O'Rourke's Bride Read online

  O'Rourke's Bride

  Barbara Dan

  "A woman would run through fire and water for such a [man]."

  —Merry Wives of Windsor, Act II, Scene 4

  Smashwords Edition

  O'Rourke's Bride

  eBook Copyright © 2014 Barbara Dan

  All rights reserved

  Cover Design by Laura Shinn Designs

  http://laurashinn.yolasite.com

  Smashwords License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the copyright and hard work of this author.

  This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are strictly the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright registered with the Library of Congress.

  1. O'Rourke's Bride, historical novel.

  2. American theatre, 1864.

  3. Virginia City, Nevada, culture, history, mines.

  4. Logging industry in the high Sierra Nevada range, 1864.

  First published by Kensington Publications in mass paperback edition October 2006.

  Romance Novels by Barbara Dan

  MacGregor's Bride

  O'Rourke's Bride

  Silent Angel

  The Outcast: The Long Road Home

  Lady in Pink Tights

  Fair Winds to Jamaica

  Fair Winds to Muscovy

  A Bold Wager (Regency)

  Petticoat Warrior

  Family Friends and Lovers

  Trouble in Paradise

  Other Books by Barbara Dan

  Chasing the Brass Ring to Success

  (My Journey to Broadway, Hollywood and Beyond)

  Survival Strategies for the Holidays

  At the Foot of the Cross: Easter Dramatic Readings

  Vicky: God's Angel in Our Midst

  Power to Choose (coauthored with John Dan)

  Screenplay: Appointment

  To learn more about the author's books,

  visit http://barbaradan.com

  REVIEWS of O’ROURKE’S BRIDE:

  Bobbi Smith, NY Times and USA Today bestselling author: “A fun, fast-moving read. Barbara Dan is a talent to watch!”

  Romantic Times 4-Star Review:

  “An enjoyable marriage of (in)convenience set amid a majestic mountain range... funny and entertaining, as the battle of the sexes heats up in more ways than one. Hot!”

  Amazon.com Customer 5-Star Reviews, including:

  “Witty, Sexy, Irish West Romance! Barbara Dan treats romance fans with a brand new rip-roaring western romance with sexy passionate Irish characters that are very much like a mixture of two all-time favorite John Wayne movies, The Quiet Man and McClintock.” —Beverly Romance Books, St. Petersburg, FL

  “Great Characterization. I haven’t enjoyed a book so much in a long time. It is set in a part of the country I know, so that was fun, but there is nothing trite or contrived about how this book unfolds. I especially enjoyed O’Rourke.” —Jane Jordan, Boise, Idaho

  “A Delightful Romp! You will not be bored with this book! [It’s] romantic, humorous, and hard to put down. You wonder what is the beautiful, hot-tempered, impetuous Kate going to do now?! From start to finish, the book entertains, while giving you your money’s worth (and then some!) in the romance department. On a scale of milk toast to hot chili peppers, this book’s romantic heat leans more toward the peppers. A spicy romance with wit aplenty!” —Tigger,” Wood Village, OR

  Love Western Romances Book Review Online:

  “Barbara Dan has written... about cultures clashing: western vs. eastern vs. British cultures, all set in the bawdy, boisterous and booming times of Virginia City (NV), 1864. There is a good deal of passion and wit in this fun book.”

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One: The Rebellion

  Chapter Two: Chance Meeting

  Chapter Three: The Proposition

  Chapter Four: Visit Backstage at the Theater

  Chapter Five: No Way Out

  Chapter Six: Time for Self-Examination

  Chapter Seven: Vows Made Under False Pretenses

  Chapter Eight: Midnight Poker in the Honeymoon Suite

  Chapter Nine: Double-Crossing Scoundrel

  Chapter Ten: The Kidnapped Bride!

