Banner O'Brien (8 page)

After eating, Banner hurried into the small bedroom, took off her clothes, and sank gratefully into the tub of steaming hot water.

“I imagine you’ve had a long day,” remarked Jenny, who was standing at the bureau, her back to Banner, arranging and rearranging the brush and comb set she’d unpacked, along with a few other things.

“That is an understatement,” sighed Dr. O’Brien, as the pulsing soreness in all her muscles began to ease a little. “By the way, Jenny. How did you come to be here, in this house?”

“Adam hired me,” Jenny answered without turning around. “He said that, since the rooster was away, it would be a good time to clean the chicken coop.”

Banner grinned. She could well imagine Adam, in his dislike for Dr. Henderson, saying such a thing. “I’m grateful to you for all your work,” she said. “And for your company, too.”

Jenny shrugged, offered no answer.

“How long have you known Adam?”

Jenny went to sit on the edge of Banner’s bed, eyes politely averted, and smoothed her poplin skirts. “All my life. Why?”

“He puzzles me,” mused Banner, squeezing a shower of deliciously warm water out of a sponge and onto her left arm.

Jenny laughed. “He puzzles everybody.”

“Melissa tells me that he has black moods.”

Jenny looked a little uncomfortable. “Doesn’t everybody?” she parried.

“He has a secret,” Banner insisted.

The Indian girl’s knuckles turned a pale honey shade as her hands entwined in her lap. “No,” she said.

“Yes,” countered Banner. “He disappears, you know. Especially around holidays.”

“He’s a doctor. If he disappears, it is because he has patients to visit.”

Banner sighed. Jenny was hedging and she knew it, but there was no way to make the girl talk. “I think he has a woman somewhere,” she said, and the thought made all the various and sundry aches in her body grind into prominence again.

“Do you?” replied Jenny in a tremulous voice.

And then, apparently not expecting an answer, she stood up and walked out of the room.

Banner finished her bath, berating herself all the while for being so insufferably nosy in the first place, and climbed out of the tub. For some unaccountable reason, tears were slipping down her face.

*  *  *

After taking five minutes of excruciating pleasure in one of the booths, the sailor laid a few coins on the bar to settle his bill and walked outside. Blast, it was cold, with that wind howling in from the sound and that snow to sting a man’s bones.

At the swinging doors, he looked back at the table where the barkeep was trying to scour away bloodstains. He smiled and felt the pearl handle of his knife. They’d all remember not to accuse Mike O’Hurlehey of cheating at a game of cards, that they would.

In the street, O’Hurlehey listened for the bell of his ship, the
Jonathan Lee,
and heard it. His pace was rapid as he strode toward the wharves; no sense in angering the captain by getting himself left behind.

There was a run up to Canada tonight, and Mike wanted his share of the loot even more than he wanted to stay in Temple Royce’s good graces, which was one and the same thing, for all accounts.

But even as he scrambled to board the clipper before she set sail, he thought of that little redheaded scrap that had come into the saloon with the doctor. What he wouldn’t have given to get
her
behind the curtains of one of those booths for five minutes!

O’Brien, that was her name. He ruminated, piecing the rest of it together from what the doctor had called her. Yes, it was O’Brien—Banner O’Brien.

O’Hurlehey laughed to himself as he dashed down the wharf to the snow-powdered boarding ramp of the
Jonathan Lee.
What a hell of a yarn he could spin of her and the knifing and the dark-haired doctor, once he got to Portland. He might even spice the thing up a little and say the doctor—spoiling for a fight, he’d been, had that one—had taken Miss Banner O’Brien into one of the booths and had a time with her there.

Maybe he’d claim that he’d had a turn at her himself. Hell, nobody would know the difference, way down in Oregon, and thinking about it was damn near as good as doing it.

Talking would be better yet.

*  *  *

Adam was standing at the parlor windows, a drink in his hand, looking out at a mountain he couldn’t possibly see for the darkness and the storm.

Jeff studied his brother in silence, wondering.

Adam sensed his presence and turned, only briefly, to rake him with one glance. Then, his attention was on the invisible mountain again. “Is Keith home yet?”

Jeff sank into a chair near the fire and stretched his long legs out on the attending hassock. “No. Mama thinks he’ll be here sometime tomorrow.”

