Adella's Enemy (9 page)

“The men in the army talked about pulling out at the last, spilling their seed on the ground…if they had a care for a woman and she asked.”

Swearing again in Gaelic, Cormac pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You shouldn’t have heard that.”

“But I did and I’m asking.”

“You ask too much. It’d be too hard a thing to remember when I’ve got the prettiest lass I’ve ever seen in my arms.”

She moved closer to him. She craved his warmth, his strength, his touch. She didn’t want to run from this. “I’ll remember for both of us.”

“You could do this with any man. Why me?”

She wanted to delay his return to the worksite. No. That was a lie, with them trapped in the barn and his men probably all hunkered down themselves to wait out the storm. Sometimes it was easier to tell oneself lies. And sometimes it was easier to say aloud just a little bit of the truth.

She placed her palm on his chest. “I want you.”

The muscles in his jaw jerked taut as leather. He stomped away. Flopping down on his back on the pile of hay, he threw one arm over his eyes.

She followed and sat beside him. She made sure not to touch him. She didn’t want him retreating again. “Is this your way of telling me no?”

“You ask too much. I want more than a quick toss, lass. I want that child I spoke of. I want a family again.”

The yearning in his voice made her stomach churn with apprehension. She hugged her knees to her chest and propped her chin on them. “When you went home to Ireland…” She wanted to ask if a sweetheart had been waiting for him. Her courage failed her. “You went back to start a family?”

“No. I returned to help the family I’d left. I went back for my sister, Meghan.” He thrust his fingers deep into his hair and left them there. He stared at the roof without blinking. “I told you my sister, Molly, died. She wasn’t the only one.”

His words chilled her.

Shaking as if cold as well, he continued in a strangled voice, “During the two years following Molly’s death, my sisters—Muriel and Maeve and Maureen—died. Meghan only survived by a hairsbreadth.”

Tears blurred her eyes. “And your parents?”

“I was told my mother died when I was four. A year later, my father didn’t return from the tavern. That was one of my first memories. Not his failure to come home, but my sisters all saying it’d be easier without him. But the
McGrady sisters never had things easy.” His skin had turned as white as bleached bone.

When he’d said people died because of him, he’d meant his sisters. She didn’t believe it. “How did they die?”

“
An Gorta Mór
. The Great Hunger. It took everyone I loved except Meghan.”

Despite her sorrow for his loss, she breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t responsible for anyone’s death. He wasn’t like Levi Parsons. “You can’t blame yourself for surviving a country-wide famine that happened…how long ago?”

“Molly died in ’48, a few years after the potato blight hit. She was only twelve. I should’ve—”

“Wait! That’s when you said you stopped riding the landlord’s ponies. You said Molly was twelve. Just three years older than you.
My God. You were only a boy when she died!”

“It would’ve been better if I’d never been born. Then they’d have had more to eat. They’d have lived.”

“You don’t know that!” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended.

“Aye, I do. After Molly passed, my eldest sister, Muriel, wouldn’t speak for a fortnight. When she finally did, it was to assemble us around Molly’s grave and pledge that no one younger than she would die. She was looking at me when she said it. Each of my sisters made the same vow when she became the eldest. They died because of me.”

“They made their own decisions.”

“I didn’t fully understand what they were doing at first. Then, later, I didn’t even have the brains to steal a loaf of bread without getting caught.” His voice was flat as if he spoke about someone other than himself. “The parish constable, a kindly sort who could’ve jailed or transported me, blistered my palms with a leather strap. Couldn’t pick up, let alone pinch, anything for weeks. Then, by dumb luck, I found work. Earned enough to buy the bread I was so useless at stealing. I’ve worked every day since.”

He drew in a deep breath as if steeling himself to continue. “But I started too late. By then only Meghan was alive.” He finally looked at her. The silver of his eyes had turned a shade as dark and unforgiving as the clouds holding them prisoner in the barn.

“My sisters’ resolve terrified me. So did my failure to do anything to save them. I feel the same way about you.”

Chapter 7

God rot his sorry soul. Why had he burdened Adella with all his weaknesses? He’d never bared his soul so completely to anyone. If asked about his trip to Galway, he’d just said he had five sisters and was going home to help the one who still needed him.

Only when he got back, Meghan—true to the
McGrady sisters’ pluck—hadn’t needed him. His five-year absence, finally earning a decent wage on the transcontinental railroad and sending every penny home, had given Meghan space. Space to stop clinging to the past and hovering over a baby brother who now, at age thirty-one, towered over her.

Meghan had found a
husband who Cormac grudgingly respected, had given birth to boy of her own, and had a second child on the way. She’d built a new family. After returning his money, she urged him to do the same.

Uncurling from her sitting position,
Adella stretched out on her back beside him. His arms ached to hold her. All of her. Every lithe curve. Even her determined, and often sharp, knees and elbows.

She took a turn at staring at the roof.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, craving the sound of her voice

“That you had a gang long before you came to America and started building railroads.”

He didn’t know what he’d expected, but not that. He laughed, not a happy laugh but still a laugh. It eased some of the tightness gripping his chest.