  Chapter Eleven: Harsh Realities

  Chapter Twelve: Trials of Maintaining Separateness

  Chapter Thirteen: Meeting New Challenges

  Chapter Fourteen: Hard Lessons

  Chapter Fifteen: Dangerous Games

  Chapter Sixteen: Consumed by Fire

  Chapter Seventeen: The Consummation

  Chapter Eighteen: The Rescue

  Chapter Nineteen: A New Rival

  Chapter Twenty: The Pursuit

  Chapter Twenty-One: A Shocking Revelation

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Clash of Wills

  Chapter Twenty-Three: A New Direction

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Gifts from the Heart

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Running Away from Home — Again!

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Jumping to Wrong Conclusions

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Lie Exposed

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Ah, Sweet Revenge!

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Prodigal Marriage

  Epilogue: History About to Repeat Itself

  About the Author

  Chapter One: The Rebellion

  Virginia City, Nevada, September 21, 1864

  Mary Katherine McGillacutty stared out the tall, heavily draped parlor window at a desolate view of dull taupe grey mountains and blinding sunshine glinting off the ugly corrugated roofs of Virginia City's mining district, just below her father's mansion.

  Blinking rapidly, her green eyes awash with something mighty close to tears, she forced down a hard lump of disappointment and gave her chin a proud little hitch. So unfair! And monstrous unfeeling of Papa, too. If he had said even one word about having missed her, their reunion might have been so different.

  On top of everything else, Papa's crass ultimatum to Mama had forced them to cancel an entire season's social calendar. This, to Katherine's way of thinking, was unforgivable. All things considered, she intended to behave as incorrigibly as possible.

  Newly arrived a scant hour ago, Mary Kate was still dressed in her travel clothes, following a horrendous journey on the Overland Stage Line from Omaha. Her trunks, full to overflowing with the latest fashions, still bore railway stickers designating her point of origin as Chicago.

  Raising her pert chin, she turned to eye her sire with only revenge on her mind. The sooner he sent her and Mama packing, the better. "Really, Papa," she said, tapping her foot. "How can you possibly expect me to live in Virginia City?"

  Again she peeked through the dusty parlor window at the dreadful little town. Even knowing its streets were paved with low grade silver ore didn't change her opinion of it, or the sweaty miners plodding along B Street just below their veranda. Virginia City was a wild barbaric place, lacking any of the proper incentives to gladden a young girl's heart, a galling place to waste her time and talents. There was simply no way she would stay, when Chicago, New York and Paris beckoned.

  What could have possessed Papa to leave a thriving business in Chicago? Selling stocks and bonds certainly beat anything this town offered. Of course, she couldn't fault his success, since he'd bought up several claims and formed the Lucky Strike Mining Conglomerate five years ago.
>
  Naturally, Katherine and her mother hadn't let Homer McGillacutty's ambitions and business decisions alter their lifestyle one iota. Last summer they had taken the Grand Tour of Europe, spending their new wealth with aplomb, while "good old Homer" had continued to puff on his smelly stogies and pay the bills.

  * * *

  Now, Homer McGillacutty considered himself a tolerant soul. As best he could, he kept up with their travels through the occasional postcard or brief scribble "sent off in haste" by his wife. (Both Mrs. McGillacutty and his fashionable daughter lived it up to their hearts' desire, knowing he was too busy making money to miss them anyway.) True to form, Homer made daily trips to the bank and twice weekly visits to a shapely young widow, whose husband had perished when one of the Lucky Strike's unluckier mine shafts had collapsed.

  This tacit arrangement had gone on for some time in apparent harmony. But in the late spring of 1864, Homer ran into an old friend from Chicago at the San Francisco Stock Exchange. While comparing notes, he learned that his wife was pushing Katherine, nearly eighteen, into the social whirlwind in hopes of finding a "suitable match." (Definition: 'Marry old money!')

