Monk's Bride Read online

  “My pleasure. Liam’s a fine lad. You’re right to be proud of him.”

  Knowing Monk had seen her sleeping left her at a disadvantage. She hoped she didn’t snore or drool. And, she must look a mess.

  “If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I’ll step across to my room and freshen up and be right back.”

  “Take your time. We’re having man-to-man time, aren’t we, Liam?”

  “That’s right, Ma. Man-to-man time.”

  Her little boy beamed with such pleasure she thought her heart would burst. This is what Rolf should have done, what real dads did with their children. Monk would make a good father.

  She hurried to freshen up and returned as Mrs. Peacock called supper. Monk escorted her and Liam down to the dining room.

  Rafe’s papers littered one end of the long dining table. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood. “Good to take a break.”

  Grandpa took his seat at the head of the table. After the blessing, he asked Rafe, “Still on that Evans case?”

  “Yes. He’s hired a lawyer from Austin to defend him, Hornby. I know the man and he’s good. I hope I’m better.”

  “I have faith in you, son. That Evans has skated free too many times.”

  Betsie scooted Liam closer to the table. “Can you rule on a case if your nephew is prosecuting?”

  Grandpa laughed. “Have to. Half the lawyers in the state are related to me.”

  He sobered and pointed at Betsie. “Believe me, when I’m in court, I’m impartial. I know that’s hard to believe, but I judge on the merits of the evidence. Difficult when I know the defendant’s a crook.”

  Betsie smiled at him. “I’m sure that’s true. Your reputation is as firm but fair in court and generous and kind everywhere else.”

  He grumped. “Harrumph. Don’t know about that last but I am firm but fair.”

  “Mam wrote me about some of your cases, like what you did with the Ainsworth brothers, for instance, even though that was before she knew you.”

  He sent her a glare. “Fiona my love, you’ve got to stop ruining my reputation. Folks ought to fear a judge. You make me sound like a fairy godfather.”

  Betsie giggled. “You’re definitely mine.”

  Grandpa dug into his meal. “I can see I’ve lost control in my own home. Man’s supposed to be king in his castle.”

  Fiona reached over and patted his hand. “You’re king wherever you are, Rob Kincaid, and don’t you forget it.”

  Rafe chuckled. “Uncle Rob, it’s sad when your wife has to remind you that you’re the boss. I suspect I know who’s the real ruler of this castle.”

  “Dadburn if you’re not right.” Grandpa sent Fiona a loving glance, his blue eyes twinkling. “I let things get out of hand before I knew it. Now she tells me when to jump and all I can do is ask ‘how high’.”

  Fiona pretended to be offended. “I do no such thing. The person isn’t alive who can make you do anything you don’t want to do. The good Lord knows I try to insure you eat what you’re supposed to but that’s a constant battle.”

  Monk looked from Grandpa to Fiona. “Sounds to me as if you’re both lucky. Never dull around here.”

  Everyone else laughed. Betsie forced a smile. Her nerves were still too taut to allow genuine mirth.

  When time came for Liam to go up to bed, he reached for Monk. “Ma, I want Monk to tuck me in, too.”

  She sensed a flush spread across her cheeks. “Liam, Monk has other things to do. I’ll put you to bed. We’ll read a story.”

  Monk stood. “Matter of fact, I bought a new book for Liam. It’s in my room. If you don’t mind, I’ll get it and bring it to the playroom.”

  Betsie capitulated. “Tell Grandma and Grandpa and Rafe goodnight.”

  Liam kissed his grandmother on the cheek and hugged Grandpa’s neck. When he hugged Rafe’s neck, the man appeared surprised.

  Rafe patted her son on the back. “Thank you, Liam, for including me. Sleep well.”

  Upstairs, Betsie got Liam ready for bed. Monk came in carrying a book and sat in the rocker.

  Holding Rover, Liam rushed over and climbed onto Monk’s lap as if he did so every night. “What is the book you brought?”

  Monk opened to the first page so that Liam could see. “There aren’t many pictures, but it’s about a boy named Tom Sawyer. Do you want to hear about him?”

  “Is he almost four like me?”

