O'Connell cursed as his stomach drew tight. Pete knew. He had sent him purposefully to find Catherine.
Panic swept through him. That meant Pete wouldn't be far behind. He had to get her to safety before his brother showed up and used her to drag him back into robbery.
But how? She'd never leave her business or her orphans.
"This is bad," he whispered. "Real bad."
Catherine looked into the saddlebags. "Where did this come from?" she asked the boy.
"I was told it was stolen from you," O'Connell said as he double-checked where the marshal sat.
Looking up at him, Catherine frowned. "By whom?"
"Is it yours?" O'Connell asked, seeking to delay the inevitable explanation of how he'd come by her money. "Were you robbed?"
"Yes, we were. But how did you get it?"
So much for delaying the inevitable.
She looked at him sternly. "Did you take it?"
"No!" he barked. "How could you even ask that?"
"Well, what am I to think?" she asked as she set the saddlebags on the table and excused the boy.
She moved to stand just before him, hands on hips. "I thought I knew you, and yet every time I blink I learn something about you that scares me. Now tell me how it is you have my money."
O'Connell didn't have a chance. Before he could say a word, the back door opened to show Pete holding one of Catherine's little girls in his arms.
"Knock, knock," Pete drawled. He flashed an evil grin to O'Connell, then lifted the little girl's face to where O'Connell could see her tear-streaked eyes. "Look what old Uncle Pete found out in the yard."
5
O'Connell felt the air leave his lungs as he gazed into a pair of eyes indistinguishable from his own. They were set in a face that looked identical to Catherine's, right down to the dark brown curls spilling over Pete's arm.
In an instant, he recognized his daughter.
Sobbing uncontrollably, the girl looked to Catherine. "Help me, Mama! Make the mean man let me go."
Catherine took a step toward the girl, but O'Connell grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop.
No one approached his brother. If Catherine tried to take the girl, there was no telling what Pete might do to her.
"Let her go, Pete," O'Connell said, his calm voice belying the volatile state of his mind and body.
Pete gave an evil smile. "I told you in Oak River, you can't escape me, Kid. Now I ask you again, are you coming with me or what?"
"Oak River?" he heard Catherine repeat under her breath.
That was the town where he'd left her. Only then, Pete had used Catherine as his leverage. It was either go with Pete to rob another bank or see his wife hurt.
After the robbery, O'Connell had lacked the heart to go back to her. He couldn't face her after what he'd done for Pete. Worse, he knew that sooner or later Pete would show up again with the same threat.
And the last thing he wanted was to kill his brother for hurting his wife.
So long as there was life in his body, he would protect his Catherine.
You're my second chance. That's what O'Connell had told her on their wedding night. Catherine hadn't known what he'd meant by it. But he had.
For a time, he had been stupid enough to believe it. But second chances were for fools.
And Catherine could never again be his.
"I'll come with you, Pete. Just put her down."
Pete nodded. "Good boy. I knew you'd see things my way once you saw them again." Pete squeezed the girl's cheeks and tilted her head up to where he could look into her face. "She is kind of cute, isn't she?"
Rage infused every cell of O'Connell's body. "Take your hands off her, Pete, or I'll kill you for it."
His brother met his gaze and for several seconds they stared at each other in mutual understanding. "You know. Kid, I believe you would."
"You can count on it."
O'Connell didn't breathe again until Pete set the girl on her feet, and she ran to Catherine's outstretched arms.
Pete glanced to Catherine and the little girl. "Since it's Christmas and all, I'll give you five minutes with them. I'll be waiting outside by the horses."
O'Connell waited for him to leave before he turned to face Catherine, who cradled the little girl to her chest.
His daughter.
He felt so much pride and delight, he thought his heart might burst. But the joy died as he remembered his brother waiting for him outside.
O'Connell reached a hand out to touch the dark brown curls. The softness of his daughter's hair reached deep inside him, carving a place in his heart.
"She's beautiful," he breathed.
Catherine saw the pain deep inside him and she noted the tenseness of his hand on Diana's hair. "Her name is Diana."
He gave a bittersweet smile. "Named for your mother?"
She nodded.
"Why didn't you tell me about her in Nevada?" he asked, his eyes misting.
"I didn't know I was pregnant until after you left." She narrowed her gaze on him as she finally understood everything that had happened. "You left because of him, didn't you?"
"He's my brother," he said simply. "I had no choice."
"We always have choices."
He shook his head. "No, we don't. You don't know what kind of man my brother is, but I do. I know he's cruel, but I owe him. If not for Pete, I'd have never survived after the death of our parents. He's harsh because that's the way the world made him."
"He's harsh because he's - "
O'Connell stopped her words by placing his fingers on her lips. His heart tearing apart, he leaned over, kissed her gently on the mouth, and whispered, "Until the day I die, I'll always remember you."
He touched Diana's hair one last time, then he turned and walked away.
O'Connell met Pete by his pinto, which Pete must have saddled. His brother was as fair-haired and fair-skinned as O'Connell was dark. The two of them had always been opposites in most everything. Even Pete's eyes were a brownish green.
And never before had O'Connell felt so much resentment and hatred for the brother who had once protected him.
