Chapter 31
Bastien’s palms slicked against his trousers as the taxi rattled through crowded streets toward McSorley’s. During the entire trip, he rehearsed his plea, hoping his careful logic would pierce Tony’s defenses. He needed more than a yes from Tony.
Bastien needed an ally.
Kaitlyn had offered advice for managing her father, but Bastien didn’t want to manage his future father-in-law.
He wanted to build a genuine, if brief, relationship with the man who raised the woman he loved.
If his speech failed, he’d retreat, reassess, and return.
The thought of not waking to Kaitlyn’s quiet breathing was a physical ache. He wouldn’t give up.
The lack of twenty-first-century prosthetics—the simple mechanics of living—would grind him down. While loving Kaitlyn promised to eclipse his hardships, a seed of future resentment felt inevitable. He couldn’t risk the rot of regret poisoning what they shared.
The taxi jolted to a stop in front of McSorley’s, the sudden stillness catching Bastien unprepared. But would he be more prepared on another day, another week? No, the anxiety would only deepen.
A cold pang hit him when he spotted Tony standing alone on the sidewalk. The impulse to order the driver to turn around, to race back to Kaitlyn’s apartment, was powerful. But he forced it down.
Kaitlyn was worth whatever fear he had to swallow to seal their future.
Steeling himself mentally and physically, he exited the cab, the battery fading, every step requiring calculation, and shook Tony’s hand. “I hope you weren’t waiting for me.”
“I was just seeing a friend off.” Tony glanced down the street with an odd expression and squared his shoulders. “Come in. I have a pot of coffee waiting.”
Bastien leaned heavily on the cane, not for the first step but for the next one, or the one after that. The smooth wood was a reassuring presence under his white-knuckled grip.
Tony pushed aside a stack of crates, leading the way into the cramped back room.
A small fire crackled in the stone fireplace, throwing waves of stifling heat that smelled of old ash.
Bastien sank onto the sofa, the horsehair stuffing poking through the frayed velvet.
The springs groaned, the same sound they’d likely made when the saloon opened in 1854.
“How’d you time my arrival so well?” he asked.
“Kaitlyn has lived in Midtown for a few years and has traveled down here at different times of the day and night. I know how long the trip takes.” He grabbed the coffeepot off the coal-burning stove near the bar and filled two cups.
Bastien accepted a cup and took a sip, the rim hot against his lips. He let his gaze drift upward. “A bold nude portrait hung above the mantel, the parrot’s green echoing Kaitlyn’s eyes.” He raised his cup in a silent salute to the unknown woman in the painting he hadn’t previously noticed.
“I guess she’s the only woman you allow in here.”
Tony eyed the painting. “Besides Kaitlyn and occasionally my late wife, I’ve made a couple of other exceptions. Both Kenzie McBain and Sophia Orsini came in dressed as men.”
“No one else?”
“Well, there was one other woman. One night in the winter of 1924, a feminist from Greenwich Village, wearing pants, a man’s topcoat, and a cap, came in with a cigar stuck in her mouth.
She bought an ale, drank it, then removed her cap and shook out her long hair.
She called me a male chauvinist and yelled something else about the equality of the sexes.
Then she ran out. When I realized I had sold a drink to a woman, I bellowed, jumped up and down as if my heels were on fire, and yelled, ‘She was a goddamn woman.’”
Bastien chuckled. He couldn’t imagine the man he knew yelling like that. “How could you be a chauvinist and give your daughter all the advantages normally given to men?”
“Because I met Kenzie and wanted Kaitlyn to be like her.”
“You succeeded and should be very proud.” Bastien sipped the strong black coffee. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
Tony’s eyebrows flashed. “Depends?”
Tony could answer or not, but Bastien intended to ask. “How’d you feel when Roisin told you she was going away with Gabe?”
A muscle tightened in Tony’s jaw, twitching beneath his skin.
He didn’t answer right away, just shifted in the slatted chair facing Bastien, the wood groaning under his weight.
Was he nervous, or had he figured out where Bastien’s question was going?
Fear, cold and gnawing, sank into Bastien’s stomach.
“You don’t have to answer,” Bastien finally said, giving Tony an out.
Tony flicked his hand as if dismissing a bothersome insect. “I don’t mind. I just had to reach back and pull out the memory. As well as I remember, I didn’t like it, but Ma was so happy, I couldn’t tell her not to go.”
“I thought that was what you’d say, or rather, I hoped.
” Bastien did another three-count. “And I hope you feel the same when I tell you I’m in love with Kaitlyn.
It’s only been a few days, but I knew how I felt when I first saw her in Sardi’s.