She rolled on her side and met his gaze. Even sopping-wet she was damned pretty. She stole his breath and made it hard to think of anything but her, which was a blessing right now.

“I’m also thinking that you learned to take care of those in need from the very best. Yesterday, when you told Stevens to pay the farm widows or leave them alone, you were remembering your sisters.”

“I suppose so.”

She shimmied closer, her breasts grazing his side. His arm instinctively dropped down around her shoulders. He kept his grip loose, waiting for her retreat, dreading it.

Instead, she slid on top of him. Desire shot through him hard and fast, making his whole frame stiffen.

“You make a nice island,” she murmured.

He forced his body to relax. Not all of him would listen.

“An Irish island in a sea of American mud?” He lowered his voice to match hers. “Will you stay with me?” He threaded his fingers in her hair and searched her eyes. “Will you think of the future rather than the past? Whatever happened, whatever turned you into a spy, it’s not too late to do something different.” His hold on her involuntarily tightened. “Build a life with me.”

Shadows danced across her golden eyes. Ghosts tormented her as well. “Like a milkmaid stumbling across a giant sleeping in her barn, I should really run for my life.”

But Adella wasn’t running. She remained in his arms. “You aren’t one of those easily intimidated maidens.”

“In this barn, if I asked again, would my giant become my lover?”

He flinched, nearly toppling her off him. He stared at her, too stunned to even curse. Then a slow certainty stole over him, gentling his grip on her. If he couldn’t have Adella, then he didn’t want a family. And he couldn’t change Adella. He could only accept her, love her, and cherish every moment he was blessed with her in his arms. He uncurled his fingers, releasing her hair, smoothing the auburn locks, arranging the thick mass over her shoulders and down her spine.

She cocked her head, frowning down at him warily, awaiting his answer.

“Have you lain with a man before?”

She shook her head. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.” He pulled a wayward curl of her hair, a teasing gesture he’d seen Meghan’s husband do in Galway. He didn’t want to hurt Adella in any way. He must go slowly with her.

“You still won’t grant my request.” She squeezed shut her eyes and pulled away from him. “I think it’s time to rise and face the reality.”

“I think not.” In one swift movement, he lifted his head and pressed his lips to hers. So much for proceeding slowly.

He swallowed her surprised gasp, then her moan of pleasure. With the gap between them finally removed, he succumbed to the fierce need he’d been holding back. She returned his kiss with equal passion.
Scorching him, enticing him, amazing him. Whenever Adella decided to do something, she did it boldly.

Lungs burning, he slid his lips along her cheek. He needed to catch his breath, but he couldn’t stop touching her. He rubbed the curve of his cheekbone against her soft cheek, delighting in her throaty purr. With his hands cradling her head, he explored the ridge of her jaw, the pulse point at the end, the hollow below her ear. She arched her back, granting him better access.

He slowed his movements, wanting to remember everything about this moment. He inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of her warm skin mixed with the flower of her perfume. The rain droplets, beading on her skin, were sweet on his tongue.

She trembled against him and arched her back even more. His lips found the swell of her breasts.
Unrestrained breasts. She wasn’t wearing a corset. Sliding his hands down, he cupped her breasts, one in each palm. They were the perfect size and shape for his thumb to caress her nipples through her wet dress. They pebbled immediately. He unbuttoned her bodice and slipped his hands under her chemise. Flesh against flesh. So soft, so beautiful. His mouth swiftly followed his hands.

His blood pounded in his ears and raced to his groin. She rubbed her pelvis against his, and his hands immediately shot down to cover her bottom and press her firm against his erection. The growl in the back of his throat startled him.

“You know how to test a man’s restraint in the best way possible, lass. Rock your hips like this.” He guided her in the rhythm he craved. She was a damned quick study. The pleasure she wrenched from him left him struggling to hold onto what little remained of his control. And all with her still clothed. What would it feel like with her naked against him?

“You’ll remember to pull out?
At the end?” Her voice was breathless and husky, driving him to the precipice.

He didn’t want to think about the end. Doing so might send him over the edge right now. He rolled her onto her back and lifted the hem of her skirt. “No. I doubt if I’d remember,” he whispered close to her ear. “So I’m going to make love to you another way.”

He glided his fingers up the intoxicatingly soft skin of her inner thigh, pausing to trace circles, advancing, retreating but always moving higher. Delicious shivers rippled through her body as she opened to him.

He didn’t stop until she cried out his name and arched tight as a bowstring against his hand. Wrapping her in his arms, he concentrated on counting to one hundred. He wasn’t ruining this one perfect moment with her. It might be all he ever had.

“I had no idea that was possible,” she murmured.

With
Adella in his arms, the world outside was hushed, silent. He lifted his head. No, it wasn’t just the peace of being with her. The wind and rain no longer rattled the rafters. The storm had stopped. He was being selfish, continuing to hold Adella while she wore a damp dress in a drafty barn.

He pulled down her skirt and buttoned her bodice. “We should head for town and find you some dry clothes.”

