The True Love Wedding Dress (31 page)

The peddler shoved the dress closer, and Faith couldn’t resist touching it. Her fingertips tingled oddly the instant they grazed the lace, and inexplicable warmth coursed up her arm.

“Oh, my,” she said breathlessly.

“It’s perfect for ye,” the peddler said. “Take it, please.”

Faith laughed and shook her head.

“Come, lass, humor a silly old man. Ye’re meant to have this dress. I feel it in me bones.”

The peddler was so charmingly insistent that Faith would have felt rude had she refused. The strange tingle of warmth suffused her entire body when she took the dress into her arms.

“Words fail me. It’s lovely. Thank you, sir.”

“Off with ye,” the peddler said with a pleased smile. “Mayhap the dress will bring good fortune yer way. It’s needin’ a husband, ye are, lass, someone to care fer ye and the little one.”

Faith shook her head. She had endured marital bliss for seven long years, enough to last her a lifetime.

Charity had a skip in her step as they continued along the boardwalk. Faith attributed the child’s increased energy to the ingestion of sugar. Candy wasn’t very nourishing, but at least it was something.

As she had countless times over the last three days, Faith scanned the shop windows for job advertisements as they walked. When they reached the mercantile, she chanced to see a small sign taped to the door glass. In block letters, it read, HOUSEKEEPER NEEDED. In smaller letters, it said, “Experience required. Apply at the O’Shannessy place.”

Faith’s heart felt as if it might leap from her chest. Charity gave her an inquiring glance. “Is something wrong, Maman?”

“It’s a job posting,” she managed to squeeze out. “Someone needs a housekeeper.”

Charity squinted up at the sign. “Do you suppose you can be a housekeeper, Maman?”

“Of
course
.” How difficult could it be to keep a house? Granted, Faith had grown up in a home fully staffed with servants, rarely turning her hand to do much of anything. But she had supervised the work of servants these last eight years, first in her father’s household and later in her husband’s. That qualified as experience, didn’t it? “Anyone can be a housekeeper. There isn’t much to it.”

Charity flashed a sticky grin. “Wonderful, Maman. Now what do we do?”

Tucking the wedding dress under one arm, Faith bent to grasp her daughter’s elbow and hurried into the store. “Excuse me, sir?” She pressed close to the counter, willing the burly, gray-haired shopkeeper to glance up from a list of figures that he was tallying. “I need a bit of assistance, if you please. Would you be so kind as to direct me to the O’Shannessy place?”

The shopkeeper finally looked up, his frown indicating that he resented the interruption.

Faith hastened to add, “I’m interested in the advertisement on your door window.”

The man’s gaze sharpened on hers. “That old posting? It’s been hanging there for months. The position is probably filled.”

“Months?” Faith repeated stupidly. “Oh, but, no, that can’t be. I’ve been past your shop countless times over the last three days. I would have noticed the sign had it been there earlier.”

“Trust me, lady, it was there. Patrick O’Shannessy put it up last August. He’s probably not needing anyone now.”

Faith’s heart sank, but this was the only respectable job posting she’d seen. “I believe I shall check into it, anyway.”

“It’s your time you’ll be wasting.” He jabbed a beefy thumb in the direction she needed to go. “The O’Shannessy place is a handful of miles that way.”

Tugging Charity along behind her, Faith exited the shop and turned in the direction that the shopkeeper had indicated. She and Charity had only just left the town proper when the child asked, “How far is it, Maman? When will we get there?”

“Soon,” Faith replied, mustering as much cheer-fulness as she could, given the fact that she was already footsore and weak with hunger.

Please, God,
she prayed silently as she fixed her gaze on the dusty, forbidding horizon that danced in heat waves before them.
Don’t let it be too far. And, please, please, let the position still be open. This is my last hope.

F
aith was stumbling over the hem of her dress, so exhausted she could barely keep going. Charity had long since fallen silent. Faith was grateful the questions had ceased, for she feared that they were lost. They had walked at least five miles on the rutted road, one plodding step after another, their shoes sending up clouds of dust that stained the hem of Faith’s dress and Charity’s stockings.
Lost.
The word circled endlessly in Faith’s mind.

