Second Chance Brides Read online

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Garrett rubbed his chin with his forefinger and thumb. “We’ve got two more pretty women of marrying age in Lookout than we had before. That can’t be a bad thing.”

  Mark shook his head. From the tone of his voice, Garrett was scheming again, and this time Mark wanted nothing to do with it. They’d be out plenty of money before Miss O’Neil and Miss Bennett found a way to support themselves or got husbands, since the marshal had ordered him and Garrett to pay the ladies’ room and board. Never again would he let his brother sway him into one of his schemes. Pranks were meant to be fun, but people kept getting upset at them.

  The fiddler tuned up again. Men separated from their groups, seeking out their wives. Mark’s gaze sought out Miss O’Neil again, and he found her standing at the edge of the crowd. She put him in mind of a frightened bird that desperately wanted to join the flock but was afraid of being pecked by the bigger birds. She looked as if she might flit away without a soul noticing.

  But he noticed—and the fact irritated him.

  “You gonna ask her to dance?”

  “What?” Mark frowned at his brother. Had Garrett seen him watching the Irish girl and misinterpreted his stare?

  Downing the last of his punch, Garrett seemed to be studying Miss O’Neil himself. “She’s a fetching thing and free to marry now. Reckon we’ll have to find her and that blond a husband soon, or we could be paying their room and board for a long while.”

  “Guess you should have thought of that before dreaming up that confounded plan to find Luke a bride. You’ll remember that I warned you this could come back to bite you.”

  Garrett grinned. “Yeah, and I also remember you writing to one pretty Irish gal, pretending to be the marshal. If you were so opposed to my idea, why did you join in?”

  Mark kicked a rock that skittered across the dirt. “Guess I just got caught up in your excitement. I wanted to see Luke settled and happy, too. He’d been through so much.”

  “Well, if you’re not going to ask a certain redhead to dance, I reckon I will.” Garrett set his punch glass on the church sign.

  Mark grabbed for his brother’s arm as he strode off, but he clutched air instead. Why couldn’t Garrett let things be? He always had to meddle. But he had no way of knowing how Miss O’Neil set off all kinds of warning clangs in Mark’s mind. He was wrong to compare the two women, but Shannon reminded him so much of Annabelle.

  He clamped down his jaw. He wouldn’t let another woman close like he had Annabelle. Not that Miss O’Neil was any threat. He just had to stay away from her. Not let his guard down around her. He’d fallen for a woman once, and it had been the worst mistake he’d ever made. If anyone found out, his reputation would be ruined.

  The Irish girl shook her head at Garrett, and Mark smirked. So she was immune to his brother’s charms. Good for her. A stiff breeze nearly stole his hat away, but he grabbed hold and pressed it down tighter. His gaze lifted to the sky. Shivers of alarm skittered down his spine. He didn’t like the looks of those yellow-green clouds. Could be just a bad thunderstorm brewing, but they had an ominous look about them.

  He searched for his brother and straightened when he found him waltzing with Miss O’Neil. His hand tightened into a ball. Why should he care? But knowing Garrett was just trying to raise his hackles—and doing a decent job of it—irritated Mark. He had half a mind to march over there and cut in, but that was probably exactly what his brother expected him to do.

  The song ended. Garrett leaned toward Miss O’Neil and said something. She shook her head, then tilted it to the side. Mark read her lips. “Thank you.”

  She drifted through the crowd, looked over her shoulder, and then headed across the churchyard. She was trying to run away; he knew that. Things must be terribly awkward for her here. He watched her stop and talk with Leah Bennett for a moment until Homer Jones asked Miss Bennett to dance. Shannon watched the two walk toward the group of waltzing townsfolk.

  If not for him and his brother, neither woman would be stuck in Lookout. He felt bad about that, but when he and Garrett had offered to pay their passage back home or somewhere else, both had refused. Maybe they liked it here.