I want to marry her. And I’d like to have your blessing. ”
Tony put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his scarred knuckles. The sound of them cracking in the quiet room sent a chill down Bastien’s spine.
“I saw the sparks, and I’ve had time to think about it. Do you intend to take my daughter to your time?”
Bastien swallowed hard against the rising unease.
This man-to-man talk wasn’t going to plan.
Tony’s reaction was all wrong. He should yell or throw Bastien out of the saloon for even thinking about taking his daughter away.
Instead, Tony leaned back, a picture of unnerving calm, and slowly cracked his knuckles again.
The sound, coupled with the casual reminder of Tony’s former boxing life, should have been enough to send Bastien running.
“If she’ll go,” Bastien said calmly, watching Tony flex his scarred hands. “If not, I’ll stay here with her.”
Worry lines bracketed Tony’s mouth. “You’d be giving up an awful lot.”
Bastien acknowledged that with a nod. Then, “So will she.”
Tony tipped his chair onto its back legs. “I’ll never forget my talk about Ma and Gabe with Jack Mallory. I asked his opinion of Gabe. I wanted to be sure he wasn’t gonna break her heart.”
“I won’t break Kaitlyn’s heart.”
“Hope not,” Tony said with a shadow of doubt in his tone. “Jack told me Gabe’s intentions were honorable.”
“So are mine,” Bastien hurriedly said, hoping his determination and sincerity came through in his tone.
“I’m sure they are.” Tony dropped the chair’s front legs and leaned forward again.
“I told Jack I wanted what was best for Ma, and even if I didn’t like her leaving for good, I wouldn’t stand in the way.
He asked me if I wanted to go with them, and I told him no.
I had a saloon, which was all I wanted. It was hard.
I didn’t realize how much I depended on Ma and Phin until they were gone.
Fortunately, I met Kaitlyn’s mother a year later. ”
Bastien leaned forward so his head wasn’t that far from Tony’s.
He had to assure Kaitlyn’s father that he’d do right by his daughter.
“I promise to love Kaitlyn, cherish her, be faithful, provide for her, and be a wonderful father to our children if we’re blessed to have them.
Will you give me your permission to marry her, and if she agrees, I’d like to take her home with me?
I don’t have anyone to vouch for me as Jack did for Gabe, but if you trust Remy, you can trust me. ”
Tony reached behind him for a gnarled log and placed it with deliberate care onto the fire. The log cracked in the hearth, sending a swarm of gold sparks up the chimney.
Tony was stalling. But why?
Bastien watched the new wood turn black, then red, until it burst into a roaring blaze. A chill that ran deeper than the fire’s heat caused goose bumps to radiate up his arms.
“I trust Remy, but—” Tony said.
Bastien’s gaze turned quickly toward Tony as he waited for the rest of what Tony intended to say.
“I’ll give you my blessing on one condition.” Tony seemed to have trouble squeezing his words out.
“Name it. If it’s within my power, it’s yours.”
Tony rose slowly, set his coffee cup on the mantle below the portrait, and ran his fingers through thick hair that seemed to crackle with static. Then he pivoted toward Bastien. “Here’s what I want.”
“Goddamnit, spit it out,” Bastien said, letting the edge of impatience explode.
Tony’s expression turned more serious, somber. “I want to go this time.”
Shock hit Bastien like a thunderclap. This wasn’t just a request. It changed everything. He tipped forward on the sofa, spilling his coffee. “You what?”
Tony grabbed a towel from a nearby table and tossed it to Bastien. “I want to go to your time.”
Bastien blotted at the small, dark puddle on his wool trousers. “Are you sure about this? It seems… sudden.”
“Before my wife died, she made me promise that if I had a chance to live with Ma and Phin, Kaitlyn and I should go there.”
The room seemed to tilt. A high-pitched ringing filled Bastien’s ears.
His gaze locked onto the painted parrot, its brilliant feathers blurring as his heart pounded against his ribs.
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. When the blood finally rushed back to his head, he managed to ask, “Does Kaitlyn know? This seems kind of important.”
“I didn’t believe there was any reason to tell her. Jack told me I wouldn’t have a second chance. Why let her hope for the impossible?”
“Once you take away hope,” Bastien said quietly, “what do you have left? Emptiness? Despair?”
Tony leaned back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling for a moment. “Not in Kaitlyn’s case.” He exhaled. “To her, Ma and Phin were dead—just like her mother.”
“But there was a chance,” Bastien pressed, adjusting his leg slightly. “Slim, maybe.”
“In hindsight, you’re right.”