  “No, he’s a few years older. Do you still want to hear about him?”

  “Yes, I like stories about boys.”

  Betsie sat on one of the small beds. She listened while Monk read to her son. His voice was pleasant and carried the hint of an accent she couldn’t identify. Perhaps it was Missourian, but it was different than Nate’s.

  She loved listening to him. As he read he rocked her son gently. Liam looked so happy, content. They were like a family in here and trouble seemed far away from them. Savoring this moment, she wanted this togetherness to last forever.

  By the time Monk had read the first chapter, Liam was drifting to sleep. Monk closed the book and laid it on the floor then stood and carried her son to the other bed. She rose to kiss Liam goodnight but he was already asleep. Gently, she tucked the cover around him and his dog then kissed his forehead.

  Monk took her hand. “I know the book is a little old for him, but he’s an intelligent boy. Actually, I think it has something to offer for all ages.”

  She let him guide her across the room. “You were kind to get it for Liam and read to him. Thank you. Please don’t let his requests for attention inconvenience you.”

  He stopped and pulled her into his embrace, tucked her head under his chin, and held her close. “I enjoy the three of us being together on our own. I wish we could stay like this.”

  Her arms went around his waist. “So do I, to both of those.”

  With her head on his chest, his heart beat against her ear. Right now, right here, all her doubts about being worthy of his attention fled. When he tenderly tipped her chin so her lips met his, she leaned into his kiss.

  Their kiss deepened and warmth spread throughout her body, pooling low in her abdomen. She had never experienced this sense of perfection, of how right the two of them were together. He broke the kiss and caressed her face.

  “When this is over, we need to talk. I don’t want to lose you, Betsie, but you haven’t had a chance to meet new people and enjoy your independence.”

  “Do I act like I want something else?”

  “Not at this moment, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t when you’ve met more eligible men. I’m certainly no prize compared with some others in town.”

  His comment heaped coals on her Irish temper. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “No, I’m trying not to. I just don’t want to rush you.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Just who do you think I should prefer?”

  He held up his forefinger. “Not should, but might prefer. There’s Rafe and the sheriff and his deputies and Jim Hamilton, Herschel Randolph, and… I can’t think of everyone right now but there are more.”

  “I’m twenty-four years old and capable of knowing my own mind. As far as that goes, it’s I who should be worried. You’re a successful man with a nice home and a respected position in town. Why would you want a poor widow with a child when you can have a nice younger woman with a respectable past?”

  She laid her fingers on his lips. “Please, let’s don’t waste time arguing.”

  “As you wish, Betsie Galloway Hirsch.” He pulled her close for another kiss and another.

  Rafe’s voice interrupted, “I see the new book was a thrilling success.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Monk was certain this would be the day Downum’s man made his move. The usually pleasant morning meal was taut with tension. Even Liam was not as animated as normal, as if he sensed the underlying current of unease.

  Since Monk had been on guard since two, he’d had fa
r too little sleep. He consumed his meal and prepared to go to the bank.

  Liam banged his spoon on the table.

  Betsie took it away from him. “At the table spoons are for eating, not playing.”

  The boy’s lip trembled and he looked at Monk. “Read more to me about Tom?”

  Monk walked by and ruffled the child’s hair. “I sure will. Tonight before you go to bed, I’ll read another chapter. Be a good boy today, okay?”

  His reprimand apparently forgotten, Liam’s sunny disposition had returned. “I will, Monk.”

  Monk excused himself and grabbed his hat from the hall tree as he left. There were many things he wanted to say to Betsie, but he couldn’t yet. The most important thing now was capturing this unknown man before he harmed anyone.

  He strode by his home to see what progress had been made yesterday. Bert Hendrix and two of his men were already at work this morning.

  Bert strolled over to speak to Monk. “Good weather like this, we’ll be finished early. Don’t worry, rain or shine, there won’t be leaks in your roof where we join on the new room. By the time we’re through, you’ll think that room was always there. We’re good at our job.”

  “So I’ve heard. Nice to see things going well. You need me, you know where to find me.” He tipped his hat and headed for the bank.