Adam lifted his glass to his mouth, lowered it again without drinking. Damn it, what did he see out there?

“He’ll like Banner,” Jeff said, to fill the silence.

His brother’s imposing shoulders stiffened beneath his shirt. “Why should he be different?”

Jeff sighed. “Good Lord, are we back to that again? I’m sorry I mentioned her, Adam.”

“So am I.”

Jeff emitted a soft, furious breath and scrambled out of his chair to make a drink of his own. These brooding silences of Adam’s always nettled him, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the distance they spawned between the two of them. Or the annoying idea that Adam might know something he didn’t.

Crystal clinked against crystal as Jeff filled a glass with imported brandy. “What are you thinking about?”

Adam chuckled rawly but did not turn around. “Papa,” he said.

Jeff regretted prodding him now. Five years had passed since the accident, but Adam had been there, seen their father die. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, going back to his chair. “Why torture yourself?”

Adam offered no answer to that, but his face looked ravaged when he finally turned away from the window and strode to the sidetable to add bourbon to his glass.

Jeff felt the pain that he saw in his brother, shared it, and the fact infuriated him. “Christ, Adam, it’s been years! Grief is grief, but—”

“Shut up,” snarled Adam. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You don’t know what I’m thinking or what I’m feeling, so—”

Jeff’s face reddened as he bolted out of the chair again. “Poor Adam!” he boomed. “Let’s all weep for what he’s suffered! And heaven forbid that any of us should
enjoy
anything!”

Something terrible moved in Adam’s strained features. He dropped his glass to the floor and lunged at Jeff with a soul-numbing bellow.

“Mama!”
shrieked Melissa from somewhere in the pounding blur.

The noise was horrific, and Melissa’s screams did lend a certain drama.

Katherine Corbin took her fabled buggywhip from
its rack behind her desk and advanced on the parlor, prepared to use it. Lord, trying to persuade the territorial legislature to grant women the vote was nothing compared to keeping peace between her own sons.

Entering the war zone, she found Adam and Jeff rolling on the rug like two ruffians, and it was hard to tell where one brute left off and the other began.

No matter. Katherine unfurled the buggywhip and gave it one warning crack.

Instantly, the battle abated and her sons got to their feet, looking shame-faced and wan and still angry, all of a piece. Adam’s lower lip was bleeding, and Jeff had the beginnings of a black eye.

“If you must fight,” their mother said succinctly, “kindly go outside.”

One after the other, their hard breathing metering the motions of their Daniel-like shoulders, they bowed. Then, after exchanging vicious looks, they made their way toward the front doors.

Katherine shook her head as the fight resumed in the dooryard, gave an anxious Melissa a reassuring look, and went back to the study to work on the speech she meant to make when the Senate was back in session.

*  *  *

Keith Corbin was tired and cold, and the last welcome he’d expected was a bare-knuckle fisticuff in the petunia patch.

He paused on the walk, watching in silence as Jeff went hurtling past him, backward, to make hard contact with the trunk of a holly tree.

Probably revived from the inevitable daze by the shower of snow that was dislodged from the festive plummage of the tree, Jeff bellowed, lowered his head, and charged into Adam’s midsection like a bull.

Adam’s breath was expelled from his lungs in a whooshing grunt, and he landed roughly where next year’s tulips and irises would grow.

Keith spread his hands in reverendly grace and shouted, “I’m home!”

Both of his brothers staggered forth to greet him.

*  *  *

There had been more snow during the night, though the flakes were no longer falling, and Banner O’Brien thought it a pity that Adam was about to get out of his buggy and spoil the perfect, diamond-strewn counterpane that quilted the front yard of Dr. Henderson’s house.

Her first sight of his face set her fanciful ideas to rest, however, for his lower lip was split at one side and swollen, and his right eye was blacked.

Adam seemed to sense her perusal as he strode up the walk, and he lifted his eyes to favor her with a somewhat sheepish glare.

Banner went to the door and pulled it open, aghast. Had he gone back to that stupid, smelly saloon after all and ended up in a brawl? If he had, she’d black his other eye!

“Adam Corbin—”

He lifted one hand to silence her. “Don’t start, O’Brien,” he warned.

Jenny squeezed into the doorway beside Banner and whistled appreciatively. “Jeff must be home from the seven seas!”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

Jenny gave a whoop that made him wince. “You lost!”

