19

JO FINISHED BRUSHING two of the workhorses and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. It had been three days since Connor O’Leary had followed her home. Three days since he’d discovered her gender—and he hadn’t spoken to her since.

Was that a blessing or a curse?

Jo took the brushes to the tack room and replaced them neatly on the shelf. Every day now, she performed her tasks with the threat of disaster looming over her head. Would Connor allow her to stay, or would he tell her she must go?

With each day, her hope grew that his compassionate nature had won out and he’d decided not to fire her.

And each day, she fought harder to ignore that compassionate nature—among Connor’s other amazing qualities. His strength and his gentleness. The hazel eyes that twinkled with mischief one minute and warmed with affection the next.

Utter foolishness. A man like Connor was not for her.

Footsteps sounded in the barn. Jo stiffened and poked her head out of the room.

Mac, one of the other stable hands, strode toward her. “Hey, Miller. The boss wants to see you. He’s outside by the track.”

Jo froze, her stomach churning. It appeared Connor had made a decision. “Thanks, Mac.”

She stepped outside the barn, tugging her hat down more firmly against the pull of the wind.

Connor leaned against the white fence, watching her approach with wary eyes.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” His intense gaze did nothing to appease the swarm of buzzing bees inside her.

She forced herself to remain still and wait.

“First of all, I have a message from Dr. Clayborne. He and Deirdre will be going back to see your father today. They got sidetracked with the snowstorm and all.”

Jo shifted her focus to the slush at her feet. “I heard about your nephew. I’m glad he’s all right.”

“Thank you. We were pretty worried for a while.”

A few seconds of silence followed, and when Jo couldn’t stand it any longer, she raised her head. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?” she blurted out.

He crossed his arms. “I’d like you to talk to my mother before I make my decision.”

Her mouth gaped open. “You told your mother about me?” She couldn’t begin to fathom what was going on in his mind.

“There’s no one whose opinion I trust more than hers.”

She tilted her chin. “And if I refuse?”

His eyes narrowed. “It will make my decision a whole lot easier.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. “I guess I don’t have much choice then.”

“Good. I’ll tell the housekeeper to expect you.” He gave a tight nod and strode away.

Connor had practically worn out the carpet, pacing his father’s study until he could stand it no longer. He’d asked his mother for help, thinking that Jo might talk more freely to another woman. More specifically, he’d asked Mama to find out what other type of work Jo might be qualified for and to suggest possible places to seek such employment. Then when he broke the news that Jo had to leave Irish Meadows, he could do so knowing he’d tried his best to help her.

Connor exited the study and headed toward Mama’s room, fairly certain the conversation must be over. He looked forward to learning his mother’s opinion on Jo’s situation.

Hearing feminine voices coming from the sitting room, Connor slowed his approach. It seemed his timing was off once again.

Instead of retreating, however, curiosity overcame his sense of propriety. He approached the door, which stood slightly ajar, and peered inside. Mama had her arm around a hunched-over Jo, who was still wearing that detestable hat. Jo sniffed into a handkerchief held to her nose.

Was she crying?

Connor pressed his back against the wall. He could deal with almost anything except a woman’s tears.

“I’m so sorry to hear about your father.” Mama’s voice drifted out to Connor. “Addiction to alcohol is a dreadful disease. Once it gets hold of a person, it’s difficult to shake.”

“It’s gotten worse over the last few years. My brother tries to keep everything going, making excuses for Pa and filling in when he can. But even Seth is worn out.” A loud sniff punctuated her remark. “I had hoped Prohibition would make it harder to get whiskey, but Pa always seems to find a way.”

“I need to ask you something, dear, and I hope you’ll trust me with the truth.”

Connor held his breath. A twinge of guilt flared over the fact that he was eavesdropping on a private conversation. Yet part of him felt justified after the deception Jo had perpetrated.

“Does your father mistreat you when he’s . . . overindulged?”

Several seconds passed, and then a small voice answered. “Mostly he just yells, but sometimes, if he gets really riled, he . . . hits me.”

Connor balled his hands into fists at his side. A streak of anger roared through him. He wanted to ride over to that cabin and make sure the man never laid a finger on Jo again.

“But Pa’s always sorry afterward.”

Unable to contain himself, Connor shoved away from the wall and barged into the room. “Apologizing doesn’t mean a thing if he doesn’t change his behavior.”

Jo’s head flew up, tears streaking her cheeks. Very feminine cheeks and very beautiful blue eyes. How had he ever believed she was a boy?

“Connor!” Mama’s stern expression told him she didn’t approve of his interruption, nor his eavesdropping.

But he couldn’t sit by and say nothing. He needed to know Jo wasn’t in danger at home. “What about your brother? Does he hit you as well?”

Jo shook her head. “Seth would never hurt me. Pa only gets violent if Seth isn’t there to protect me.”