"Why can't you just let me go?" he asked Pete. "I've paid my debt to you a thousand times over."
Pete gave him a hard glare. "You're my family, Kid. Like it or hate it, it's just you and me." Pete smiled wickedly. "Besides, you're the only man I know who can blow a safe and not destroy half the money with it."
"You're not funny."
Pete shucked him on the shoulder. "Now, don't get sore on me, Kid. You can do better than her. I told you that years ago. She ain't nearly pretty enough for you."
He grabbed Pete by his shirtfront. "I'm not a kid anymore, Pete, and I'm no longer scared of you. Catherine is my wife and she deserves your respect. If you ever say anything else against her, as God is my witness, I'll tear your hide apart for it."
For the first time in his life, he saw a glimmer of fear pass through Pete's eyes. "All right, Kid. Whatever you say."
O'Connell let him go. He had barely taken a step when he heard the front door of the boardinghouse open.
The marshal strode out across the porch with two men in tow. And all three of them carried shotguns in their arms. By the grim, determined looks on their faces, he knew what they wanted.
Him and Pete.
His blood went cold.
The marshal stared at Pete as he leveled the shotgun on them. "Pete O'Connell," he said slowly. "Never did I expect to receive such a great Christmas present. Imagine the bounty of both O'Connell brothers."
Pete swore, then went for his gun.
O'Connell didn't think. He merely reacted. He was tired of his brother's schemes, and tired of the lives Pete had taken for no reason.
It was time for it to end.
He grabbed his brother's gun, and the two of them struggled for it.
Catherine watched the men tussle from the parlor window. She had sent Diana upstairs with Rebecca, then immediately
sought out the marshal to let him know there was a possible outlaw outside.
She pressed her hand to her lips as terror sliced through her as she watched the two men fighting for possession of the gun. What had she done?
A gunshot rang out.
Catherine stopped breathing. Michael and Pete froze and locked gazes. Time seemed suspended as she waited.
Who had been shot?
Then Michael staggered back, and she saw the red stain on his shirtfront right before he collapsed on the ground.
"No!" she shouted as tears stung the backs of her eyes. It couldn't be Michael! It couldn't be.
Pete just looked down at him, his face indecipherable.
Dropping her shawl, Catherine ran for the door, down the steps, and across the yard to Michael's side.
His brother stood coldly to the side as the marshal and his men put irons on his wrists.
Sobbing, she knelt by Michael's side. Terrified and shaking, she touched his cold brow.
"Michael?" she breathed.
He opened his eyes and looked up at her. In that look she saw the love he had for her. He opened his mouth to speak, but she pressed her fingertips to his lips.
"Save your strength," she whispered. She looked up to Marshal McCall, who stared angrily at Pete.
"I always heard you were mean, but damn, to shoot your own brother on Christmas? You're a sick man, O'Connell," the marshal said to Pete.
His face blank, Pete glanced down to her and Michael, then back at the marshal.
"What are you, stupid? Do we look like brothers?" Pete drawled slowly. "My brother got killed in Shiloh last month during our last holdup. That there's just some stupid cow-poke thinks he's a bounty hunter. Bastard's been trailing me for weeks. I don't even know his name." Pete locked gazes with her, then shocked her with his words, "But I think the lady over there knows him. Ask her who he is."
The marshal gave her a probing stare. "That true, Miss Catherine? You know this man?"
A tremor of panic shook her as she realized Michael's entire fate was in her hands.
What should she answer?
She looked down at Michael's calm, deliberate stare. He expected her to betray him. She could read it plainly in his eyes as he waited for her to denounce him.
But she couldn't. She didn't know everything yet, but before she handed him over to the marshal, she wanted some long-overdue answers. Answers he couldn't very well give her locked up in jail.
"He's my husband," she answered honestly. "Michael O'Callahan."
The marshal gave her a hard stare. "I thought you said your husband ran off."
"He did," she said, looking back at Michael. "But he came home to me last night."
"Farley," the marshal shouted to his deputy. "Help me carry Miss Catherine's husband inside while Ted locks up O'Connell."
The marshal helped her to her feet.
"Where you want us to take him?" the marshal asked.
"To my room," she said, leading the way back into the boardinghouse.
Michael O'Connell didn't say anything for the rest of the day. His head swam with what had happened.
Why had Pete lied?
Why had Catherine protected him, when she could have easily seen him in prison for the next ten to twenty years?
None of it made any sense to him, and worse, Catherine had avoided coming into the room for him to question her. If he'd been able to, he would have gone after her himself, but he was too weak to do much more than just breathe.
The door to his room creaked open. He glanced over to see a tiny dark head peeking in.
He smiled at the sight of his daughter in the doorway.
When Diana saw him look her way, the little girl smiled from ear to ear.
She fanned the door back and forth as she twisted in the door frame. "Are you really my daddy?" she asked.
"What did your mama say?"
"She said St. Nick brought you to me last night."
O'Connell gave a half laugh at her words, but he couldn't manage any more than that, since pain cut his breath off. Pete had been called a lot of things over the years, but this was the first time anyone had ever referred to his brother as St. Nick.
