Chapter 11
Maeve knew the second she saw him. She didn’t need a clear view of his face, didn’t have to see the brim of his hat tip or the sunlight catch that sharp jaw.
Even before his gaze drifted over the crowd and settled on her, cool and too familiar, she felt it.
The fear sliding under her skin like ice water.
Patrick O’Malley.
Not the man who’d actually ruined her life.
No, that was Mr. Harridan, with his gold cufflinks and that snake’s grin.
But Patrick was one of his associates. The kind of man who hung around Mulligan’s place a little too long and watched her a little too closely.
He’d laughed that night in the alley, when Harridan accosted her with nowhere to run.
Patrick came from Boston. He remembered what happened.
Maeve kept her face calm, breathing slowly and shallowly. She didn’t dare look toward him again. She didn’t dare let Jonas, standing at her side, see her panic. Not now. Not here, when the whole town had just agreed to let her sing.
She forced her hands to relax, smoothing her skirt like she was just passing time. Jonas stayed close, stiff, watching the direction Patrick in which had walked. He felt something. He always seemed to, but he didn’t know any of it. Not yet.
She swallowed hard. No, she couldn’t let Jonas know. Not until she figured out why Patrick had come all the way to Owl Flats. Not until she had a way to shield Jonas from it.
The rest of the day barely registered. Fiona and Brigid talked about decorations and other future plans.
Maeve could only nod when she was supposed to and toss out a couple of harmless ideas, but her mind wasn’t there.
She was lost in Boston, in that tight alley, in the ugly memory of how everything split apart.
Harridan’s voice stayed with her. His low, coiled, and poisonous tone. “You’ll regret this, girl.”
She had.
Maeve made excuses and slipped away, claiming she needed to check on supper. Jonas offered to walk her, but she forced a smile and shook her head. “It’s a short walk, I’ll be fine.”
“If yer s- sure,” he hesitated, worry flickering in his eyes.
“I am,” she said, but goodness, she wasn’t.
She couldn’t let him see her fall apart.
Outside, the sun tossed long shadows across the dirt road. Her footsteps sounded loud, like echoes ricocheting off old boards, mingling with the bark of a distant dog, and the stir of wind in the trees.
Maeve kept glancing back. Patrick wasn’t there. She couldn’t see him. But she felt his presence, stale and oily, sticking to her like sweat.
Once inside, she shut the door and leaned hard against it, trying to breathe. The cabin felt too quiet. Jonas’ tools sat in their neat row, everything so calm. Too normal.
Maeve slumped into a chair and let her head fall into her hands. She’d run so far for this. She’d crossed a continent, married a gentle stranger and tried for a new start, all the while trying to lay the past to rest.
Now Patrick O’Malley had caught up with her.
How? Why? She already knew.
Harridan had never forgiven her. Men like him always came back for their pound of flesh. Patrick wasn’t here by accident. He was here to finish the work Harridan started. He’d poison the well, and spread his lies. Strip away every bit of belonging she’d managed to build.
Maeve pressed her hand to her abdomen. She couldn’t bear it. Not again.
Standing, she paced, her thoughts running in circles.
Run. She could run.
She knew how. She’d done it before. Pack quickly, leave in the dark, change her name, and disappear. It would be easier than facing what was coming.
But that would mean leaving Jonas. The thought stopped her cold.
She saw his smile, shy and sweet. The way his stutter softened when he talked just to her. She watched him at work with sawdust in his hair, and sunlight on his sleeve. The way he’d stood with her, steady as an oak, when the town finally listened.
Walking away from that would cut deeper than anything that had happened in Boston.
Maeve strolled to her bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the quilt Jonas’s mother had made. The patches were worn as soft as her favorite apron.
It was a sense of comfort, of belonging. Boston had always been about surviving. This cabin…It felt like home.
Home.
She’d never believed she could have it. But here, with Jonas, in this nowhere town, she’d started to hope. For warmth, for safety, for something good.
She couldn’t let Patrick take that from her.
Not now. Not ever.
She wouldn’t.
Maeve lifted her chin and wiped her eyes. She’d survived Harridan before. Survived all the lies, the shame, the fear. She’d crossed an ocean as a child and crossed a continent as a woman…she was stronger than anybody guessed.
She wasn’t about to let Patrick O’Malley take this away from her.
Not her home. Not her future. And definitely not Jonas.
A knock broke the silence, making her flinch.
“Maeve?” Jonas’ voice slipped through the door. “Are ya alright?”
Maeve shut her eyes and tried to pull herself together. She couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not until she knew what Patrick was after, not until she figured out how to keep Jonas safe from the trouble she’d let in.