Though she looked in all directions for a rooftop, she saw nothing. Finally she stumbled to a stop, convinced that the shopkeeper had pointed them in the wrong direction. Charity drew up beside her and pushed at her dark, sweat-dampened hair. “Why are we stopping, Maman?”

Because I’m afraid we’re lost, and I don’t know what to do,
Faith thought dismally. There were undoubtedly large predators in this godforsaken land. She had no weapon with which to defend her child and wouldn’t have known how to use one anyway. Never in her life had she felt so inept and useless.

“I just need to rest a moment,” Faith lied.

Charity plopped down on a rock at the side of the road. “I’m tired, Maman, and I’m so very hungry. Do you suppose the O’Shannessys will feed us?”

“Perhaps. People who can afford to hire household servants are usually well off, and it has been my experience that the wealthy are inclined to be generous to those less fortunate.”

“Are we the less fortunate now, Maman?”

Speaking around a lump in her throat, Faith said, “We are, I’m afraid.”

Sinking onto a rock near her daughter, she considered her options. They had been walking for two or three hours, making it midafternoon. In another three hours, the summer sun would start to set over the Rockies. What if they kept going and never came upon the O’Shannessy place? She and her daughter could be stranded out here all night.

Faith had about decided to turn back when Charity abandoned her rock and skipped a ways up the road. At the crest, she cried, “I can see a house!”

As Faith scrambled to her feet, a wave of dizziness washed over her. The wedding gown that she’d been carrying under one arm slipped from her grasp and fell in the dirt.

“Oh, no!” Charity cried as she raced back to her mother. “Oh, Maman!” The child picked up the dress and brushed uselessly at the dirt stains. “Do you suppose you can wash it?”

It took a great deal of know-how to clean fine silk. “No, sweetness, I’m afraid it’s ruined.”

Faith almost tossed the dress away, but something stopped her. It was madness, she knew. The last thing she needed right now was a wedding dress. But crazy or not, she tucked the gown back under her arm.

As she followed Charity up the incline, her limbs felt oddly numb and leaden. Over the last three days, most of the morsels of food she’d found in the trash barrels had gone to her daughter. That was only as it should be, but now exhaustion and lack of nourishment seemed to be taking their toll. She had to force her feet to keep moving.

When they finally crested the rise, she stared stupidly at a large, two-story house surrounded by outbuildings and fences.

“We’re there, Maman,” Charity cried. “This must be it.”

Even from a distance, the house looked in sorry need of repairs and paint. It wasn’t what Faith had pictured. “Perhaps it’s the caretaker’s residence,” she mused aloud, “similar to our servant quarters at home.”

“I just hope you get the job and they feed us.”

A few minutes later, when they reached the house, Faith could only stare in hopeless dismay. There were no other dwellings in sight to indicate that this was a caretaker’s quarters. The rickety picket fence surrounded a yard littered with all manner of equipment, everything from rusty old plow rakes to discarded washboards.

“Can I help you?”

Faith nearly parted company with her skin at the sound of the man’s voice. She blinked against the slanting sun, brought him into focus, and then just gaped. The man rounding the corner of the house was tall and muscular, with dark auburn hair, countless freckles muted by a lifetime in the harsh sun, and startling blue eyes. He looked to be in his twenties, possibly twenty-three or twenty-four, her senior by only one or two years.

When he came to a halt about five feet from the fence, his stance was that of a dock ruffian, hands resting at his lean waist, one hip cocked, his opposite leg bent at the knee. He wore faded denim pants and a blue work shirt patched at the elbows. The wash-worn clothing hugged his body, displaying the powerful breadth of his shoulders and bulging upper arms. In a rough and very earthy way, he was extraordinarily handsome, the kind of man Faith might have admired at a distance in the recent past, but not someone to whom she ever would have spoken.

“I, um—” Angry with herself for losing her train of thought, she swallowed and started over. “I’m looking for Mr. O’Shannessy.”

“You’ve found him.” His brilliant blue eyes met hers, the directness of his gaze unsettling. “I’m Patrick O’Shannessy.” He looked past her at the road. Then he cut a quick glance at Charity, who had pressed close to Faith’s skirts. “How’d you get here?”

“We walked, sir.”

