Page 52 of Ordered Home for the Holidays
One of the boarders, probably Mr. Gilchrist, had neatly stacked the dishes to the left of the sink. The platter that had held the tarts was almost empty- there were only three left. She stuffed one in her apron pocket to have with a wee dram of Guiness on the porch and bundled the other two in a napkin for James.
She decided the dishes could wait and poured some beer in her mug. When she stepped onto the back porch, the smells of late autumn surrounded her. Bonfires, dead leaves and ripe apples. She’d just settled onto the swing when a musty curl of cigar smoke drifted from the corner of the house.
“Who’s there?”
Deirdre shouldn’t have been surprised when Cass stepped into view and gave her a sheepish smile. “I didn’t feel like going back there. Not yet.”
The questions she’d wanted to ask about his stitches burned in her throat. “Does your reluctance have anything to do with the reception you received when you returned home?” She asked as she took the tart from her apron.
“It has everything to do with it,” he admitted. “Is that one of the tarts?”
She nodded before taking a bite.
“Are you truly going to eat it in front of me without offering to share?” He stubbed out his cigar and ground it with his heel.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you know they’re my favorite. Just like they’re your son’s favorite.”
Deirdre shrugged. “I know they were your favorite seven years ago - but people change. And so do their tastes.”
“I’ll help you wash all of those dishes if you share.”
She lifted the mug of beer and took a healthy draught. His mouth was gaping open when she set the mug down. “Apple tarts and Guinness? You’re pure evil, Deirdre Flaherty.”
“No more than I’ve ever been. It’s been a long, tedious day. And it’s O’Shaugnessy, remember?”
His stride was determined as he made his way up the steps and came to a stop in front of her. “You’ll always be Deirdre Flaherty to me,” he said as he braced his hands on the back slats of the swing, caging her in. “Will you relent if I promise to wash and dry the dishes?”
This close, the faint scent of his cigar smoke, and the smell of cedar that always clung to his clothes, was almost too much to resist.
Wordlessly, she took another sip of her beer and handed him the mug.
He straightened, and with his eyes on hers the entire time, made sure his lips touched the rim in exactly the place hers had just been. Deirdre watched the bob of his throat as he tipped his head back and took a long swallow.
“Is there still a lack of spirits in the Trenton household?”
“The only drink my temperance loving father will allow in the house is my mother’s sickly sweet ratafia. I haven’t had a good swig of beer since my train stopped in St. Louis.”
“You’re welcome to share if you’ll tell me about what lies beyond St. Louis.”
He promptly sat down beside her and stretched his arms along the back of the swing. “The world is full of so many wonders beyond Willow Creek, Wildflower.”
Deirdre tipped her head back, so the crown of her head touched his forearm. “I’ve never been out of Virginia. Even when I was married. Patrick worked in one of the Adams Mines. When he was killed I came back here and bought this house.”
“He was killed in a mining accident?”
“Yes, he and seventy other miners. Because of safety violations. It’s why I’ve joined the Knights of Labor. Because I don’t wish my tragedy on anyone else and the exploitation of working men and women needs to stop.”
Cass snorted. “While I heartily approve of your rebellion, my father certainly wouldn’t.”
“And your father’s approval is important to you?” She asked as she handed him the apple tart.
“I thought it was. Until he made sure I’d never have the one thing I loved the most,” his fingers brushed her cheek.
Deirdre fought the urge to lean into his caress. “What was that? A deck of cards?”
“No, it was a red-haired Irish girl with sparkling green eyes.”