  He gazed at the town, trying to see it from their viewpoint. Lookout was small as towns went. The layout resembled a capital E, with Bluebonnet Lane the spine and Apple, Main, and Oak Streets the arms. Most of the buildings were well kept, but a few of them were weathered and unpainted and had seen better days. Yeah, they had a small bank, a store, marshal’s office, livery, café, a church, and even a newspaper office, but that was about all. Why would a woman with no means of support want to stay here if she had family to return to?

  Screams rose from the crowd, yanking Mark’s attention toward the ruckus behind him.

  “Tornado!” Frantic voices lifted in a chaotic chorus, joining with frightened wails.

  Men grabbed their women and children and raced to find shelter. Mark shoved away from the tree he’d been leaning on. He looked back at Miss O’Neil. She stood on Bluebonnet Lane, her wide eyes captivated. Mouth open. Didn’t she know the danger she was in?

  Foolish woman. He quickened his steps. People scattered in all directions, yet she didn’t move. He might not want to dance with her, but he sure didn’t want her to come to any harm.

  A flying tree branch snatched his hat off like a thief, almost knocking him in the head. He galloped faster, dodging men. Dodging women dragging their stunned children. “Run,” he yelled.

  But she couldn’t hear him.

  The menacing winds stirred up dust, flinging dishes and cups and forks like a naughty child throwing rocks at someone who’d angered him. Mark reached Miss O’Neil, but she stood immobile, her face as white as the wedding cake. He jerked on her hand, hoping she’d follow him.

  Explosions, one after another, rent the air. Miss O’Neil squealed and flew toward him, clutching his arms. Mark’s gaze swerved past her. The church bell clanged as if screaming with pain. His heart stampeded.

  Fierce black clouds devoured the road at the far end of town. He scooped up Miss O’Neil and raced away from the encroaching whirlwind. She clung to his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

  The boardinghouse had a root cellar. If they could make it there, they should be safe. He didn’t stop to look over his shoulder again, but he could feel the monster breathing down his neck.

  Where was Garrett? Had he taken shelter? What had happened to Luke? To Rachel and Jacqueline? They were the only family he had.

  Mark ran past the Dykstra and Castleby houses, knowing they could well be destroyed by the storm. The safest place for him and Miss O’Neil was underground. Flying debris pelted them. A frantic horse pulling a buggy with no driver raced ahead of him. The storm bellowed like a locomotive barreling down on him.

  Miss O’Neil continued clinging to his neck, and her tears dampened his shirt. She was light as a child, but carrying her this far was stealing his breath. He dashed around the side of the Castleby house, glad to have a barrier between them and the storm.

  Garrett galloped around the back of the house with Rachel’s daughter under his arm. He reached the root cellar first, flung open the doors, and the girl ran down the stairs. “Hurry!” Garrett yelled.

  Mark set Miss O’Neil on the ground and pulled her through the narrow opening onto the stairs, relief making his limbs weak.

  Jacqueline lit the lantern, chasing most of the darkness from the small room. She glanced at them, then up at the door, her face pale.

  “Did you see Luke and Rachel?” Garrett yelled.

  Mark shook his head, his gaze dashing toward Jacqueline. “They were near the church. I’m sure they made it inside.”

  Jack huddled in the shadows against the corn crib, her eyes wide and her normal spunkiness subdued. She shrugged. “I—I couldn’t find them once everybody started running around. And what about Max?”

  Garrett stopped partway down the steps and wrestled the doors shut. He held t
ight to the handles. With the drop-down bar on the outside, there was no way to lock them from the inside. The storm screamed in rage and fought to yank the doors off their hinges.

  Still on the stairs, Mark looked past the Irishwoman and watched Garrett’s struggle. He needed to get Miss O’Neil situated and then help his brother. Suddenly, she gasped and stumbled on the stairs. She fell into his arms, her momentum pushing him back. He flailed one arm, grasping for the handrail—for anything solid. His feet fumbled down the final half-dozen steps, and he fell, yanking Miss O’Neil down beside him on top of his arm. Something popped. His back and head collided with the packed dirt floor. Pain radiated through him.

  Miss O’Neil cried out.

  Mark squinted up at his brother. Garrett’s form blurred, then darkened, and everything went black.

