Read Online Banner O'Brien by Linda Lael Miller - Free Book Online
Authors: Linda Lael Miller
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chicken coop.”
Banner grinned. She could well imagine Adam, in his dislike for Dr. Henderson, saying such a thing. “I’m grateful to you for all your work,” she said. “And for your company, too.”
Jenny shrugged, offered no answer.
“How long have you known Adam?”
Jenny went to sit on the edge of Banner’s bed, eyes politely averted, and smoothed her poplin skirts. “All my life. Why?”
“He puzzles me,” mused Banner, squeezing a shower of deliciously warm water out of a sponge and onto her left arm.
Jenny laughed. “He puzzles everybody.”
“Melissa tells me that he has black moods.”
Jenny looked a little uncomfortable. “Doesn’t everybody?” she parried.
“He has a secret,” Banner insisted.
The Indian girl’s knuckles turned a pale honey shade as her hands entwined in her lap. “No,” she said.
“Yes,” countered Banner. “He disappears, you know. Especially around holidays.”
“He’s a doctor. If he disappears, it is because he has patients to visit.”
Banner sighed. Jenny was hedging and she knew it, but there was no way to make the girl talk. “I think he has a woman somewhere,” she said, and the thought made all the various and sundry aches in her body grind into prominence again.
“Do you?” replied Jenny in a tremulous voice.
And then, apparently not expecting an answer, she stood up and walked out of the room.
Banner finished her bath, berating herself all the while for being so insufferably nosy in the first place, and climbed out of the tub. For some unaccountable reason, tears were slipping down her face.
* * *
After taking five minutes of excruciating pleasure in one of the booths, the sailor laid a few coins on the bar to settle his bill and walked outside. Blast, it was cold, with that wind howling in from the sound and that snow to sting a man’s bones.
At the swinging doors, he looked back at the table where the barkeep was trying to scour away bloodstains. He smiled and felt the pearl handle of his knife. They’d all remember not to accuse Mike O’Hurlehey of cheating at a game of cards, that they would.
In the street, O’Hurlehey listened for the bell of his ship, the Jonathan Lee, and heard it. His pace was rapid as he strode toward the wharves; no sense in angering the captain by getting himself left behind.
There was a run up to Canada tonight, and Mike wanted his share of the loot even more than he wanted to stay in Temple Royce’s good graces, which was one and the same thing, for all accounts.
But even as he scrambled to board the clipper before she set sail, he thought of that little redheaded scrap that had come into the saloon with the doctor. What he wouldn’t have given to get her behind the curtains of one of those booths for five minutes!
O’Brien, that was her name. He ruminated, piecing the rest of it together from what the doctor had called her. Yes, it was O’Brien—Banner O’Brien.
O’Hurlehey laughed to himself as he dashed down the wharf to the snow-powdered boarding ramp of the Jonathan Lee. What a hell of a yarn he could spin of her and the knifing and the dark-haired doctor, once he got to Portland. He might even spice the thing up a little and say the doctor—spoiling for a fight, he’d been, had that one—had taken Miss Banner O’Brien into one of the booths and had a time with her there.
Maybe he’d claim that he’d had a turn at her himself. Hell, nobody would know the difference, way down in Oregon, and thinking about it was damn near as good as doing it.
Talking would be better yet.
* * *
Adam was standing at the parlor windows, a drink in his hand, looking out at a mountain he couldn’t possibly see for the darkness and the storm.
Jeff studied his brother in silence, wondering.
Adam sensed his presence and turned, only briefly, to rake him with one glance. Then, his attention was on the invisible mountain again. “Is Keith home yet?”
Jeff sank into a chair near the fire
Banner grinned. She could well imagine Adam, in his dislike for Dr. Henderson, saying such a thing. “I’m grateful to you for all your work,” she said. “And for your company, too.”
Jenny shrugged, offered no answer.
“How long have you known Adam?”
Jenny went to sit on the edge of Banner’s bed, eyes politely averted, and smoothed her poplin skirts. “All my life. Why?”
“He puzzles me,” mused Banner, squeezing a shower of deliciously warm water out of a sponge and onto her left arm.
Jenny laughed. “He puzzles everybody.”
“Melissa tells me that he has black moods.”
Jenny looked a little uncomfortable. “Doesn’t everybody?” she parried.
“He has a secret,” Banner insisted.
The Indian girl’s knuckles turned a pale honey shade as her hands entwined in her lap. “No,” she said.
“Yes,” countered Banner. “He disappears, you know. Especially around holidays.”
“He’s a doctor. If he disappears, it is because he has patients to visit.”
Banner sighed. Jenny was hedging and she knew it, but there was no way to make the girl talk. “I think he has a woman somewhere,” she said, and the thought made all the various and sundry aches in her body grind into prominence again.
“Do you?” replied Jenny in a tremulous voice.
And then, apparently not expecting an answer, she stood up and walked out of the room.
Banner finished her bath, berating herself all the while for being so insufferably nosy in the first place, and climbed out of the tub. For some unaccountable reason, tears were slipping down her face.
* * *
After taking five minutes of excruciating pleasure in one of the booths, the sailor laid a few coins on the bar to settle his bill and walked outside. Blast, it was cold, with that wind howling in from the sound and that snow to sting a man’s bones.
At the swinging doors, he looked back at the table where the barkeep was trying to scour away bloodstains. He smiled and felt the pearl handle of his knife. They’d all remember not to accuse Mike O’Hurlehey of cheating at a game of cards, that they would.
In the street, O’Hurlehey listened for the bell of his ship, the Jonathan Lee, and heard it. His pace was rapid as he strode toward the wharves; no sense in angering the captain by getting himself left behind.
There was a run up to Canada tonight, and Mike wanted his share of the loot even more than he wanted to stay in Temple Royce’s good graces, which was one and the same thing, for all accounts.
But even as he scrambled to board the clipper before she set sail, he thought of that little redheaded scrap that had come into the saloon with the doctor. What he wouldn’t have given to get her behind the curtains of one of those booths for five minutes!
O’Brien, that was her name. He ruminated, piecing the rest of it together from what the doctor had called her. Yes, it was O’Brien—Banner O’Brien.
O’Hurlehey laughed to himself as he dashed down the wharf to the snow-powdered boarding ramp of the Jonathan Lee. What a hell of a yarn he could spin of her and the knifing and the dark-haired doctor, once he got to Portland. He might even spice the thing up a little and say the doctor—spoiling for a fight, he’d been, had that one—had taken Miss Banner O’Brien into one of the booths and had a time with her there.
Maybe he’d claim that he’d had a turn at her himself. Hell, nobody would know the difference, way down in Oregon, and thinking about it was damn near as good as doing it.
Talking would be better yet.
* * *
Adam was standing at the parlor windows, a drink in his hand, looking out at a mountain he couldn’t possibly see for the darkness and the storm.
Jeff studied his brother in silence, wondering.
Adam sensed his presence and turned, only briefly, to rake him with one glance. Then, his attention was on the invisible mountain again. “Is Keith home yet?”
Jeff sank into a chair near the fire
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