Exasperation flooded Connor’s system as he paced the carpet in front of her. “Why do you stay with a father who abuses you?”

She gave a tiny shrug. “I suppose I feel responsible. Pa didn’t start drinking until my mother died giving birth to me. He couldn’t cope with losing her.”

“That’s ridiculous. You weren’t—”

Mama reached out to touch his sleeve, giving him a pointed stare. “I’m sure Jo loves her father, despite his flaws.”

Jo nodded. “Pa and Seth are all I’ve got.”

Connor burned with the need to save her from such a sorry life. But there was little he could do. A decision solidified in his mind. At least he could ease her mind in one respect. “I want you to know you have a job with us for as long as you need it.”

Relief spread over Jo’s face. “Thank you, Mr. O’Leary.”

“It’s Connor, and you’re welcome. If your father gives you any trouble, I want you to come here for help. Promise me.”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“Good. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“Thank you,” she whispered again as she rose.

The tension in Connor’s gut eased a notch. It wasn’t much, but it was the least he could do to protect her.

For the moment.

Seated on Ginger’s back, Deirdre flexed her fingers to get the blood flowing to her chilled hands, wishing she knew what Matthew was thinking. She’d been pleasantly surprised when he’d asked her to accompany him on his follow-up visit to Mr. Miller. Ever since he’d found her crying in the study, he’d reverted to a reserved politeness around her. Better than avoiding her, yet she couldn’t help but yearn for the closeness they’d shared at the cabin.

She released a long breath, which puffed out in the cold air. She was sure the only reason he’d put up with her company was his unfamiliarity with the land and his unease with horses.

Deirdre slid from Ginger’s back, and once Matthew dismounted, they trekked across the snow-laden ground to the cabin door. She gave a loud knock and waited for a response. When no one answered, she knocked again.

After several seconds of silence, Matthew gave her a sharp look and pushed the door open.

“Mr. Miller? It’s Dr. Clayborne.” He stepped inside. “I’m here to check on your leg.”

An eerie silence filled the space. Matthew motioned for Deirdre to stay back and walked farther into the room.

With a frown, she followed him in. She wasn’t about to let him go in alone.

The sofa was empty except for a tangled sheet. A tin cup and plate lay scattered on the table.

Where was Mr. Miller? Had he perhaps felt well enough to venture outside?

Deirdre opened the bedroom door. She found the area tidy, the bed made, a hairbrush the only adornment on the plain dresser. Matthew checked the loft, which he announced was empty as well.

“Where could he be?” Deirdre fisted her hands on her hips. “Surely Jo would have warned us if her father was up and about.”

Connor had confided in her and Mama that Jo was a girl, but had asked them not to say anything. However, Deirdre had told Matthew, feeling it only fair since he was treating her father. He had a right to know the true situation.

“Let’s have a look outside. Maybe there’s an outhouse nearby.” Matthew strode out of the cabin.

Deirdre followed him to the water pump, where a bucket lay overturned within a large area of melted snow. With a grim feeling of foreboding, she headed to the rear of the cabin and stopped sharply when she spied a prostrate form in the snow. “Matthew! Come quickly.”

Matthew’s grim features gave little away as he dropped down beside the man and felt for a pulse. “He’s alive. Help me get him up.”

She wedged her shoulder under Mr. Miller’s arm, holding her breath against the foul stench of body odor and alcohol, as Matthew hefted the other side.

“We need to get him to a hospital right away,” he said.

Deirdre didn’t need him to tell her Mr. Miller was near death. Together they lugged the man’s body over to the horses.

Matthew frowned. “What’s the best way to do this?”

“If you drape him over your horse, we can double up on mine.”

“Okay. Help me lift him.”

It took some effort, but they managed to get the unconscious man across the back of Matthew’s mare, then tied the horse to the rear of Ginger’s saddle.

Deirdre took hold of the reins. “I’ll get on first, then you climb up behind me.”

While she pulled herself into the saddle, Matthew secured his leather bag on the side.

She looked down into his grave face. “It’s okay. I’ve done this many times with Connor.” She removed her foot from the stirrup and gestured. “Put your foot there and I’ll help.” She held out her hand.

Matthew exhaled, grabbed her hand, and swung up behind her.

Deirdre stilled as his solid chest met her back. “Hold on to me. You don’t want to fall off.”

A beat of time passed, and finally Matthew’s arms wrapped around her waist. She closed her eyes and drank in the heady feeling of his strength surrounding her.

Then she gave Ginger a quick kick, and they set off.

A hundred sensations swirled through Matthew as the horse plodded on. Fear for the well-being of the man behind them, discomfort at being back on a horse yet again, and unease at his proximity to Deirdre.