  Of course, McGillacutty had nothing against money; it was the all-consuming passion of his life. But he was a self-made man, and pride was his middle name. His immediate response, upon hearing his little twit of a daughter's name linked with the effete Mr. Clarence Stokes of Oak Park, could only be described as mercurial. His temper flared hotter than the geothermal temperatures down in Shaft No. 9. With the speed of a Washoe zephyr, one of those sudden tornadoes that periodically ripped the roofs off Virginia City churches and houses, he set about to rectify the matter.

  A flurry of correspondence ensued between Mrs. McGillacutty, formerly the beauteous Madeleine Yves-St. Suivvant of New Orleans, and the robust Scotch-Irish tycoon. Homer objected vehemently. His only child would not — repeat: would not — marry anyone who was afraid of "honest-to-God hard work!"

  Naturally his wife didn't see eye-to-eye with the bombastic man who had swept her off her feet some twenty years prior. She told Homer he was old-fashioned; he had forgotten which fork to use in polite society. And then she threatened to sue him for a long overdue divorce for harboring such an "unfeeling attitude."

  Homer, in turn, promptly froze his wife's line of credit, cut her household allowance by half, and promised to sell the house in Chicago, if she and Katherine weren't on the next train west.

  They were on the next train west.

  * * *

  Madeleine McGillacutty wasn't at all sure she cared whether she ever lived with Homer again. However, she was certain she wanted to spend more of his money. And so she had come, bringing their only offspring with her. She was upstairs unpacking at this very moment.

  Secretly, the feral gleam in her estranged husband's eye gave her the same unsettled feeling as a champagne buzz.

  * * *

  "Papa, I assure you, Clarence Stokes means nothing to me, so you needn't have bothered to send for me. Mama and I were having such a marvelous time, too." Kate gave her father a calculating smile, her green eyes brightly snapping. "Are you satisfied, now that you've heard it from my own lips?"

  "No, daughter, I am not."

  Scowling, Homer McGillacutty locked his big meaty hands behind him. He and Kate were both redheads, both stubborn, both used to getting their own way. They never failed to clash when they were together, and this afternoon was no exception. He cleared his throat and, chewing the end of his fat cigar, studied the puzzle standing before him.

  Looking at his daughter, Homer felt a pang of regret. He'd missed watching his little Katie grow into the finest looking colleen he'd ever laid eyes on. "A good thing you don't take after me more than you do, Kate," he chuckled, mentally comparing his own tall, burly shape and barrel chest to her smaller-boned elegance. It was hard to see much of her mother in her. Perhaps she got her delicate features from Madeleine; they both had high cheekbones and that intriguing cat-like slant to the eyes. But Kate's coloring and tall stature came from him.

  Kate shrugged, her long tapered fingers playing idly with the lace curtain. She knew her father had always wanted a son. When the doctor had told him that her mother shouldn't have any more children, he'd made no secret of his disappointment.

  "If I'd been a boy, I suspect you'd have me down in that mine right this minute," she said with a trace of bitterness, for she knew her father was disappointed when she was born a girl, instead of a son to carry on the family line.

  "Ah, lass." He took a couple of heavy drags on his cigar, filling the parlor with a haze of smoke. "No use cryin' over spilled milk, I always say."

  "Then why drag Mother and me out to this godforsaken place, if not to torture us? I grew up, always knowing I was of no use to you, being a female. So why, all of a sudden, should you care this much—" she snapped her fingers "—whom I marry, or what I do with my life? Or what Mama does for that matter."

  "That's some chip you carry on your shoulder, missy." Homer bent his great red lion's mane, now shot through with grey, until their foreheads met. His grey-green eyes engaged her in a silent standoff.

  "Is it any wonder?" Katherine's lips trembled. "You're a stranger, Papa. Five years without even a visit. Just sent your dirty old money. What did it matter if Mama and I rotted in Chicago!"

  McGillacutty's freckled, sun-damaged skin flushed with anger.

  "Watch out, daughter, or there'll be precious little money coming your way."