  CHAPTER 2

  Shannon lay on the hard, dirt floor, Mark’s arm caught awkwardly under her back. Stabbing pain radiated through her foot and up her leg. She sat and grasped her leg, trying to catch her breath. Her ankle throbbed in unison with her pounding heart.

  Jack crawled to her side. “Are you hurt?”

  “Aye, my ankle.” She scooted back against the dirt wall and huddled against the potato bin, trying to get comfortable and to catch her breath. She glanced up at Garrett, who still wrestled with the doors. The wind moaned and screeched, as if angered that it couldn’t get in to devour them.

  Garrett held tight to the handles, leaning back, using the full weight of his body to keep the doors shut. What had happened to all the other people? Surely there weren’t enough cellars in town for everyone.

  Why had she just stood there staring at the monstrous black cloud like some befuddled ninny? If that Mark Corbett hadn’t grabbed her and hauled her off like she was a burlap bag of potatoes, surely she would have gotten hurt—or worse.

  Had she thought if she allowed the storm to sweep her away her problems would finally end? That she would be reunited with Mum in heaven?

  “Mark. Mark!” Jack’s frantic cries drew her attention. She shook the man’s shoulders. “Wake up!”

  Shannon scooted over beside him and put her arm around the lass. Had she killed the very man who’d come to her rescue? Please, Father, no. Let him be all right.

  Mark moaned and lifted his arm. Suddenly, he cried out, and his eyes shot open. He blinked and looked around, then reached for the arm Shannon had fallen on. “Oh, my arm. Feels like it’s busted.”

  “You all right, brother?” Garrett held tight to the doors while gazing down over his shoulder at Mark.

  “Do I look all right?”

  Shannon’s gaze leaped to Mark’s right arm. Sure enough, his wrist had started swelling. At least the bone hadn’t broken through the skin. Could be it was just a bad sprain. She prayed it was.

  Mark attempted to sit up, and Shannon reached to help even though the effort made her ankle scream. “I don’t need your help. You’ve done enough.” She let go as if he’d been a rattlesnake, and he fell back to the ground with a sharp grunt.

  Jack hurried to Mark’s other side. “I’ll help you.”

  “Take it slow, Jack. Besides my hand hurting like a horse kicked it, my head is buzzing.” The girl pulled while Mark pushed off from the ground, and he managed to sit. He scowled at Shannon as if she were to blame.

  She carefully moved away and leaned back against the potato bin. She hadn’t meant to hurt him and felt awful that she had. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember being back in Ireland. The memories were fading, and it was getting harder to remember her mum’s face.

  She’d never wanted to come to this country, but she and Mum had followed along as Da chased his dreams. Would her parents still be alive if they’d stayed in Ireland? If her da hadn’t been so insistent that they come to America?

  At least she would be in a place where she had friends, friends who cared about her. But in America—in Texas—she had no one.

  Her high-top shoe felt tighter than it had earlier. If her ankle swelled too much, her boot might have to be cut off, and these were the only shoes she owned. On top of everything else, she’d have to put her plans to leave Lookout on hold.

  She scowled across the small cellar to the other side where Mark sat, rubbing the back of his head. His brother still clung to the doors, but they no longer rattled as if a bear were on the other side trying to get in.

  Mark cradled his right arm with his other hand and winced when he shifted positions. His gaze shot fiery arrows at her. “Why did you just stand there gawking at the storm? Don’t you know how dangerous a tornado is?”

  A tornado. So the monster had a name.

  She’d heard of them before, even in Ireland, but she’d never seen such a vengeful storm. Fear had melted her in the road like a spent candle stuck to a plate. Shivering, she clutched her arms around her. Had Mark just saved her life?

  “Can you hear me, Miss O’Neil?” Mark leaned forward and grimaced from the movement. “Why didn’t you run?”

  Jack jumped to her feet. “I need to find my ma and Luke.” She headed for the stairs, but Mark grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her back.

  “You’re not going anywhere until that twister passes.”

  “But they might be dead. And I gotta find Max.”

  Mark moved around, as if trying to get comfortable. “Your parents are safe; I’m sure.”

