Page 8 of A Wager with the Matchmaker (A Shanahan Match #3)

8

Kiernan’s gut roiled with frustration. At himself.

With a curt nod, he handed off his mount to one of the lads who worked at the brickyard. He couldn’t remember the kid’s name, since there were several who had already been employed when he’d taken over the ownership.

With his usual long stride, Kiernan made his way toward the kiln, the tall rectangular brick building that rose above the others in the brickyard.

Even at the early hour, the morning sunshine was hot and the humidity heavy, and he was already perspiring beneath his coat and vest. Actually, he’d been hot since the moment he’d stepped into the summer kitchen, and he couldn’t blame the heat emanating from the stove, although he’d tried.

No, he was an honest and direct man, and he had to be honest and direct with himself. The truth was, his body temperature had climbed the second he’d laid eyes upon Alannah, maybe even as he’d been crossing the yard and envisioned the way she’d looked in the moonlight with her nightgown clinging to her body.

He didn’t want to think about her, didn’t want to imagine her, didn’t want to desire her. But every time he was around her, he couldn’t seem to control his reactions. He liked her too much, especially her independent spirit that somehow seemed to challenge him.

He should have walked directly past the kitchen. But he’d had to insist that she not go out at night. As homesick as she might be and as much as he wanted to allow her the freedom to sit and read, she wasn’t safe alone and her reputation could suffer if he was there with her. Besides, he didn’t want to lead her on and certainly didn’t want to take advantage of her in any way.

The pounding of hammers and the slicing of saws filled the air on a patch of land a short distance away, just beyond the enclosed yard where stacks of bricks awaited transportation to the city. The shell of the boardinghouse was already well underway, the newly cut beams gleaming in the sunlight.

Beyond the construction site lay a small town of tents, simple canvas held up by ropes. The campfires scattered among the tents had been doused, but a haze lingered in the air along with the scent of smoke.

The entrance to the clay mine was on the opposite side of the brickyard in the hillside where thick four-by-four slabs framed the dark chasm. The main shaft wasn’t long, and it sloped gradually down into the shale deposits. A miner was exiting with a team of oxen pulling a wagon filled with buckets of the excavated reddish clay.

The shale deposits, which were fire-resistant and made the sturdiest of bricks, weren’t as close to the surface as some of the other types of clay. Even so, that shale layer was still easy to access with a depth of not much more than a hundred feet down.

The winning , as the process of extraction was called, was done by free Black laborers who were willing to do the dirtiest of the jobs. Not only was it the dirtiest, but it was also the hardest and most intensive of the work. The clay had to be shoveled by hand, then loaded into buckets and hauled to the surface.

From there, a different group of laborers—primarily Irish immigrants—took over the process of hand-packing the clay into wooden molds. After the bricks were formed, they were stacked in one of several drying sheds, which were roofed but had open sides to ensure the necessary circulation. Finally, after about a week or two of drying, the bricks went to the kiln, where they were heated and cured in another weeklong process.

Kiernan had put Torin in charge of the heating process in the kiln, where the fires had to be maintained at 1600 to 2000 degrees. It was hot work, but Torin had claimed he could maximize the process so they could cut back on the amount of coal they were using as well as the time necessary to cure the bricks.

Since Torin had already proven himself to be resourceful at the glass-cutting factory, Kiernan had given the young man permission to tinker all he wanted with any of the machines and mechanisms. And tinker he did—at all hours of the day and night, creating new devices and always planning for more.

Torin had also brought with him a group of new immigrants eager for employment. Some were helping with the construction of the boardinghouse. Others were working with an architect to build another kiln. Still some were digging a new shaft to reach more of the shale deposits.

Whatever the case, Torin was easily the smartest and best worker Kiernan had. He’d always liked the fellow, even from the first day Torin had shown up at the glass factory asking for a job.