  At least one part of his life was progressing nicely. Perhaps by the time things settled down so he could propose to Betsie and they were wed, the house would be ready to receive her. He’d already ordered toys for Liam’s room.

  What a fool he was. What would he do if she turned him down? There were plenty of men in Kincaid Springs who would like to marry an intelligent and beautiful woman like her.

  ***

  Betsie jumped at every noise. Rafe and Grandpa stayed in the house. Dudley patrolled the grounds. The sheriff or one of his deputies came by frequently. Surely no one could get close enough to be a threat to her and Liam.

  In spite of that theory, she knew everyone expected something would happen today. The weather was perfect and her son wanted to play ball outside. She cajoled Liam into staying in the playroom. She read to him, played checkers, rocked him—did whatever she could think of to keep him happy and distracted.

  While he napped, she went down to talk to her mother. Fiona sat embroidering, an activity Betsie remembered soothed Mam’s nerves.

  “I should take up embroidery again. What are you working on now?”

  Fiona glanced up. “A pillow case. I’ll crochet lace edging when I’ve finished the design.”

  “I remember the beautiful pillowcases you made for my hope chest. I brought them with me.”

  Her mother’s eyes widened. “You didn’t use them?”

  “A few times then I decided they were too fine. I wanted them to hand down to any children, especially if I had a girl.” In reality, she’d decided they were wasted on Rolf.

  “You said O’Toole let you take some things. I haven’t had a chance to ask you what else you brought.”

  “I have a quilt you made. I brought the cream pitcher and jug from Granny, Grandpa’s shaving cup and razor. I looked for Da’s pipe but I couldn’t find it.”

  “I brought it with me as well as his ring and pocket watch and chain. Now, of course, those will go to Liam.”

  “I’m so glad you saved them. I was afraid Rolf had found them and sold them.” Too late she realized what she’d said.

  Her mother sent her a knowing look and resumed her embroidery.

  “Mam, the men expect the threat to happen today. Please go upstairs and stay there so nothing happens to you.”

  Fiona laid aside her needlework and took Betsie’s hands in hers. “Nothing will happen to either of us, dear. Not as long as we do what we’ve planned.”

  “I’m so afraid. I don’t want anyone harmed, just the man Downum sends captured and put in jail.”

  “That’s the plan. Now, why don’t you get some cookies and milk to take up to Liam for when he wakes up from his nap?” She smiled. “He does love his food, doesn’t he?”

  “I believe he’s grown since we arrived if that’s possible. I know his vocabulary is back.” She sighed. “When Rolf died and I learned we’d lost everything, Liam picked up the sadness and confusion. He almost stopped talking.”

  “I’m so glad to see him happy. He’s a delightful boy. You’ve done a fine job raising him.”

  “I thought I had. Since we’ve been here I see I neglected him terribly. He needed friends and to play games and more toys.”

  “Those don’t make up for love, dear. You’ve given him plenty of that.”

  “Guess now I’ll get him cookies and milk. Would you like something?”

  “Tell Polly I wouldn’t turn down a cup of tea and a couple of cookies. I’ll bet Rafe wouldn’t either.”

  Carrying a pitcher of milk and basket of cookies, Betsie returned to the playroom. She took a glass from each of her pockets and congratulated herself on getting upstairs without dropping anything.

  No sooner had she set down her refreshments than Liam stirred.

  “Liam, I brought you cookies and milk so we can have a party at the little table. You can invite Rover if you wish.”

  Liam clapped his hands and ran to take a seat at the child-sized table. “Rover’s not hungry. He gave his share to me.”

  In spite of her terror of things to come, she laughed at her son. “What a surprise. Are you sure you like cookies?”

  He laughed. “Ma, you know I do. Polly makes good ones, doesn’t she?”

  “Before you eat, why don’t you go use the toilet and then wash your hands?”

  He trudged to the bathing room as if it were a jail cell. When he returned, he showed her his hands. “See, all clean. Now can I have cookies?”

  “Yes, you may take two from the basket.” She poured a glass of milk and set it at his place then one for her.

