A GIFT FROM HOME

Book 4: Irish Western Series

by C.H. Admirand

Synopsis

For Readers who have read the first three books in the series, this is John Reilly's story!

John Reilly is expecting a package from home, something light as a feather and twice as sweet. Little does he realize the package isn't the baked goods he's been dreaming of but a grown-up version of the thirteen-year-old girl who used to follow him everywhere.

When John Reilly doesn't return to County Cork, Ireland, Jessi Fahy boards a ship and tracks him down. She arrives in Emerson, Colorado, hot, tired, and dusty, but he doesn't recognize her. Five and a half years of waiting in vain, combined with a horrendous voyage and the realization that John doesn't remember her, have Jessi fisting her hand and testing Mrs. Reilly's secret weapon. With a wicked right cross, big John Reilly goes down like a stone.

In Book 4 of C. H. Admirand's Irish Western Series, the temporarily disbanded Committee for the Betterment of Emerson is at it again! This time they accuse Jessi Fahy of setting fire to Peterson's Stable, injuring Mr. Peterson, brawling in public and ruining the good name of the Flahertys' foreman, John Reilly.

Other books in C.H. Admirand's Irish Western Series:
THE MARSHAL'S DESTINY (Bk 1)
THE RANCHER'S HEART (Bk 2)
PEARL'S REDEMPTION (Bk 3)
A GIFT FROM HOME (Bk 4)

Other series by C.H. Admirand:
The Secret Life of Cowboys/Sourcebooks, Inc.
TYLER (Bk 1)
DYLAN (Bk 2)
JESSE (Bk 3)

Contemporary Small Town/Sourcebooks, Inc.
A WEDDING IN APPLE GROVE (Bk 1)
ONE DAY IN APPLE GROVE (Bk 2)
WELCOME BACK TO APPLE GROVE (Bk 3)

Medieval Trilogy/DCL Publications
THE LORD OF MEREWOOD KEEP (Bk 1)
THE SAXON BRIDE (Bk 2)
A SCOT'S HONOR (Bk 3)

Release date: July 9, 2013

Print pages: 323

Sample

Chapter One

Jessi’s heart pounded at a furious pace, keeping time with her feet as she raced back to Widow Reilly’s cottage from town.

Her left hand clutched the reason she ignored the sharp bite of the early spring morning, wearing only a light woolen shawl wrapped about her slender shoulders.

She noticed the wet patch of dirt in the road, and skimmed along the edge of it. Her boots caught and slipped in the mud. Wind-milling her arms, she regained her balance and kept on running. Not slowing down as she approached the cottage, she burst through the door, yelling, “ ’Tis here!” Drawing in a much-needed breath, she called out again, “Mother Reilly?”

“Have ye no sense at all, Jessi Fahy?” a deep voice demanded.

She whirled around. “Aiden!”

He shook his head, staring down at her feet. “If ye haven’t a care for the time it takes to scrub the floor, at least think of me poor ma’s old bones.”

“Aiden Reilly!”

Both Jessi and Aiden cringed at the sharp tone of his mother’s voice. The woman sounded as if she were ready to blast the both of them to Kingdom Come, Jessi for muddying her clean floor and Aiden for calling his mother’s bones old. Knowing she’d have to act fast to distract the woman, Jessi waved the letter in front of Mrs. Reilly’s face.

“If ye have no respect for yer own moth—”

As she’d hoped, Widow Reilly stopped mid-tirade, and turned away from her son to stare at Jessi. “What have ye there, lass?”

Jessi handed the letter over. “ ’Tis from himself—all the way from Colorado.”

Aiden sniffed and shrugged a shoulder as if he couldn’t care less, but his eyes gave him away. Longing and sorrow swirled in their pale brown depths. “News from me wayward brother, then.”

Jessi bit the tip of her tongue to keep from defending John. He had been wandering America, traveling from the shore he’d landed on, nearly clear across to the other, while Aiden and his younger brother were still at home, tilling the soil and shearing the sheep. But John had continued to do his part for his widowed mother; he’d sent money home. More than Jessi had imagined existed in the whole west of Ireland.

Her gaze sought that of her friend’s mother. Gleaming green eyes met hers. The nearly imperceptible nod confirmed she’d been right to bite her tongue. No good would come of starting a row with Aiden. The damned man always managed to win their battle of words. Every time.

“Well, lass,” Widow Reilly said with a nod. “Shall we see what me middle son has got himself into this time?”

Jessi’s heart hitched and her breath snagged. “Won’t he be tellin’ us he’s comin’ home?”

She’d waited forever for him. Five long years; nearly six. Years without seeing his handsome face or watching the caring touch of his hand as he tended his family’s small flock of sheep.

“Don’t borrow trouble,” Aiden grumbled. “Let’s see what me softheaded brother has to say for himself.”

