Banner O'Brien (21 page)

There was another silence, but this one was thunderous, like the stillness between violent earth tremors.

Sean laughed; the sound was low and weary, rumbling in the close, uncirculated air of the jail. “Thought you were the first to spread her thighs, did you? Well, you ain’t, mate, and that’s the truth of it.”

Adam said nothing, nothing at all. And, in a way, that was worse than any rage.

Banner sat up, made a conscious effort not to lose her supper. She would explain—Adam would understand when she had explained. . . .

Her husband finished his work, collected her in scathing silence from the cell where she’d been recovering from her shock. His face was cold and the expression in his eyes was colder still, and Banner wanted to die.

Outside, in the crisp, snowy night air, Adam lifted her by the waist and fairly flung her into the buggy.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he rasped, without looking at Banner, as the rig lurched into motion.

Banner lowered her eyes, and a tear fell to the lush
fox muff that warmed her hands. All the reasonable, sensible things she’d planned to say rose into her throat and lodged there, in an impassible tangle.

Adam said nothing until they’d reached the stables, until he’d surrendered the horse and buggy to the man who tended them.

“Start talking, O’Brien,” he growled, grasping Banner’s arm and half flinging, half propelling her toward the house. “Right now!”

Banner swallowed, stumbled. Adam’s grip was almost bruising as he righted her and thrust her onward. The waiting room was dark and shadowy and monsters were lurking there. “I—I told you—”

“Damn it all to hell, O’Brien, I don’t
remember
what you told me and you know it!” Adam exploded, throwing in his lot with the monsters. “Are you my wife or his?”

“Yours!”

“Thank you very much. So why does he call you darlin’ and claim you’re married to him?”

Banner bit her lower lip, closed her eyes. “He p-probably thinks we’re still married.”

“Wonderful. Keep talking.”

“I-I was very young when we were wed—I didn’t really know Sean. He—he beat me and there w-were other women. One n-night there was a fight, in a tavern, and a man was killed. He was rich, this m-man, and his family offered a reward—”

Adam’s hands came to Banner’s shoulders, whether to reassure her or hold her at a distance she did not know. “Go on,” he whispered.

“I was afraid of Sean and I-I knew that he’d been the one to b-beat that man—he’d boasted about it, Adam! He’d
boasted—”

“Yes?”

“I told. I went to the police, Adam, and I t-told. They f-found proof against Sean and—and they came
for him. Wh-When he saw them in the street, he knew what I’d done and he hit me and hit me—”

Adam drew her very close, held her in the warm circle of his arms.

“I was taken to a hospital,” she went on, her face buried in his shoulder. “They took care of me there. And a-after I was well, I stayed, using the r-reward money to pay for my books and courses. When that ran out, I worked for my tuition.”

“And the divorce?”

“The people at the hospital helped me get that. When w-we heard that Sean might be released from prison, s-some of the women on Dr. Blackwell’s faculty got together and—and gave me the train fare to come West.”

“Why
did
they release him from prison, Banner?”

“I don’t know, Adam—I suppose they decided that that man had p-provoked Sean or something. I h-had my degree, so I bought a train ticket and left.”

His embrace tightened. “I won’t let Sean or anyone else hurt you, Shamrock,” he vowed, in a hoarse whisper.

But Banner trembled, fearing not for herself now, but for Adam. “Sean’s vicious—he won’t stop until—”

Adam lifted her gently into his arms, cradling her like a child. “I can handle him, Banner,” he said. “In the meantime, you’re not to leave this house alone, under any circumstances. Do you understand me?”

Banner sighed, too exhausted to argue. But inside she knew that nothing short of death itself would stop Sean Malloy from taking his vengeance now. And there was only one way to make sure that Adam stayed safe.

*  *  *

The stitches stung, and so did the knowledge that Banner was sharing another man’s bed. Sean cursed and sat up on the cot, and the room swayed and shifted around him.

He wondered if she liked spreading herself for that doctor—some niggling thing at the base of his mind believed that she did.

Sean cursed again. She’d hated it when he touched her, stiffened when he took her. And him her own husband!

He considered the doctor. By his clothes and his manner, he was a wealthy man, that one, raised to the best of everything. And now he fancied himself Banner’s husband.