  The day had crawled. She kept part of her mind tuned to her son but she couldn’t help listening for strange sounds. They played checkers and Liam played with the train. She jumped when she heard the front door open and close.

  Liam came to attention. “Monk’s home.” He started toward the door.

  “Wait, Liam, wait for me. We don’t know if that’s Monk.”

  He glanced back at her. “Who else would it be? Rafe’s already here.”

  “Grandpa is a busy man. Lots of people come to talk with him. Hold my hand.”

  They walked down the hall together and met Monk.

  Liam sent her a superior look. “I told you it was Monk.”

  Monk lifted him. “Right you are, Liam. Shall we go down for supper?” He lifted her son high before setting him down.

  Betsie took her son by the hand. When Monk offered his arm, she gladly accepted. The stairs were wide and accommodated the three of them easily.

  Fiona had put away her needlework and stood to welcome Liam. “Give Grandma a hug.”

  He ran to her and hugged her legs.

  Rafe stretched his arms upward. “Sure tired of reading law books and making notes.”

  Grandpa came into the parlor. “Got a handle on the Evans case?”

  “I believe so and none too soon. Hornby is supposed to arrive Friday.”

  Grandpa clapped Rafe on the shoulder. “My money’s on you.”

  Monk handed Fiona a telegram. “This should cheer you and Betsie.”

  Fiona read it and beamed. “Oh, Betsie, listen.

  Mrs Murphy fine Stop Planning to move to daughter. Stop Says she will write to Mrs Kincaid. Stop Cirelli

  Fiona hugged Monk. “Thank you, Michael. I feel so much better. There is no telling what that Downum will do to get the information he wants.”

  Mrs. Peacock came to the door. “Supper is served.”

  Grandpa took his seat at the head of the table. Fiona sat at his left and next to her Rafe took his customary place. Monk ate by Grandpa so that Betsie and Liam were on the end away from other diners. That put Monk and
Betsy’s backs to the French doors. Monk would have preferred not to have his back to a window or door, but he wanted to sit beside Betsie. Instead of his almost-sermon-length blessings, tonight Grandpa offered a short grace.

  Dear Lord, bless this food and the hands that prepared it. Thank you for our many blessings. We ask that You watch over those gathered here and those assisting us. Deliver us from our enemies. Amen.

  The meal tonight was fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, biscuits, and gravy. As nervous as everyone was, Monk doubted any of them would do justice to the fine food—except for Liam. Betsie gave her son a drumstick and he wasted no time eating it while she served other dishes on his plate.

  Betsie rose. “I need a damp rag or Liam will get grease on everything.”

  Fiona gasped and Monk felt a draft from the door behind him. An arm snaked around Betsie’s throat.

  Monk leapt to his feet. A vise gripped his chest and he fought for breath.

  The man who had Betsie in his grip was not much taller than she was but brawny. He held a knife at her throat. “Everyone stay calm. I came for this gal and her boy but no one else. The rest of you don’t make any sudden moves or she gets carved.”

  Monk’s own throat tightened and pain in the back of his throat threatened to gag him.

  Liam scrunched up his face. “Don’t you hurt my ma.”

  Betsy gasped. “Hector Brown, is that you? I might have known you’d sink this low.”

  Brown sneered, “Low? I’m moving up the ladder in Downum’s organization. You’ll be in his employ soon. Don’t know what he plans for the brat.”

  Betsy cried, “You leave my son alone, you monster.”

  “You’ve no right to be here.” Fiona’s hands fisted on the tablecloth at each side of her plate. “Where’s Dudley?”

  “If you mean the big fella, he has an awful headache. By the time he wakes up, if he does, we’ll be long gone.”

  Monk eased toward Betsie. If he could grab the hand holding the knife he might free her.

  Brown looked at Monk. “Don’t get heroic, mister. One move and she’s dead.” To prove his point, he used his knife to draw a few drops of blood from Betsie’s throat.

  Monk had never been as angry or as hampered from acting as he was now. He would gladly choke the life from the man who had nicked Betsie’s beautiful ivory skin. This Brown made clear he would prefer to kill Betsie rather than let her escape. Monk kept his face neutral while he saw help arrive.