As a growing young man of fourteen, Cagney had never had enough to eat during those last weeks and months in Ireland. Although Aunt Joan had done her best to provide for their family as well as her brood of children, there hadn’t been sufficient food to satisfy everyone. Even with Alannah’s favorite of her cousins, Hugh, working at the newspaper as a reporter, his pay had been sporadic, and the shortages of food all over the county had affected everyone.
When Torin’s letter with the notes for passage had finally come, she’d been tempted to spend the money on food. She hadn’t wanted to leave the place of her birth, the land she loved, or the people she cared about. She’d never gone far beyond the boundaries of Tralee, much less halfway around the world.
But she’d known Cagney’s and her leaving would ease thesuffering of her aunt and cousins. So she and her younger brother had boarded the ship and headed for St. Louis where Torin had found work and Irish Catholics were welcome—or mostly so.
If only the days in steerage on the long voyage across the Atlantic hadn’t been so terrible. At the start, Cagney had already been too thin and weak. He’d lasted two weeks in the dark and damp bowels of the ship before he’d caught dysentery—or so the ship’s physician believed. Her brother had made it another week before being tossed into the sea with many others who’d died on the voyage.
“Cagney, well he...” She pushed the words past her constricting throat. “He didn’t survive the journey here.”
She almost jumped at the sudden pressure of Kiernan’s hand upon hers that she’d folded in her lap. But somehow she managed to remain absolutely motionless, even as her mind began to race.
Kiernan Shanahan was holding her hand.
Well, maybe not exactly holding it. But he was touching her—his long, strong fingers offering what he probably thought was a comforting pat.
Her body didn’t get the message that the contact was merely polite—a kind gesture. Instead, her blood rushed forward with a strange heat that went directly to her chest, warming her insides, making the already stuffy interior of the carriage suddenly sweltering.
She didn’t want to stare at his hand and make it obvious how fascinated she was by him. So she closed her eyes. Even with her eyes shut, she could still picture his fingers covering hers, his skin slightly darker, a dusting of freckles on the back of his hands, the veins pulsing there.
He squeezed her hand, then released her. “I can’t imagine how hard this has all been.” His voice was surprisingly soft and tender.
Ach, maybe he thought she’d closed her eyes to hold back tears of grief. He’d be appalled if he knew she’d done it so she didn’t get carried away by making more of his comfort than he’d intended.
“Now I understand better why Torin’s so set on protecting you.”
She let her lashes rise and caught Kiernan’s gaze again. He’d bent forward, and his face was but a foot away from hers, his eyes dark and crinkled at the corners with sympathy.
She wanted to simply admire his features. But she knew enough about the dynamics between men and women to understand that giving way to admiring glances, a teasing smile, or even a coy batting of her eyelashes would only encourage what could never be.
She’d used such tactics in her youth to gain what she wanted from the young men who’d showered her with attention, especially during that period of her life after her da’s death when she’d abandoned God and her faith, when she’d joined Hugh in his revelries with friends.
But here, now? Such flirtatious ploys were too bold and presumptuous between a woman of her low birth and a wealthy gentleman like Kiernan.
“He’s probably afraid of losing you,” Kiernan continued. “Especially after you’ve both lost so many people you care about already.”
She had. And she didn’t like to be reminded of the losses. It stirred the helplessness and the feelings of abandonment. She hated thinking about how alone she’d felt on the ship andafter arriving in St. Louis when she hadn’t known anyone. With Torin already staying in a men’s-only boardinghouse, she hadn’t been able to live with him, had hardly been able to spend time with him because of his working such long hours every day.
Aye, she’d even felt abandoned by God, as if her prayers had lifted a part of the way toward heaven and then crashed back to the ground.
Kiernan was still watching her with warm eyes, likely waiting for her to say something more.
But what could she say that didn’t sound bitter? She scrambled to find something—anything—and settled on a gentler version of the truth. “I am grateful I’m alive when many others have died. But I cannot deny that I wish I’d never come here. I’ve only caused problems for Torin.”
He’d scooted to the edge of his seat, and his knees nearly brushed hers. “I know nothing I say will bring back those you’ve lost. But I’m glad you came and glad you’re here.”
She couldn’t keep from locking gazes with him again. She was being too bold as his employee, needed to remember her place in the social order. But at the moment, she craved the comfort, had been without it for so long that she couldn’t turn away from it, wanted to drink it all in while he was offering it.
Hugh had been the friend she’d turned to when she needed to talk. He’d listened well, had been there after Da’s death, and had always consoled her. She supposed in some ways she was used to a man being her closest friend, and it was all too easy to imagine—even hope—that maybe she could find a friend in Kiernan in spite of their differences.
Up so close, she could see that the blue of his eyes containedflecks of green, a fascinating combination. His gaze held hers a heartbeat longer before circling around her face, drifting to her cheek, her chin, then her mouth.
What was he doing?
His pupils darkened with something she recognized. Desire.
Kiernan Shanahan wasn’t thinking about kissing her, was he? No, he was too polite, too much a man of honor to initiate a kiss.
Even so, he clearly found her attractive.