She smoothed her hair, forced her breath to steady, and opened the door.
Jonas stood there, worry scribbled all over his face. “Ya left so q-quickly. I just wanted to m- make sure ya were okay.”
“I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all,” Maeve managed a faint smile
He studied her, quiet and searching. Maybe he saw through it, but he didn’t push. Never did.
“Alright,” he said, voice low. “If ya need anything…I’m here.”
“I know,” she swallowed, and strode into the main room of the cabin.
Jonas followed her. With him in the room, everything felt softer somehow. The air, the light, even the shadows.
Maeve watched him move around, lighting the lamp, clearing his tools away, humming a little tune. Her heart ached with something fierce and gentle at the same time.
She couldn’t run. She wasn’t going to leave him. Not this time.
But as the lamp’s glow touched Jonas’s kind face, Maeve felt a cold, hard certainty settle in her bones.
Her past had found her.
The calm she’d built here in Owl Flats was about to crack wide open.
Maeve hadn’t meant to stop at the mercantile, not really. Her plan was just to walk and try to shake off the tightness in her chest and breathe some air that didn’t taste like fear. She turned a corner and spotted Fiona, stepping out of the store with a small package tucked under her arm.
“Maeve! Just the person I hoped I’d run into,” Fiona’s face brightened when she saw Maeve.
“Fiona. It’s good to see you.” Some of Maeve’s tension faded.
“I purchased some thread. Brigid and I are starting a new quilt…Ya could come join us next time,” Fiona closed the gap between them fast, hooked her arm through Maeve’s like they’d been friends forever.
“I’d like that.”
The warmth from the invitation settled on Maeve.
“Good,” Fiona grinned, patting her arm. “And we really ought to have lunch soon. Or tea. Or both. Brigid makes an apple cake that could win over even the grumpiest soul around here.”
“I’d love that,” Maeve let out a quiet laugh.
After a moment, Fiona’s expression softened. “Ya look tired. Is everything alright?”
Maeve hesitated. The truth felt ready to claw its way out. There’s a man here…from Boston. He knows what happened. He could ruin everything. But she bit it back. Not until she understood what Patrick O’Malley actually wanted. Not when saying it out loud might make it real.
“I’m fine,” Maeve lied, offering her best smile. “Just had a long day.”
Fiona didn’t seem to really buy it, but she didn’t push either. For that Maeve was grateful.
“Well, anytime ya need a break from the hall or, frankly, from Jonas’ endless sawdust, come find me. We’ll sit and talk and pretend we’re ladies of leisure.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Maeve laughed again, easier now.
“Ya should,” Fiona said, giving her arm a squeeze. “Now, get going. Jonas’ll worry if yer gone too long.”
“He does worry,” Maeve felt herself blush.
“And that’s a good thing,” Fiona said gently. “Ya deserve someone who cares.”
“Thank ya,” Maeve swallowed, a lump rising in her throat.
“Tea soon. I’ll send word,” Fiona stepped back and flashed a quick smile.
Maeve nodded, watching Fiona walk away, her braid bouncing behind her. Somehow Maeve felt lighter, steadier, even. It was as if Fiona’s warmth chased off a few shadows clinging to her.
She headed home, letting the late sun warm her back. Town was busy, kids playing near the well, Mrs. Hartley sweeping her porch, and a ranch hand tying his horse by the saloon.
Ordinary sights. Ordinary sounds.
For a moment, Maeve let herself believe she belonged here.
She hummed to herself as she walked, a tune that rose and fell in with her steps. The melody wrapped around her shoulders like a soft shawl, comforting. She held her head high, passing two women whispering outside the dress shop. Their eyes followed her, sharp and curious, but Maeve didn’t flinch.
Let them stare. Let them speculate.
She had friends now. She had things to do. She had Jonas.
Thinking of Jonas filled her with more warmth than the sun.
But nearing the edge of town, something sharp slipped back in. It was just a hint of unease. A memory flashed in her head. Then the stranger’s gaze, lingering. How he stepped into the shadows when she looked in his direction.
Maeve slowed.
What if he’s still here? What if he’s watching? What if he’s waiting?
She shook her head, tried to push the fear away. She wouldn’t let it steal this day, not while Fiona’s kindness was still fresh in her heart.
Maeve lifted her chin and started humming again, letting the notes drown out the worry.
Even as she walked toward Jonas’ cabin, basket swinging at her side, one thought wouldn’t let go.
He found me once. He could find me again.
She pushed that worry down deep, where she couldn’t reach it.
Not today.
Today, she claimed hope.
Tomorrow she'd deal with whatever came.