  "Fine!" Kate flared. "Stuff your old money in a sock, for all I care! You've been stingy with your love. I'm sure I can survive without your money as well!"

  "Proud, haughty words, Kate." Homer fought to keep the lid on his temper. "But you're not yet of age, and I'll decide what kind of a man you wed."

  "How crass." Her lip curled insultingly. "Mama's right about you. You've degenerated into a money grabbing old miser. You have no sense of refinement or culture at all!"

  "Hold your tongue, young twit!" her father roared and gave her a shake. "And leave your mother out of this. She and I have our differences, but I'll take no back-talk from either of you. You've a couple of ungrateful, useless females."

  Mary Kate laughed contemptuously and pulled away. "I suspect you view all females as weak, contemptible creatures." She saw the frustration mount in her father's face and pressed on. 'But perhaps I am mistaken. I hear one Virginia City whore still is of some limited use to you."

  Used to living among rough men, Homer reacted without thinking. He hauled off and slapped her, knocking her sideways onto the loveseat. "Listen, Kate, I won't take that from a man, and most assuredly I won't allow such talk from my own daughter. Mrs. Bowers is a fine woman, and you'll not refer to her that way again."

  Though shaken, Katherine refused to be cowed. "I don't believe I mentioned her by name," she said with a deadly calm smile. "Can I help it if you associate the word 'whore' with her name?"

  His hand drew back, ready to strike her again, then dropped to his side. "I'm sorry, Katie. I never meant to hurt you."

  "Mercy sakes!" a pronounced southern accent exclaimed in the doorway. "Will there never be a moment's peace between you two?"

  Mary Kate and Homer, their lips drawn back in a mutual snarl. turned to confront the family matriarch's gentle wrath.

  * * *

  Peter Casey O'Rourke hooked a boot heel onto the brass foot rail at the Bucket of Blood waterhole, and leaned both elbows back on the handsome mahogany bar, while he checked out the local clientele. As a trained actor, he'd developed a gut instinct about people. Hopefully that skill would help him find his next meal.

  The gaslight lamp fixtures gave the painted ladies from upstairs a familiar theatrical hue. Turn up the amber lights, boys! he wanted to shout. He wanted to shout anything, if only to shake his growing sense of agitation.

  Around him, grave-faced miners rubbed shoulders with shopkeepers on their noonday break. The whole place resembled a feeding frenzy; dark objects
gnawing at each other's souls. Peter winced at the bartender's jovial banter—so out of place! He felt surrounded, caught in a web of falsehood and lies.

  Harpies plying their trade for an ounce of silver. Appalling. A paltry, "civilizing" exercise upon pasty-faced, consumptive clients. Mother of God! A man couldn't sink much lower.

  O'Rourke blinked through the haze of alcohol fumes and tobacco smoke. Usually blessed with a sunny disposition, he even questioned whether he might be suffering delirium tremens. Had his habit of "hale fellow, well met" turned to Irish moonshine and madness? He sincerely hoped not! He held out a well manicured hand before his face. Steady as granite. No strange purple snakes slithered out of the spittoons. No mysterious handwriting on the nude's belly over the bar either. Praise be! He could safely rule out the creeping terrors from some unsanitary still.

  Two deeply tanned men in flannel shirts, toughcord trousers and cleat shoes caught his eye: the only healthy specimens in the dimly lit bar. Everyone else seemed artificial as hell. Peter glanced down at his own hand, gripping a bar glass, and wondered when he had felt more like a misfit.

  Nearby men half dead of lung fever boasted of claims they'd staked and veins they had followed. For most, the elusive pot of silver and gold remained an unattainable dream at the end of some rainbow. Those who struck it rich soon lost it in a game of cards. Young toughs killing time between grueling shifts, using their four dollars a day to drink themselves insensible. With cynical humor they laughed at the Fates, knowing it was only a matter of time before poison gases, the god-awful heat, or a cave-in snuffed out their miserable existence.