A shiver worked its way up from the thin soles of her well-worn boots, snaking up her spine. “Me ma always used to say—”

“Trouble is yer middle name?” Mrs. Reilly wrapped an arm about Jessi, pulling her close for a quick hug. Looking over Jessi’s shoulder at her eldest, she said, “Put the teakettle on, Aiden, we’ll have a bit of tea with the currant cake while we read John’s letter.” Narrowing her gaze at Jessi, she scolded, “Ye can sweep up the bits of dried mud ye’ve left on me fresh-scrubbed floor.”

Jessi’s face heated from neck to forehead. She looked down at her feet, hiding her blush and her embarrassment. Blast, she’d done it again. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Reilly. I was in a hurry.”

“None of that now, lass,” the older woman admonished. She handed Jessi the broom, nodding her head at Jessi’s feet and the now-dirty floor.

Wishing she’d slowed down long enough to wipe her feet, Jessi muttered to herself as she swept the dirt into a nice neat pile by the front door.

As she opened the door, Mrs. Reilly called, “Mind ye don’t toss the dirt on the passing gentry!”

Jessi paused to look to the left and then the right, watching for the telltale swirls of dust and leaves the brisk March wind blew past the doorstep. As the wind settled, a small swirl of dust danced across the doorstep.

Jessi blinked, instinctively knowing it wasn’t the wind, but the Little People. She curtseyed. “Beggin’ yer pardon, I’ll not toss dirt on any of the Wee Folk.” Mrs. Reilly had been the one to instill the respect Jessi still had to this day for the faeries, wood sprites, and leprechauns that lived in and around their small town.

Broom at the ready, Jessi waited until the air and dust had settled, then she gently swept the dirt from inside the house out to the rose garden sleeping to the left of the door.

With a sigh, she knew warmer weather wouldn’t arrive fast enough to suit her. She desperately needed to see shoots of green pushing through the soil and tiny rosebuds ready to burst into bloom. Winter was far too long and dreary for the likes of her.

Sweeping the doorstep once more for good measure, she turned around, making sure to take the time to wipe her feet before going in the house.

Aiden was waiting for her. “I heard Sean McNulty asked ye to wed.”

Her gaze shot from her toes to his collarbone. Tilting her head back so she could meet his steady questioning gaze, she sniffed. “Then ye’ve also heard that I’ve thanked him for the offer, but that I cannot marry him.”

Aiden’s sigh was long and deep. “He’s not coming back, lass. Why can’t ye see that?”

The depth of compassion in his voice rattled her composure. “Ye don’t know that for certain, Aiden, he might—”

“I know me brother. He won’t be back.”

Anguish roiled in her empty stomach. She’d gone straight to collect the post after finishing her morning chores, knowing a letter would be waiting. Hadn’t she dreamt of it, just last night?

“He’ll be on the next boat, if he hasn’t left already.”

The grim set of Aiden’s mouth worried her but did nothing to dissuade her from her present line of thought. John Reilly promised she’d be the first lass he’d kiss when he came home, and she intended to collect on that promise. Five years had come and gone, and moving halfway to the sixth, surely this letter would be the one announcing his imminent arrival from America.

“Ye’ve still got yer head in the clouds and yer heart—” Aiden began, but Jessi interrupted him.

“Have a care just what ye say,” she warned, sticking a fist beneath his nose. “I bloodied yer nose once, and I’m not afraid to do it again.”

“Jessi Keely Fahy!”

The sound of her full name had her dropping her fist and whirling around to face the consequences of getting caught, once again, about to brawl indoors.

“Mrs. Reilly, I’m sorry.”

The look in the older woman’s eyes had the spit drying up on Jessi’s tongue and the words shriveling up in her mind.

Cool, clear, hard green eyes dared her to open her mouth. “You were saying?”

For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what she had been about to say. Sneaking a peek at her tormentor’s profile told her she’d get no help from that quarter again today. She’d angered the man, when he’d only meant to help her see the truth her head acknowledged but her heart ignored.

Wiping her now-damp palms on her rumpled rough wool skirt, she shrugged. Mrs. Reilly narrowed her eyes at her for the longest time, then finally looked heavenward. “Lord, why did ye saddle me with the daughter I’ve always wanted, if she’s a tongue as sharp as me own?”

Jessi’s eyes filled with tears. Desperate not to cry in front of anyone, she sniffed deeply and swept the back of her hand across her eyes before she raked her fingers through her tangled hair, as if that had been her intention all along.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to start trouble with Aiden.”

A sharp bark of laughter had her glaring over her shoulder at John’s brother. “Well, I didn’t,” she protested loudly.

“Ye didn’t mean to get caught, is what you meant to say,” Aiden chided her.