Sean wondered if the slut did things for the rich man that she’d never done for him, and fury surged through him, forcing him to his feet.

A slow smile spread over Sean’s face. He’d found her. At last, at last, he’d found her. And she’d pay, the little she-Judas, for selling him to the law the way she had.

Hoarsely, Malloy laughed. Aye. And he’d put her through her paces before it was over—she’d do every trick she knew and a few that he meant to teach her.

And as for her “husband,” well, he’d watch, the bastard. And he’d die with the image in his mind.

*  *  *

“No!” Banner cried, heat throbbing in her face.

“Yes,” replied Adam, who was sipping coffee at the kitchen table and implacably reading a newspaper. “And that’s the end of it, O’Brien, so pack your clothes.”

Banner cast an imploring look at Maggie, but it seemed that the woman had contracted a sudden case of deafness. “Wenatchee is so far away!”

Adam turned a page and frowned at something headed with a complicated drawing. “That’s the idea.”

Banner stumbled to the bench, fell to it, her back to Adam and Maggie, her face to the fire. She’d meant to run away, just as she had run away from New York when she’d been awarded her diploma. She’d meant to
lose herself, forever, to draw Sean away from Adam and his family.

But by going to Wenatchee, as Adam insisted, she would endanger Keith.

Maggie came, squeezed Banner’s shoulder in wordless commiseration, and left the room.

There was a short silence, and then Adam came to sit beside her, his indigo gaze fixed on the crackling, crimson fire. Banner wondered if he was remembering the day they’d made love on this very bench, and she blushed.

“Just let me leave entirely, Adam—let me leave this town and the territory before Sean kills you.”

Adam smiled, but his face was wan and there was no humor in the expression. “He isn’t going to kill me, Banner. And you’re not going to leave me. At least, not permanently.”

“Don’t you see that Sean will follow me? And if you believe that he’d hesitate to kill Keith—”

Adam’s hand closed over one of hers, drew it upward, to his lips. “Don’t worry about Keith. He prays a lot, but he’s meaner than all hell in a fight.”

Banner shook her head, despondent. “This wouldn’t be a front-yard row between brothers who love each other, Adam. Sean is strong, and he’s ruthless.”

“Thank
you,” Adam mocked. “In that case, I’ll hide under my bed and tell my brothers to do the same. We’ll just cower there, among the dustballs, while Malloy rapes and kills one of our women!”

“That’s it!” Banner cried, her face alight. “I could hide on the mountain, with your woman! He’d never look for me there!”

Now it was Adam who shook his head, Adam who marveled. “That would be a great idea, O’Brien—except for one small hitch. I don’t have a goddamned woman on the
goddamned
mountain!”

“And the moon doesn’t have craters!”

Adam’s massive shoulders stooped as he gave a long, ragged sigh. “God almighty,” he breathed. “I’ve been
faithful
to you, do you hear me? Faithful! Can you get that through your head or do I have to write it on a rock and
beat
it in?”

“Sure,” scoffed Banner, because if she didn’t argue she would most certainly cry and plead and make all manner of a fool of herself. “I’m not enough for you, and you go to her!”

“On the contrary, Shamrock—even if I was inclined to take a mistress, I wouldn’t have the goddamned energy to do anything about it. You use up everything I’ve got, wife-of-mine, and more.”

Banner blushed, hoping that what he said was true, praying that it was. “Please don’t send me to Keith.”

“Give me a pen and a flat rock, O’Brien.”

“You’re impossible—do you know that?”

Adam nodded. “And you’re on your way to Wenatchee,” he countered. He bent, nipped at her lips with his. “And O’Brien?”

“What?”

“Wear your drawers.”

*  *  *

It was a surprise when Katherine Corbin came storming down the wharf, her face red with anger. “Damn those stupid, selfish—”

Banner forgot that she was leaving for Wenatchee, against her will, forgot Sean, forgot the impervious, irritating man beside her. “Katherine! What on earth—”

Snow was gathering on Katherine’s nose and her eyelashes and on the brim of her stylish, feathered hat. “The Territorial Supreme Court overturned the legislature’s decision!” she raged. “Suffrage, they say, is unconstitutional! Can you believe it?
Unconstitutional!”

People were staring at Katherine, albeit with affectionate amusement.

“Mother,” intoned Adam. “You have an audience.”