  Jack crossed her arms and leaned against a wooden bin. “How do you know?”

  Mark grinned. “It took your ma eleven years to get Luke to the altar. She’s not about to let a tornado steal him away on her wedding day.”

  Shannon watched the interplay between man and girl, amazed at how gentle Mark’s voice was. She was also thankful that he seemed to be all right, except for his wrist.

  “But what about Max? I saw him under the cake table just before that storm blew in.” Jack flipped her long, auburn hair, almost the same color as Shannon’s, over her shoulder, and she nibbled her lower lip. The pristine yellow dress she’d donned this morning was now covered in dirt and grime.

  “Aw, you know that ol’ yellow dog,” Garrett said. “He’s scared of his shadow. He’s probably back hiding out in one of the jail cells, and not even a tornado could uproot one of those heavy iron cages.”

  “I guess so.”

  Shannon leaned her head back, glad that Mark had been diverted with the lass’s questions and forgotten about interrogating her. She truly hoped nothing had happened to the newly married couple. Although not marrying Luke Davis had created a multitude of problems for her, she knew Luke was the love of Rachel’s life, and Shannon couldn’t begrudge them their happiness.

  She glanced down, staring at her dirty hands. She brushed off the dust from her fall, but only soap and water would remove the rest. She allowed her injured foot to relax, but just the slight movement made her nearly scream out. Her boot felt unusually tight, and she was certain her foot was still swelling.

  Mark glanced at Shannon. “You never answered my question.”

  She ducked her head again. “I don’t know why I didn’t run.”

  She hoped he would be satisfied and leave her alone. All her life, she had tried to make herself small. Tried to remain unseen. Tried to stay out of her da’s way when he returned home from the pub. It had mostly worked—until she’d grown up and was too large to hide.

  The chill of the cellar seeped into her bones, and no amount of rubbing her arms could drive it away. What was she going to do? How could she survive on her own?

  A scrape and thud sounded on the stairs; then a shaft of sunlight illuminated the dimly lit room. Fresh air streamed in. Dust motes floated on the shaft of sunlight that fell through the open door. A mouse scurried under a set of shelves that held jars of green beans and jellies.

  Shannon jumped up, instantly regretting her sudden movement. She held onto the potato bin, keeping her sore foot off the ground, and gazed up the stairs. How was she going to manage them?

  Mark stood also, then fel
l back against a wooden bin that held onions. He hung his head, rubbing his brows with his thumb and forefingers.

  “You all right?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah, just stood up too fast. Got a tornado of my own swirling in my head.”

  Garrett clambered down the steps. “Most likely, it’s from that blow you took to your head when you fell. We’d best have the doc take a look at it.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Mark swatted his hand in the air. “We need to get up there and see if any of the town is left. See if anyone is injured.”

  Shannon’s pulse soared. Here she’d been worrying about herself when others may have lost their homes, livelihood, and even family members. She had to find out if Leah was all right. They may have been opponents at one time, but their similar loss had drawn them closer.

  “What’s wrong with your hand?” Garrett glanced at Mark’s cradled arm. “Looks like it’s swellin’ up.”

  Mark wiggled his forefinger and grimaced. “Yeah. Broken wrist, I think.”

  Shannon lifted her hand to her mouth and sucked back a gasp. Mr. Corbett had been trying to help her, and she’d caused him injury. She longed to creep around the bin and hide in the shadows, but her wounded foot and shame held her immobile.

  “You won’t be able to help much until the doc sets your hand, so we might as well head over to his office first.” Garrett hurried to Mark’s side.

  “I don’t need any help, but I reckon Miss O’Neil does. Looks like she hurt her foot in the fall.”

  “Well, I’m goin’ looking for my ma and my new pa.” Jack dashed past Garrett.

  He grabbed for her arm, but she slipped past. “No, wait!”

  “You’re too slow, brother.” Mark grinned.

  Garrett shook his head. “I wanted to keep her close—just in case.” He swallowed hard.

  Mark patted his brother’s shoulder. “Yeah, I know. But Luke finally married the only woman he’s ever loved. He’s not gonna let a twister steal her away from him.”