"Yeah," he said with a grimace. "I guess maybe he did."
Releasing the doorknob, she ran across the room and scrambled to sit next to him on the bed. He winced at the pain she caused by dipping the mattress, but in truth he didn't mind it at all. To have his daughter near him, he would suffer a lot worse than that.
"You sure are pretty for a man."
O'Connell smiled at her words. No one had ever said that to him before.
She reached out one little hand to touch his eyelid. "You do have eyes like mine. Mama told me you did."
He cupped her soft cheek, amazed at what he saw in her face. It was so strange to see parts of him mixed in with parts of Catherine.
Never in his life had he seen a more beautiful little girl. "We get them from my mother."
"Was she pretty, too?"
"Like you, she was as pretty as an angel."
"Diana!"
He started at Catherine's chiding tone.
"I told you not to disturb him."
"I'm sorry, Mama."
"She's not disturbing me," he said, dropping his hand from her face.
Catherine shooed her out anyway. At first he thought she'd leave as well, but she hesitated in the doorway.
"Why didn't you tell me who you really were?" she asked.
He stared at her. "I liked the man you saw me as. To you, I was a decent man, not some no-account outlaw drifter. The last thing I wanted was for you to change your mind about me and hate me."
"So you lied to me?"
"Not really. I just didn't tell you everything."
She shook her head. "I always knew you were hiding something from me. I was just never sure what. Funny, I used to think it was another woman you loved, not a lunatic brother."
He gave her a hard, meaningful look. "I could never love anyone but you."
"Do you mean that?"
"On my life."
And then she gifted him with one of those loving smiles that had kept him warm on the coldest days. "So tell me, Michael, where do we go from here?"
Epilogue
Christmas Eve. Two years later
"Hey, Pa, where do we go from here?"
Michael looked up at nine-year-old Frank's question. After Catherine had given him his second chance, the two of them had decided to adopt the orphans she'd been keeping. And every day of the last two years, he had spent every minute making up to her for the time they had been apart.
She would never again have cause to doubt him, and he reveled in the blessing of his family and home.
"I think you'd best be asking your mother that question," he said to Frank. "Catherine?"
"It's the big white house at the end of the street," she said as she waddled up to them beside the train station.
Michael grinned at the sight of her pregnant body. He'd missed seeing her carry Diana, but he was definitely enjoying her now.
The way Catherine figured, they had two more months before the baby would join them. Just enough time to visit her parents with their passel of children in tow, and then make it back home in time for the little one's birth.
Four of the orphans still lived with them. Five children total with Diana. Michael smiled as he watched all of them climb aboard the wagon he had rented.
He'd always wanted a big family.
"You nervous?" he asked Catherine as he draped a comforting arm over her shoulders. She hadn't seen her parents since the day they had eloped almost seven years before.
"A little. And you?"
"A little."
Even so, he was too grateful for his life to mind even a lengthy visit at his in-laws'. He still found it hard to believe Pete had lied to save him.
"I've ruined your life enough, Kid. This is one place I think I'd best go to alone," Pete had told him.
P
ete would be in prison for a long time to come. Maybe it would make his brother a better man.
All he could do was hope that one day his brother would find the peace that had always eluded him.
Michael placed a tender kiss on Catherine's brow as he took Diana's hand in his and helped her up into the wagon.
Every day for the last two years, he had been grateful that his wife had stood by him, even though it was the last thing he'd deserved.
"Thank you, Cathy," he breathed as he helped her climb into the wagon seat.
"For what?" she asked.
"For making my life worth living."
Her smile warmed him to his toes. "It's been my pleasure, Mr. O'Callahan. Merry Christmas."
And a Merry Christmas it would be, too. For in this life, there were second chances, and this time, Michael wouldn't waste the one he'd been given.
REDEMPTION
A Bonus Scene from The Guardian
Blowing out a frustrated breath, Seth stared at himself in the mirror as he tried to do something with his rebellious hair.
It was useless.
Even worse than the curly mess he couldn't control was the clothes Lydia had picked out for him to wear. The black pants that buttoned on the sides were extremely uncomfortable and they only went to his knees. From there down, he had on white... what had she called them? Stockings? And weird buckled shoes that pinched his toes and rubbed his heels worse than his armored boots.
But the thing he despised most was the gold, high-collared, heavily embroidered jacket with a white shirt that had mountains of girly lace cascading down the front. Lydia had called it a cravat. He called it hideous. And that same scratchy lace spilled out at the end of his sleeves, covering both of his hands, all the way to his knuckles.
He'd bitched about this monstrosity the moment she'd shoved it at him. The only reason he'd finally agreed to wear it was that she'd pointed out the fact that it couldn't possibly be any more uncomfortable to wear than his armor - something he empathically disagreed with. Only an outright moron laughed at a man encased in demonic armor. Dressed like this, only an outright moron wouldn't laugh at it.
And two - the most important reason of all - he wouldn't have to wear it long. As soon as they were done, she'd promised to rip this heinous outfit off him and make him deliriously happy that he'd humored her.
Little did she know, he'd have worn it for her anyway. All she had to do was smile at him and he was sunk.