Adam scowled at her, for all the world like a small boy. “I did not,” he argued.

Banner bit her lower lip to keep from grinning and caught Adam’s coat sleeve in one hand. “Come in and let me have a look at you,” she said.

His eyes assessed her crisp black sateen skirt and white pleated shirtwaist with grudging approval, and he permitted Banner to pull him past a giggling Jenny and into the kitchen, where the light was good.

There she settled Adam into a chair and examined his battered lip. “You should have had stitches,” she scolded, frowning.

Adam stiffened. “If you think I’m going to let you near me with a needle, O’Brien—”

“It’s too late now,” Banner broke in, stung by his inference that she wasn’t competent enough to suture a simple wound. No doubt he was reminding her how badly she’d bungled the treatment of the stabbing victim in the saloon the day before.

“I wonder what Jeff looks like this morning,” sang Jenny.

“Considerably worse than I do, believe me,” glared Adam.

“I don’t,” said Jenny, but she filled a cup with coffee and set it before him in an easy gesture of friendship. “I’m surprised Mrs. Corbin didn’t break up the row with her buggywhip.”

“She did,” said Adam, trying to suppress a grin. “Being sensible sorts, my brother and I removed hither.”

Banner tried to picture this man’s elegant mother wielding such a weapon and failed miserably. “Why on earth were you fighting with Jeff?”

An unreadable look passed between Adam and Jenny; after it he shrugged and she looked quickly away.

Banner was annoyed, and she tugged at the cuffs of her prim white shirtwaist to disguise the fact. “Who do we visit first today?” she asked. “Hildie?”

Adam shifted his gaze to his coffee cup, and Jenny slipped out of the kitchen to busy herself in another part of the house.

“Adam?” Banner prodded.

He stood up, faced her squarely. “I just left Hildie, Banner,” he said. “She died while I was there.”

Banner swayed a little. Though she knew Hildie’s passing was a mercy, she was always stricken by the
death of a patient. It made her feel as though she’d worked and studied all those years for nothing.

Adam took her shoulders in his hands and pressed her into a chair. “She was glad to go,” he said, but the gruffness of the tones betrayed the fact that he felt Hildie’s loss, too.

Banner nodded, swallowed. “The boys—what will happen to them?”

Adam dropped into his chair and sighed. “Fitz has a new wife in mind—Miss Mamie Robbins. He’s marrying the lady as soon as Hildie’s been properly buried.”

Banner was horrified, even though she knew that a stepmother was probably just what Hildie’s boys needed.

Adam grinned tenderly, caught her hand in his, made her sit down beside him. “Close your mouth, O’Brien,” he said. “These things happen all the time.”

Anger moved through her, anger that was not meant for Adam but for Sean. For Hildie’s Fitz. For all men who were so concerned with their own comforts that human decency fell by the wayside.

Adam touched the tip of her nose with an index finger. “The boys will have a good home with Mamie Robbins, Banner. And Hildie isn’t suffering anymore. What else matters?”

Banner lowered her eyes to hide the unprofessional tears that smarted there. “It just seems so callous, that’s all. Poor Hildie—will no one mourn her?”

Adam’s finger traced the outline of her lips, stirring feelings that had no place in the mood of the moment. “I think someone is mourning her right now,” he said.

Banner stood up again, quickly, because she didn’t know what she would do if Adam kept on touching her like that and speaking in that tender tone of voice. “Well, there are other patients,” she replied, with a brightness she didn’t feel. “Shouldn’t we see to them?”

Incredibly, Adam shook his head. “I’ll make the
rounds myself today, O’Brien. I’d like you to stay at the hospital and look after our wounded gambler.”

Banner’s emotions spun about in her heart in an illogical tangle. “Maggie could do that,” she argued, fearing that he’d only invited her to join his practice so that he could keep her away from his patients. Next he’d be saying that she had to stay in the hospital every day, whether it was occupied or not, in case someone came there seeking treatment!

Adam shook his head. “Maggie is getting ready for Christmas,” he reminded her.

Banner’s shoulders sank. She would stay with the patient today, but tomorrow was another matter. She wanted to make house calls; the day before, for all its rigors and heartbreak, had convinced her of that.