Blast the man; he had the right of it. “Well, now, and maybe I wouldn’t have hit yer nose too hard.”

Mrs. Reilly snickered. “But hard enough to bloody it, no doubt.”

Before Jessi could defend herself, Mrs. Reilly said, “The tea’s been steeping, and I came in search of someone to slice me cake.”

Jessi and Aiden looked first at one another and then at his mother. ’Twas no use. Mrs. Reilly wasn’t always right, but this was the woman’s house, and in it, she demanded no one argue with her. Jessi had been visiting long enough to know when to back down.

Now was the perfect time. “I’ll just wash up and take care of that wee chore for ye.”

Pouring a bit of tepid water into the bowl set aside for washing indoors, she used the sliver of lye soap and scrubbed her hands until they stung. A wonderful housekeeper, Mrs. Reilly had left a linen towel for her to dry her hands on. Grateful that some things never changed, Jessi used the towel and moved over to the table to slice the cake.

“Why must ye bedevil the lass?” she heard Mrs. Reilly ask.

“Aye,” she whispered to herself. “Why must ye, Aiden?”

“She’s a fine lass, Ma.”

Jessi tilted her head to one side as she continued to cut slivers of cake and place them on the one good plate Mrs. Reilly owned, a fragile, pale-as-milk, bone-china cake plate.

Hearing Aiden’s words, she grinned, agreeing with him. “That I am.”

“The finest, lad, but ye treat her like she were still the same slip of a girl she was the day John left.”

Not wanting to interrupt the conversation, Jessi decided to wait before carrying in the cake. Besides, the big dolt might yet say something worth hearing.

Aiden’s sigh was loud and heartfelt. “Ye know how every other man in town treats her, like she were the only woman worth courting in town.”

“And I hate it,” Jessi mumbled beneath her breath.

“You know as well as I do that she doesn’t pay them any mind,” his mother countered.

“Well, I figure the lass needs someone in town to sharpen her tongue on.”

“Aiden Reilly!” Jessi stormed into the parlor, ready to whack him in the back of the head. But the look in his eyes stopped her. He knew! The lout knew she’d been listening.

“Aye, lass?” he asked. “Have ye something to say to me, then?”

Mrs. Reilly chuckled. Jessi knew then why Aiden had provoked her; he sensed the contents of his brother’s letter might not be what his mother or Jessi hoped. Bless the lout, but he was a good man at heart.

“Let’s see what John has to tell us.” Mrs. Reilly walked back into the kitchen. Aiden pulled out her chair and then one for Jessi before sitting across from her.

Passing moist slices of cake to everyone, Jessi sat with her hands folded in her lap, waiting. Every nerve and muscle twitched in anticipation of John’s news. She could hardly wait to see how the years had treated him. Would his hair be as dark as she remembered, or would the sun on the other side of the ocean have bleached some of the color out of it, as it did hers every summer?

Would his hands still be gentle when tending flocks of sheep? Would his smile…

“—not coming?” she heard Mrs. Reilly rasp.

“I’m sorry, Ma.”

Jessi shook her head; surely she hadn’t just heard the words she dreaded.

“Does he say why?” The older woman’s voice sounded strained, as if she held on to her composure by mere threads.

Aiden shook his head. “Not that I can make out. Here,” he said, handing the letter to his mother. “See for yourself.”

Jessi rubbed her hands on her skirts, then carefully placed them on either side of her teacup. Bracing herself, she slowly pushed to her feet, waiting for Mrs. Reilly to deny Aiden’s words. John had to be coming back. He simply had to be.

“Well, then,” Mrs. Reilly said, sniffling. “It seems me middle son has decided America’s to his liking.”

Jessi’s gaze snapped up to meet hers. “He’s staying?”

“Aye, lass,” Aiden said, coming around to her side of the table. “He means to stay.”

“But he promised,” she whispered as the fear she’d been nursing these past few years sprang loose from the tiny corner of her heart. “He promised he’d come back and…”

The look of pity in Aiden’s eyes was her undoing. She spun around and bolted from the room.

The door slammed against the wall, but she didn’t slow down long enough to apologize. She had to hold herself together long enough to find somewhere to go. Somewhere dark and lonely, where she could pour out her heart to someone who’d listen. The man she loved, the one she’d given her heart to all those years ago, would not be coming home.

Tears trickled down her face as she ran down the lane, slipping in the ruts a wagon wheel or pony cart had left behind.

The toe of her boot caught in the slight furrow, and she went down hard on both knees. Her head whipped down, but she caught herself before she smacked her face on the cold, hard dirt.

“Why?” The dam burst and there was no use to try to stop the tears. She was all alone, half a mile from the nearest cottage or farm. As she cried, she realized she’d been alone since the day John boarded the boat that took him from their lives. He’d been everything to her, and she…she’d been nothing to him.