As Kiernan drew nearer the kiln, the dirty scent of coal smoke filled his nostrils. Torin was outside the kiln beside one of the loading doors. He was on his back, head poked into a section, a level in one hand and a hammer in the other.

Kiernan halted beside the fellow and waited for him to finish his task. A short distance away, a group of new workers leveling out the area for the new kiln cast him curious looks.

Maybe they were accustomed to working someplace where the owner never got involved in the operations. But they would learn soon enough that Kiernan wasn’t like that. He took a vested interest in every aspect of his businesses.

After a moment more of fiddling, Torin slid out and peered up at him. Even though his spectacles were dusty, there was no hiding the blue that was the same shade as Alannah’s. Pale blond hair that also matched Alannah’s fell over a scar on Torin’s forehead and curled around his ears and at the back of his neck. The scruff covering his jaw and chin was lighter too.

“Mr. Shanahan.” Torin sat up, took a rag from his coat pocket, then wiped the grease from his fingers. “What’s the issue today, sir?”

“There’s no issue, Torin.” Kiernan assured the young man. “But I do need to speak with you about a personal matter.”

Torin’s brows gathered together like storm clouds. “Is she all right?”

Kiernan slid a glance toward their audience, the men now leaning against their tools and watching the two of them openly.

Torin stood, tossed his rag to the ground, and then nodded at the group. “Keep working.”

The half a dozen men resumed their raking and shoveling at double the speed. Regardless, Kiernan led the way toward a private area near one of the drying sheds that was half full of drying bricks.

Once they were alone, Torin’s eyes took on a wildness that never failed to move Kiernan. He appreciated how the young man cared so deeply for his sister.

“What is it?” Torin’s question was low and quiet, his gaze darting around as though he feared Shaw or someone else from the Farrell gang would jump out on him.

Kiernan couldn’t imagine having to live in constant fear of someone hurting him or one of his family members, and he respected Torin for doing everything he could to keep Alannah out of trouble.

It was at times like this when Kiernan had to remind himself that his life was easy. Even though he was striving hard to establish himself as a successful businessman in his own right, he couldn’t take for granted the privileges he’d gained by birth, the advantages these poor immigrants didn’t have.

“Did something happen to Alannah?” Torin asked.

“No, she’s still safe.” Guilt pricked him. Maybe he was overstepping his role and needed to simply leave Alannah and Torin to work out their differences regarding the matchmaker for themselves.

Torin glanced toward the far end of the mine. “Saw a couple fellas from the Farrell gang loitering out there today.”

Kiernan’s gut hardened. “We knew it wouldn’t take them long to track you here.”

“Was hoping to buy more time.”

Kiernan had hoped with the move that Shaw would finally stop harassing Torin, but clearly that was wishful thinking. “They wouldn’t risk coming in here and starting problems any more than they could come into the factory.” Kiernan had already gotten the police involved in the gang activity outside the glass factory. The officers had informed Shaw and his men—at Kiernan’s prompting—that if they came into his factory to stir up trouble, they would be arrested.

Torin shrugged. “As long as they don’t figure out where Alannah is, then it doesn’t matter if they know where I am.”

“Just one more reason to tell Bellamy to call off the matchmaking for her. We don’t need fellows coming out and courting her and giving away her location.”

Torin opened his mouth to respond but then just as quickly closed it. His blue eyes scrutinized Kiernan, confusion creasing his brow.

“I spoke with her again last night about it—”

“Last night?” Torin’s tone dropped a notch.

“She likes living at Oakland, and there’s no need to uproot her again so soon.”

Torin narrowed his eyes upon Kiernan. “Or maybe ’tis you who doesn’t want her going.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I thought I could trust you, and now I’m not so sure.”

Kiernan wanted to pretend he didn’t know what Torin was talking about. Even worse, he wanted to deny the insinuation. But how could he? Not when he’d blatantly lusted after Alannah last night and then again this morning.

Before Kiernan could come up with an honest response, Torin bumped against him, pressing the tip of a knife to his chin. The look in his eyes was lethal—a crazed hollowness of someone who’d killed before and wasn’t afraid to do it again.