“I don’t care!” Katherine retorted. “And what are you two doing here, anyway?”

“Banner is leaving.”

Some of the high color drained from Katherine’s elegant cheekbones.
“What?”

Banner flung a furious look at her husband. “I’m not going to Wenatchee!” she informed him. “The minute I get off the steamer in Tacoma, I intend to vanish!”

Adam had obviously not considered this possibility; he looked both angry and taken aback. And the word he said turned more heads than Katherine’s diatribe about the territorial high court.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Banner said smugly. “You’ve made a scandal, Adam Corbin.”

He bent until his nose was within an inch of her own. “Oh, that was nothing, O’Brien,” he hissed. “If you want a scandal, I’ll show you a
scandal!”

“Do let’s get in out of the snow and wind,” Katherine broke in, suddenly the diplomat.

Adam nodded. “Certainly,” he said. “As soon as O’Brien
boards the steamer,
Mother, I’ll see you home.”

Banner thrust out her chin and folded her arms. She had the impervious Adam Corbin over a barrel, and she knew it. “I’ll write you from wherever I decide to go, dear,” she said indulgently.

Adam advanced on Banner, backing her down the wharf. Both of them knew that he couldn’t spare the time it would take for him to escort her to Wenatchee, and there was no other way he could be certain of her obedience. “You little—”

“You could still let me stay with your woman, you know.”

A swear word echoed out over the water.

“Are you afraid we’ll compare notes?” pressed Banner. She was at the end of the pier now; another step and she’d be jellyfish bait.

Adam’s face was fierce, and his eyes glittered with blue fury. “Get your—get into the carriage!”

“What will you do if I refuse?” exulted Banner sweetly, well aware of the many witnesses claiming baggage on the wharf and boarding buggies and carriages ashore.

“You don’t want to know, O’Brien!”

“Oh, yes, I do,” she sang back, enjoying her advantage.

The imposing shoulders moved in a shrug. But then Adam lunged at her, grasped her around the waist, and flung her up over one shoulder.

Mortified, Banner kicked and struggled, but Adam simply strode toward the Corbin carriage, hauling her like a grain sack, apparently oblivious to the amused townspeople all around them.

Gaining the carriage, he wrenched open the door and hurled his wife inside, watching impassively as she rolled across the vehicle’s muddy floor in a ball of indignation and green woolen.

Katherine shifted in her seat and looked out the window, failing to notice the spectacle in a very studied way.

Adam said something to the carriage driver and then got inside, just as his disgruntled, blushing wife was rising from the floor. He halted her progress by catching her arm and flinging her, face down, across his lap.

Banner could literally feel his hand, poised over her derriere, and she closed her eyes against its inevitable descent.

“Good heavens, Adam,” Katherine interceded crisply. “This is barbaric! Have you lost your mind?”

“Yes,” he said, and then his hand made sharp contact with Banner’s bottom.

Freed from the odd inertia that had possessed her before, Banner cried out, more in outrage than pain, and struggled. Her reward was a second swat, and this one stung.

“Adam Corbin,” sputtered Katherine, over the uproar. “If you strike that dear child again, I’ll stop this carriage and get out!”

“It is a long walk home, Mother,” Adam replied. And then he wrenched Banner’s skirts up until her drawers were showing and the cold wind was biting her buttocks through the cloth.

Absolutely stunned by this affront, Banner shivered.

“Cold, my dear?” Adam drawled.

Banner was writhing now, and twisting, trying with renewed desperation to escape. “Yes!” she shrieked.

“This will warm you,” he assured her, and then he spanked her in earnest.

*  *  *

She stood facing the parlor fire, a small, rigid bastion of indignation. “Don’t you come
near
me, Adam Corbin,” she muttered, without sparing him so much as a glance.

Against his better judgment, Adam chuckled. God, how he loved her, needed her, wanted her. “Why don’t you sit down?” he teased.

“Why don’t you drop dead?” she retorted.

Adam remembered her shapely, upturned backside and his mother’s delightful umbrage and chuckled again. “You were the one who insisted on finding out what I would do, Shamrock. Now you know.”

Banner whirled to face him, clover green eyes snapping, chin high. “How dare you strike me that way? And in front of your mother, for heaven’s sake! I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life and my—my
drawers
were showing!”