Holding her within the shelter of his arms was proving to be a mix of torment and bliss. He forced himself not to think about the passionate kiss they’d shared, not to appreciate the curves leaning back against him, and not to inhale the scent of her perfumed hair, lest he give in to temptation once again.

Instead, he gazed ahead at the maze of trees and planned the best way to get Mr. Miller to the hospital. James’s auto would be the quickest means of transport, far faster than waiting for an ambulance.

The trip back seemed agonizingly slow, probably due to the delicious torture of being so close to Deirdre. At last, the Irish Meadows stables came into view.

“I’ll need to borrow your father’s car,” he announced as they slowed. “Can you arrange that?”

She twisted to glance over her shoulder. Matthew caught his breath at the heated look in her eye. Was she feeling the same pull of attraction as he?

“Daddy’s car is parked beside the barn. You get Mr. Miller inside, and I’ll find someone to drive us.”

“I can drive.”

One brow lifted. “All right. Then I’ll get Jo. She’ll want to come with us.”

He dismounted and gave a long exhale, allowing the tension to slowly seep from his body. He turned his attention to Clayton Miller while Deirdre headed into the barn.

The stench of his unwashed body could not disguise the distinct odor of alcohol as Matthew lifted the man into the automobile. Somehow Mr. Miller must have found a supply of whiskey—a large quantity, judging by his present state. If Matthew had thought it was merely a matter of the man sleeping off the effects of drink, he would have left him in the cabin. But he feared something far more serious was endangering his health.

This time, Matthew would take no chances. Since the man was unconscious and could offer no objection, Matthew would take him to the hospital for a thorough examination.

Once Deirdre and Jo were settled in the auto, Matthew followed Deirdre’s directions and steered the vehicle toward town. Faint sniffles coming from the backseat alerted Matthew to Jo’s distress. He only prayed her father would make it.

Matthew carried Mr. Miller into the hospital, where several attendants rushed to help him. They whisked the man onto a gurney and wheeled him off.

Matthew turned to Deirdre. “I’ll go and apprise them of Mr. Miller’s condition.”

She nodded, keeping an arm around Jo. “We’ll be in the waiting room.”

Acid churned in Matthew’s stomach as he strode down the corridor. Once again, he found a prayer on his lips for Clayton Miller’s life. He couldn’t help feeling that if he’d only gone back sooner to check on the man, he wouldn’t be in this situation.

A nurse pointed to a curtained area where they had taken the patient. Already a team of professionals was working on him.

A doctor lifted his head and stared at Matthew. “Were you the one who brought this man in?”

“That’s right. I’m Dr. Clayborne.” Matthew removed his hat. “I was treating Mr. Miller for a leg wound. When I came back to check on him today, I found him unconscious in the snow.”

“The man smells like he’s been doused in alcohol.” The doctor pressed a stethoscope to Mr. Miller’s chest. “His vitals are weak. Any idea how long he was outdoors?”

“No. But judging from his condition when I found him, I’d say no more than ten to twenty minutes.”

“I agree. Which leads me to suspect his problem has more to do with the alcohol than the cold.” The man straightened. “I’m Dr. West. Is there a family member I could speak with?”

“His daughter. I’ll get her for you.” Matthew paused. “I did a procedure on this man’s leg to remove an infection that had turned gangrenous. Could you check to see if it’s worsened?”

Dr. West threw him a sharp glance. “I’ll take a look.”

Matthew swallowed the lump of dread in his throat. What if the infection had spread through the man’s system and caused his collapse? Could Matthew be responsible for his condition?

He clamped his jaw shut and went in search of Deirdre and Jo. When he reached the waiting room, he was surprised to find Jo without her hat for once, her long, blond hair neatly plaited.

The women rose as he entered.

“How’s my pa?” Jo asked.

“The doctor is examining him now. He’d like to speak with you.”

Deirdre put her hand on Jo’s shoulder. “I’ll come with you.”

Matthew led the way back and introduced them to Dr. West.

The man brightened when he spotted Deirdre. “Nurse O’Leary. How nice to see you again.”

“And you, Dr. West.”

His smile faded. “Why are you here?”

“I was helping Dr. Clayborne treat Mr. Miller.”

“I see. Well, I’d like to speak to Miss Miller about her father, but first, Dr. Clayborne, let me commend you on the excellent job you did on the man’s leg. The infection is healing nicely. Clearly not the source of the present problem.”

The weight of two boulders released from Matthew’s shoulders. “Thank you. That’s good to know.”

Deirdre squeezed his arm, as though she understood the demons that tortured him.

For the first time since Priscilla’s death, Matthew felt a fragment of his former confidence returning. Perhaps he was a better physician than he thought.

Now if only they could keep Clayton Miller alive. Because even though his leg was healing, Matthew could tell something far more serious was wrong with the man.