Kiernan knew he ought to be frightened, but he wasn’t. Torin wouldn’t kill him right here and now at the brickyard. If he really wanted to kill him, he’d do it in private later.

Besides, Kiernan had his revolver tucked away under his coat, which he’d started carrying when the gang problem had landed on the doorstep of his glass factory.

Torin pressed the blade harder. “Tell me you haven’t touched her.”

The prick against Kiernan’s chin wasn’t drawing blood, at least not yet. “I haven’t touched her.” Patting her hand to comfort her in the carriage hadn’t counted, had it? Thinking about touching her didn’t count either. Thank the sweet Mother Mary for that because he’d be a dead man for sure with all the thoughts he’d had since meeting her.

He couldn’t deny that he’d been thinking about her since the first time he’d met her, and maybe he had made up excuses to stop by Enya’s to see Alannah and talk to her. Maybe he’d even orchestrated the move to Oakland so that in addition to keeping Alannah safe, he could see her more often.

Whatever the case, he hadn’t done any of it purposefully, hadn’t set out to seduce her. In fact, the very thought of using her made him sick.

Torin was watching him without twitching a muscle, his gaze still filled with murder. Could the young man somehow read his thoughts?

That was impossible, but still Kiernan needed to be careful with how much he revealed to Torin of his inner struggle.

“I won’t deny Alannah is a desirable woman,” he stated carefully, the blade still sharp against his chin. “But I don’t have any designs for her. I vow it.”

Torin’s hardened face didn’t look convinced.

Kiernan grabbed Torin’s arm and wrestled against the hold, unwilling to be intimidated any further.

But Torin was stronger than he appeared. And quicker. In the next instant, he had another knife out and this one pressed against Kiernan’s chest, the tip right near his heart.

Should he get out his gun? Even if he did, he’d never use it on Torin. So what was the point in drawing it?

“Calm down.” Kiernan latched on to Torin’s other arm, so that now he was straining to hold both of the young man’s hands. “I have the matchmaker working for me now too. I’ll be wed before summer’s end.”

Torin didn’t relent with his knives. “Having a woman, even having a wife, doesn’t stop men from taking advantage of innocents like Alannah.”

“Once I’m wed, I’ll never look at another woman again.” He intended to be as faithful as his da had been to his mam. As far as Kiernan was concerned, there was no other way.

Torin’s gaze bore into him.

“I vow it.” He was not only vowing it to Torin, he was vowing it to himself.

“That’s all well and good, Mr. Shanahan. But what’s to stop you now from using my sister before you get married?”

“My respect for her.”

“I’ve heard about your reputation with women.”

“You don’t know anything.” Kiernan spat the words.

After another long few seconds, Torin dropped both hands and slipped his knives back into their sheaths, one in his boot and one at his hip. He glanced around, and seeing that they were still alone, he pressed in close again. “If you lay a finger on Alannah, I’ll cut it off first, then I’ll kill you.”

Kiernan shoved Torin, but didn’t respond. What could he say? Of course he wasn’t planning to touch Alannah. But he wasn’t perfect.

Torin took several more steps away. “Don’t think I won’t do it, because I will.”

“I realize that.”

“Good.” Torin shook his shoulders as if shaking off the incident.

Kiernan shook it off too. He wouldn’t hold the knife threat against Torin. How could he, when he was actually relieved to know that Torin wouldn’t allow anyone to take advantage of Alannah, at least not without paying for it?

Even so, Kiernan had put up with enough threats for one morning. He spun on his heel and began to walk away.

“She’ll be safest married,” Torin called after him. “And you know it.”

Kiernan didn’t respond. Torin was probably right. Alannah would be safe from Shaw ... and from any other man who tried to use her, including him.

Aye, he’d deserved Torin’s warning not to lay a finger on Alannah, and he’d do well to heed it.