ll have a fine meal among us all.”

  Maura didn’t know if that was the family’s usual way of things on Sundays, or if they simply realized how very short of funds she was. Feeding their large brood—twenty counting herself and Aidan—was beyond her ability.

  Her next breath came in oddly, thick and dry. Coughing seized her immediately, so strong, so violent, she doubled over with it.

  “Ma?” Aidan’s worried voice penetrated the sound of her struggle for air.

  ’Twas Ryan, though, who reached her first. “Sweet heavens, Maura. Are you choking on something?”

  She managed to shake her head even as she kept fighting her lungs.

  “What do you need?”

  She rasped out, “Water,” though she didn’t know if it would help.

  “Aidan, lad. Fetch your ma a glass of water, quick-like.”

  Ryan set his hand on her back and rubbed it gently. Somehow, he knew—or guessed—that thumping wouldn’t help. It would only leave her more sore and miserable.

  “Your cough never seems to get better,” he said quietly.

  One breath came a bit easier. Then another. Though she hadn’t stopped coughing, she managed to stand straight again. Ryan kept his arm around her, keeping close to her side.

  A moment later, Aidan was there, holding out a glass of water to her. She took it and sipped slowly between coughs, praying her lungs would calm and that the water would settle the tickle in her throat. She hated seeing Aidan worrying about her.