Hours later, Jo paced the empty waiting room of the Long Island hospital. Dr. Clayborne and Miss O’Leary had stayed with her for a while, but when it started getting late, Dr. Clayborne had insisted on driving Miss O’Leary back to Irish Meadows. He’d promised, however, to return to keep Jo abreast of her father’s condition.

If only Seth could be here. But other than riding over to the Sullivan farm, Jo had no way of letting him know about Pa’s situation. She supposed she could ask someone to call the Sullivans and get a message to him, yet she doubted Seth would jeopardize his job just to come and hold her hand.

Jo wrapped her arms around her waist. At the mercy of her nerves, she couldn’t seem to sit more than five minutes in the uncomfortable chairs. Instead, she recited every prayer she could remember over and over as she paced.

At last, footsteps sounded in the corridor. Jo rushed to the door, hoping for news on her father.

Instead of a doctor, however, Connor O’Leary came into view. Her pulse took off like a bucking bronco. How did he always manage to look so good? Fresh snowflakes glistened on his hat and shoulders. The lamb’s-wool collar of his coat was pulled up around his ears. He whipped off his hat, walking directly toward her.

“Jo, Deirdre told me about your father. I’m so sorry.” His hazel eyes appeared almost green in the overhead lights.

“Thank you. But you didn’t need to come.” Anxiety made Jo’s palms moist. She pushed her braid over her shoulder, suddenly conscious she must look a mess.

“I drove back with Dr. Clayborne. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

She straightened her spine. As much as she valued his kindness, she’d been dealing with her father’s drinking her whole life. She couldn’t afford to start depending on Connor O’Leary. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not your responsibility.”

Connor shook his head. “I disagree. I have a vested interest in the outcome of this situation, since it affects you doing your job.”

She peered at him, sure this was an excuse to appease her. But since anything was better than waiting alone, she didn’t argue.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Connor gestured to the row of chairs. “Dr. Clayborne said he’d come back with an update.”

Jo nodded and took a seat. Connor sat beside her, so close their thighs touched. She squirmed over an inch, disturbingly aware of his solid frame.

She twisted her fingers together on her lap. “My brother will be worried when he gets home and we’re not there.”

“Already taken care of. We stopped by the Sullivans’ on the way here. Caleb is going to let your brother know what’s happening.”

She bit her lip. His thoughtful gesture cemented her view that Connor O’Leary was indeed a good man. “Thank you.”

Sudden warmth enveloped her hand. “You’re not alone, Jo. We’ll get you through this. You’ll see.”

Jo’s stomach fluttered. She stared into his eyes and fought to corral her emotions, not wanting to become unglued in front of him.

“This isn’t the first time, is it?” Connor’s quiet question seemed overly loud in the empty room.

Her gaze fell to the speckled floor tiles. “No. After Pa’s last . . . episode . . . we left Illinois and moved here, hoping for a fresh start. When Pa got this job as a foreman, it seemed things were finally turning around.” Jo let out a shuddering breath. “Guess I was wrong.”

She was so tired of running, tired of hiding Pa’s secret, tired of trying to scrape together the money to pay their debts and still have enough to eat.

Connor’s arm came around her shoulders and pulled her close. She stiffened, her heart battering her ribs.

“It’s okay to share the burden for a while.” Connor’s low voice near her ear sent a wave of warmth down her back. “I want to do that for you. Will you let me?”

With another tug of his arm, she let her head fall to his shoulder. The dam holding back her emotions crumbled, and hot tears flooded her cheeks. She cried until it seemed her insides had hollowed out. Though ashamed of her weakness, she couldn’t deny how good it felt to have someone share her troubles.

The next thing she knew, male voices woke her. Dr. West and Dr. Clayborne stood in front of them.

Jo blinked and pushed away from Connor’s shoulder. “How is my father?”

Dr. West’s face was grave. “I’m afraid the prognosis isn’t good.”

The words floated on the air, not penetrating her mind. “What does that mean?”

“Your father’s in a coma. It’s doubtful that he’ll ever regain consciousness.”

Shudders coursed through her body. Connor’s arm slipped around her waist, holding her up.

“What’s wrong with him?” she finally asked.

The two doctors shared a look, then Dr. West exhaled. “Years of drinking have taken their toll. His organs are wearing out. And . . .” He paused. “It seems your father indulged in a large quantity of alcohol. He has severe alcohol poisoning.”

She struggled to comprehend. “So it wasn’t being out in the snow?” The smell of whiskey on her father’s coat had been strong, but she was so used to it, she didn’t pay much attention anymore.

“No.” Dr. Clayborne’s grim expression said it all.

She pressed her lips together. How had Pa gotten ahold of alcohol? Surely Seth wouldn’t have brought him any.

Dr. Clayborne gestured to the hall. “You can sit with him for a while if you’d like.”

She swallowed and nodded. The only thing she could do now was keep Pa company and pray for a miracle.