Keegan's Lady Read Free Page B

realized they were becoming a familiar refrain. And tonight, she was so bone weary, she didn't have the patience to be understanding. True, Patrick had been going through a lot of turmoil lately, but did that excuse his complete irresponsibility? Usually, she assured herself the answer was yes. But with every muscle in her body aching from doing the work of two men, she felt less inclined to be charitable.
    It wasn't easy, accepting the truth about their father. Drunk or sober, he'd been a worthless human being, without scruples or redeeming graces. And Conor's blood flowed in her veins. It made her feel tainted. She'd spent most of her life trying to live down the fact that he was her sire. As a result, she was honest to a fault and would do almost anything rather than break a promise.
    Being the only son, Patrick seemed to be having even more difficulty accepting the truth about their father. To Caitlin's dismay, instead of trying to live it down, Patrick now seemed bent on proving to himself and everyone else that bad blood always won out in the end. Conor O'Shannessy's son, a chip off the old block, one hand wrapped around the neck of a bottle, his other knotted into a fist.
    In Patrick's mind, his masculinity, his sense of identity, even his pride in bearing the family name, had been destroyed over the last three months. He was angry and resentful. In a way, she even understood his behavior of late, that he was striking out, not only at their new neighbor Ace Keegan, whom he considered to be the source of all his woes, but also at the people in town, by living up to what he believed were their expectations of him.
    But enough was enough. She was tired of carrying her brother's share of the load. More importantly, she was beginning to feel truly frightened. With each passing week, Patrick's behavior when he drank was becoming more and more crazy. And, lately, even when he was sober, she sensed a distance between them, as if he were slowly and irrevocably withdrawing from her. Not long ago, he'd been her best friend in the whole world. Now she sometimes felt as if a stranger were living with her— an unlikable stranger who was becoming alarmingly like their late father.
    Indescribably weary, she closed her eyes for a moment, wondering how long it might be before the legacy of heartbreak Conor O'Shannessy had left behind would be eradicated from their lives. One would have thought that with their father dead, his power would be destroyed. Instead, he seemed to be grabbing hold of them even from the grave.
    Giving the dusty curtains another swat, Caitlin gulped back a sudden rush of tears. And if tears weren't silly, she didn't know what was. As if blubbering would cure her troubles? Instead it would probably give her a headache, and wouldn't that be a fine kettle of fish? It wasn't as if she could laze about all day tomorrow with a cool cloth draped over her eyes.
    Well, she had news for her brother. Some people had to work in the morning and needed their rest. If he thought he was going to keep her awake until all hours, he could think again.
    Caitlin was about to drop the curtain and return to bed when she saw three men come running out of the barn, one slightly in the lead. Assuming that her brother and two of his comrades comprised the trio, she was startled when the three went down in a thrashing tangle of arms, legs, and flying fists. Eerily illuminated by the backdrop of lantern light, dust billowed around the combatants in a golden cloud. Her brother Patrick's red hair shone like a torch where he lay at the bottom of the pile.
    Caitlin whirled from the window. Keegan! The name tore through her mind like a ricochetting bullet. Who else would Patrick be fighting in the middle of the night? Since his arrival in No Name three months ago, the man had become the focus of all Patrick's anger.
    She knotted her hands into throbbing fists. That brother of hers! How many times had she told him to leave Ace Keegan alone? So