“Yer knees are a sight, lass.”

Jessi groaned, “Go away!”

Aiden ignored her. “Don’t ye want to hear what me brother has been doing?”

She sniffed back her tears and wiped her runny nose on her sleeve. “I do not.”

“Liar,” he rumbled. “Let’s have a look at yer bony knees. Ye may need a stitch or two to hold the left one together.”

Horrified that the stinging ache was more than just bluster, she dared a look down to see she wasn’t bleeding profusely. She glared up at the man trying to help her to her feet. “Ye lied,” she rasped. “ ’Tis but a scratch.”

“Aye, but it got yer sorry arse out of the middle of the road.”

“Leave me and me sorry arse alone.”

“I can’t,” Aiden rasped.

The change in the tone of his voice had her looking at him.

Really looking. “Why not?”

“I made a promise.”

Her stomach turned upside down, but Aiden brushed a tangle of honey-blonde hair out of her eyes and her stomach settled back down. “What kind of promise?”

His eyes never left hers as he answered, “I told me hardheaded brother that I’d see ye didn’t come to any harm while he was gone.”

“Now, what would ye go and do a thing like that for?”

She couldn’t believe John had asked his older brother to look out for her. “I have me own brother, ye know.”

“Aye, and ye never listen to a word he has to say.”

“Well, of course not, ye flea-brain. He’s me brother.”

Aiden raised his eyes heavenward as he wrapped an arm around her and dragged her out of the road. “John’s a smart lad. He knew ye’d either break yer neck following after yer daredevil brother, or spend all of yer time over visiting our ma.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but the growing lump of gratitude stopped her.

“Luckily for me, ye’ve been spending most of yer spare time with us.” His eyes twinkled with wicked glee. “That is when ye weren’t being chased by half the town for yer warm brown eyes and honey-colored hair.”

Stunned that Aiden would say such a thing to her when she knew he had pledged his heart to Moira Kerry, she fisted her left hand and clubbed him in the chin.

His grunt of surprise wasn’t nearly as satisfying as she’d hoped. She decided to go for blood. “I’ll be tellin’ Moira what a pretty mouthful of words ye came up with,” she taunted. “Just see if I don’t.”

Aiden rubbed his chin and shocked her to the soles of her feet by pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Not my words, lass. John’s.”

He turned them around until they were walking back in the direction of his home. “Funny thing about me brother. It seems he was quite taken with a skinny-boned, scabby-kneed scrap of a lass. Enough to worry about her all these years.”

“But he never said anything.”

“Would you have listened to anything he had to say?”

“Well…” She looked at her dirt-stained skirt and then up into the face of the only man she’d let tell her what to do in five long years. He knew her almost as well as John had, maybe better. She grinned. “Probably not.”

He threw back his head and laughed, a warm, deep belly laugh. “There’s a lass.” Squeezing her close, he said, “Yer chilled to the bone. Let’s get some hot tea in ye and see what else himself has to say about the country where the sky is so blue it hurts the eye.”

Jessi smiled up at Aiden. He’d been a truer friend than she’d realized, keeping silent watch over her without reining in her wild streak. She thought of the night she’d twisted her ankle following her brother through the fields at midnight, chasing Pookas. Aiden had been the one to find her and bring her home and then had yelled at her. Something John had never done. She’d been so mad at Aiden that time, she hadn’t spoken two words to him for a whole week!

If she had an ounce of courage in her, she’d apologize to the poor man for having kept such a promise to his brother at the price of a twice-monthly—at the very least, if her memory were correct—tongue-lashing from herself.

They rounded the curve that would take them to the Reilly’s front door. The man was a puzzle. She hadn’t liked it at the time, and only just now realized Aiden’s yelling at her had kept her from permanently doing damage to herself following after her older brother and his lack-witted friends at night.

“Yer a fine man, Aiden Reilly.” She stopped on the doorstep, braced a hand on his arm. “And I’ve sorely troubled ye these past five years.”

When he grunted in response, she dug deep for the courage. “I’m sorry to have plagued ye so.” Before Aiden could open his mouth to speak, she lifted up onto her toes and kissed his cheek.

Opening the door, more than ready to hear news from the dark-haired, handsome lad she loved, she teased, “Are you going to stand there waiting for Moira and her pretty hook to come along and snag ye on her line like a trout then, Aiden?”

His eyes flashed with temper, but she didn’t mind. He’d yelled at her before; once more wouldn’t dent the thick hide she’d developed while John had been away.

“Jessi Fahy—”

“Aiden,” his mother called out. “Did ye bring the lass back?”

Aiden growled and put a hand out to prevent Jessi from slamming the door in his face. Shoving the door back open he answered, “That I did.”

“Well, come in, then, the both of ye,” Mrs. Reilly said, lowering her voice. “I have a plan.”