“We’re not…continuing?”

“You need time to think, to decide.”

“I do?” She ducked her head, avoiding his gaze. “Or you do?”

He laced his fingers with hers and rose, pulling her to her feet beside him. “I know what I want.”

She still wouldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she stared at their linked hands and said, “You once said I should come find you if I needed help.”

“You still should. No matter what you decide about…” he squeezed her fingers, “…this.” He immediately loosened his grip, so she could pull free if she wanted. “I’ll move my tent away from the others so that if you need assistance, you can find me quickly.”

“What if I just need…you?” She lifted her head.

The unblinking intensity in her amber eyes made his chest swell with hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could steal happiness one moment at a time with her. “Then come to me tonight. I’ll be waiting.”

***

Riding beside
Adella, Cormac pointed his mount in the direction of New Chicago. He let the horse choose its own pace across a ravine fetlock-deep in water. It would take hours, maybe days, for this much rain to soak into the earth.

Adella’s
unbound hair spilled down her back, swaying in the wake of the wind that drove the darkest clouds over the horizon. Her beauty stole his breath like his first glimpse of Ireland after five long years away. He’d been hopeful then as well. And it had all come to naught.

A baritone boom shook the earth.

“Another thunderstorm?” She craned her neck, inspecting the sky.

He did the same. The eastern horizon flickered bright orange. Then black smoke billowed, obscuring the light.

He turned his horse sharply, urging it toward this new cloud. Adella’s horse splashed close behind him. The hoof beats matched his own mount’s stride for stride when he cleared the water and rode as fast as he dared up the soft, slippery slope.

On the other side, in a broad valley, lay the smoke’s source—the fractured boiler of a locomotive burrowed in the earth to its running boards. Behind it, a boxcar lay on its side. Then came a car reduced to kindling by a final freight car. Iron rails, identical to those that had nearly crushed
Adella, lay scattered like match sticks.

In the middle of the destruction, a section of the track had collapsed underwater. Guilt tore through his gut. His shoddy work, his failure to defy Stevens’ continued demands to increase the pace of construction, had done this. Where was the train’s crew? Were they dead?

He raced down the hill without a thought for his own well-being. Leaping from his horse, he climbed onto the engine. The cab was empty. From his vantage point, he spun in a circle searching, gasping for air like a drowning man. His gaze halted on Adella kneeling next to a figure stretched on the ground behind the wreck. He stopped breathing all together.

She lifted her head, her gaze meeting his. She smiled and beckoned for him to join her.

“Thank Dixie you’re alive,” she said to the man on the ground as Cormac skidded to a halt beside them.

“How’s my train?” the man asked on groan.

“The storm roughed her up a bit. But it’s—” she paused until Cormac met her gaze again, “—nothing that can’t be fixed.”

Was his guilt written that plainly on his face?

“Nature didn’t do this all on her own,” the conductor said, shaking his head. “Men helped. After we came off the rails, I saw three of them swoop into the first boxcar, quick as buzzards.”

“What was inside?” she asked.

“The payroll,” Cormac replied.

Without that money half the workmen would jump ship for the Joy Line. Hell, they’d all leave, except for maybe the
McGrady Gang. And he couldn’t let his gang stay if they weren’t getting paid. Things couldn’t get any worse.

“Thank Jesus,” the conductor said, “we didn’t pick up the passenger car at the last town.”

Cormac spat out a curse. Things could always get worse. And so far he hadn’t done a damned thing to stop them. “When I find these saboteurs, I’ll make sure they’re locked up with the key buried. They can stay there till they—”

Adella’s
face had turned ashen. Regret bombarded his heart. Instinctively, he reached for her. She retreated and stared without blinking at the wreckage.

Shoving his outstretched hands in his pockets, he pivoted to face the man on the ground. “Can you tell us what the robbers looked like?”

The conductor shook his head. “Too much smoke and they’d covered their faces with bandanas.”

Cormac’s
thoughts spun, grappling for answers. “Did they say anything?”

“Yeah, but it was mighty strange. I only understood the one phrase.”

“Which was?”

“As they rode off, one of them yelled:
To tyrants we’ll not yield.”

Adella
sucked in a breath.

Why? The words didn’t mean a thing to him. He studied the conductor.
“You sure? You were thrown pretty far from the train and—”

“Course I’m bloody sure!” The conductor cast
Adella an apologetic glance. “Sorry, miss. I still get riled when I hear the old battle cries. Heard ’em too many times when a wave of Rebel Gray charged and started riddling my troop with bullets.”

Cormac
frowned. The conductor’s comments felt contradictory. “So why call their words strange?”

“Because everything they said before that was gibberish. They were talking in Irish.”

***

Adella’s
valise felt heavy as a mortar shell, as she crept along the footpath. Could she use the valise’s contents to pacify rather than provoke? To heal rather than harm? The night was as black as the conservatively-cut mourning dress she’d chosen to wear. Bulky clouds still hung overhead, preventing the moon and stars from showing her the way. The only light came from the workmen’s tents ahead.