Read Patrick's Charm (The Bride Train, #2) for Free Online Page A

standing serenely on a shelf beside the door. His mother had tucked the icon into his knapsack before he’d left Ireland, assuring him it would bring him luck. After his brother was killed, he’d put the statue away. Last night, the Virgin Mary had reclaimed her place of honor. He still doubted his prayers reached past the ceiling, and wondered if there was anything more than clouds in the heavens, but he wasn’t so certain that he’d pitch his religion out the window. Indeed, what had happened yesterday was nothing less than a miracle.
    He made the sign of the cross. “Blessed Mary, I thank you for bringing me a good luck charm...” He hesitated. Normally, he’d confess to a priest, but there wasn’t one handy, and he felt the need to make amends. “Forgive me for putting you in the sock drawer.”
    Patrick took care descending the stairs. For some reason, going down was worse than climbing up. One wrong step would send his back into spasms, or aggravate the pain in his hip. By the time he reached the bottom, he’d broken out in a sweat even though the air felt cool.
    The inside of the saloon remained dim, the only light coming through a window in the front. He propped open the door to bring in more light and air the place out, so it didn’t reek.  He’d gotten used to the odors, but Miss LaBelle might not like it. On the other hand, she’d strolled in and demanded a job, so the smell must not bother her overmuch.
    After he donned his apron, he took a clean rag and wiped down the bar. My, but Charm had astonished him when she’d climbed up and started singing. She possessed beauty, a sweet voice and a rare talent for captivating a crowd. Every man in the room had become her devoted swain.
    Including him.
    His smile faded. Only a fool would fall for her act. Women who loved to charm men couldn’t be satisfied with just one. Even her name should be a warning. Ruminating on the sobering thought, Patrick dusted bottles on the shelves. A more cheerful prospect, the money he would earn while she worked for him. He could expand the saloon, maybe purchase billiards tables. At the sound of footsteps, he turned, feather duster in hand, ridiculously eager. When he saw who stood in the doorway, his anticipation fled.
    “Mr. Hardt. Good morning.”
    “The same to you, O’Shea. Though whether it’s good remains to be seen.” Hardt moved toward the bar with purposeful strides. A fair bet the land agent wasn’t here for a drink. He didn’t fraternize with the clientele. Even if he were social, the settlers would dislike him purely on the basis of his association with the railroad and its rich owner, who’d stolen the land out from under them. Being standoffish didn’t help Hardt’s cause, though. The settlers thought he considered himself above them and was out of touch with problems faced by the common man. Hardt didn’t dress like them, either. He wore three-piece suits, black or gray, never opting for trousers in popular stripes or paisley. Today, his black suit fit the look on his face.
    Patrick hung the feather duster beside the shelf. He rested his arm on the bar and shifted his weight off his bad leg. “Something I can do for you?” he inquired politely.
    “Tell me you didn’t hire Miss LaBelle.”
    Hardt acted awfully proprietary about a woman he’d been ready to raffle off.
    “’Fraid I can’t do that. She starts today.”
    “She has a contract with the railroad.”
    “Does she now?” Patrick strove to keep the irritation out of his voice. A signature on a piece of paper was only as good a man’s word—or a woman’s in this case. If Charm didn’t keep her word on the deal she made with the railroad, he had no reason to believe she’d keep her word to him; and to think she had the nerve to ask him to sign something, as if his honor was in question. He’d have a talk with her about this other contract when she showed up.
    “Miss LaBelle signed an agreement to be wed. In return, her fare,