“All the way from town?” Incredulity laced his voice. “Jesus H. Christ. Are you out of your mind, lady?”

Faith’s spine snapped taut. Before caution could still her tongue, she said, “My good sir, with all due respect I will remind you that a child is present.”

He gave her a bewildered look, prompting Faith to add, “Your language. Some phrases are inappropriate in the presence of a little girl.” Or in the presence of a lady, for that matter.

“My apologies.” His thick auburn brows arched high. Then he swiped a hand over his mouth. “Sounds to me like you hail from some place back east.”

“Brooklyn.” Faith immediately wanted to bite her tongue. The less this man knew about them, the better. There was no doubt a large and very attractive reward being offered by her father for information about her and Charity’s whereabouts.

“Brooklyn, New York?” When she nodded, he said, “You’re a long way from home. What exactly can I do for you?”

“I saw your advertisement at the mercantile.”

“I’ll be damned. I had about given up on that. Are you experienced?”

Faith felt confident that she could learn to do almost anything. “I am, most certainly.” It was only half a lie. She had supervised housekeepers, after all.

“I was hoping to find someone older.”

“What I lack in years I make up for in knowledge and skill, Mr. O’Shannessy.”

“It isn’t that.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the house. “I’m a bachelor. I’m not sure how it would work with you living here. I sure as hell don’t plan to sleep in the barn in order to keep tongues from wagging.”

Faith was encouraged to learn that he even recognized the impropriety of such an arrangement. His language was appalling. In Brooklyn, the gentlemen cursed only while in the company of other gentlemen.

Patrick took thoughtful measure of the woman and her kid. Ever since his sister, Caitlin, had married Ace Keegan two years ago and moved to the neighboring Paradise Ranch, he’d been in desperate need of a housekeeper. For several months after Caitlin’s marriage, he’d convalesced from a bullet wound in his back, and then, after regaining his strength, he’d spent most of his waking hours trying to get his ranch back on its feet. In a nutshell, he was tired of working himself into an exhausted stupor only to come in at night to a dirty house and no food on the table.

He’d been advertising for help for almost a year, hoping that a stocky, no-nonsense widow might apply for the job. Never in his wildest dreams had he pictured a beautiful young woman like this. She had a wealth of curly dark hair, some of which had escaped from its pins to trail like dribbles of hot fudge over her slender shoulders. Even worse, she had large, pleading brown eyes that he found irresistibly appealing.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to gentle the words with a smile, “but I don’t think you’re right for the job.” She looked ready to drop in her tracks. He couldn’t see her milking the cows of a morning or managing to carry the brimming five-gallon buckets back to the house. “I need someone with a little more bulk.”

Her small chin came up. “I’m stronger than I look, Mr. O’Shannessy.” A telltale quiver attacked one corner of her soft mouth. “You shan’t regret hiring me.”

Her fancy speech alone was enough to make him run in the opposite direction.
Shan’t?
Nobody hereabouts talked like that.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, trying to avoid looking at the child. He felt terrible about turning them away. “I need an older woman.”

She finally nodded. “Very well. I apologize for taking up your time.”

Patrick was about to offer them a ride back to town when all the starch suddenly left the woman’s spine. The next second, she crumpled like a rag doll, hitting the weed-pocked dirt in a limp sprawl.

Bracing a hand on the fence, Patrick vaulted over the pickets. “Lady?” He dropped to his knees beside her. The little girl started to cry, a shrill, broken wail that made his ears ring. “Jesus,” he whispered as he felt the woman’s wrist for a pulse. “It’s okay,” he told the child. “She’s just fainted.”

“Maman!” the child sobbed, tugging on her mother’s sleeve. “Maman, wake up. Please, wake up!”

Maman?
Mother and child were ducks out of water in a place like this. Patrick lightly tapped the woman’s cheeks, hoping to revive her. Not even a flutter of lashes rewarded his efforts. “Get back,” he ordered the child as he lifted the mother into his arms.

She weighed little more than a child herself, he thought. Her head lolled over his arm, exposing the delicate arch of her throat. He tried to shift his hold to support her neck, but it was like trying to juggle a limp rag, and no matter how hard he tried, his hands seemed to find feminine softness better left untouched.