Chapter Fourteen

Shite! What had just happened?

Finnegan pulled his pin from his pocket and picked the lock of an empty room after he'd knocked to ensure no one was currently using it. He had seen the gentleman leave this room just moments before and it was his hope that he'd find a suitable disguise among his belongings.

Finnegan slipped into the room and pulled the door closed behind him. He flopped down on the tidy bed and covered his face with his hands, needing a few moments to compose himself and think.

For most of his life Finnegan had cared about only a few things and those were himself, whiskey, gambling and bedding as many pretty women as he could find. Then he'd made the decision to go to his childhood friend for help and now his entire world was turned upside down.

Hell he was still at half-mast in his pants after that kiss Little Cass had snuck upon him. His only intention had been to break her fall because he had not wanted her injured and somehow that had gotten turned into him nearly tearing her new clothes from her sleek little body and ravaging her...

Finnegan shook his head and leapt from the bed. Not Cassandra. He could not do that to her! Finnegan wasn't a good enough man for her. Cassandra would be the settling down forever type and there were still too many trails to ride, too many poker games to play, races to bet on and pretty women to bed for Finnegan to even think about settling down.

"We're Irishmen, my boy! 'Tis in our blood to care only for what makes us happy and not for others. Drink, rut, brawl and laugh that is our motto and a fine and dandy one at that!" Finnegan could hear his father's words in his head and he tried to repeat them but out loud but they no longer sounded right on his tongue.

Whiskey. What he needed was whiskey. Finnegan slid open a compartment and found luggage. He pulled it down and began rifling through it and he nearly cried out with joy when he found the small bottle of clear, bubbly goodness.

"Rye whiskey, how I love you," he whispered before taking a big long swig. He welcomed the instant sensation of numbness it lay upon his lips and tongue and then the burn as the liquid worked its way down.

He slid the cork back in the bottle and then dropped it into his pocket. Feeling much more like himself now that he'd had a drink, Finnegan once again began going through the luggage to find a suitable disguise to wear to lunch with Vincent Little.

Could he simply have their meal sent to their room? Yes he could. But then where would be the fun in that?

***

Cassandra shuffled along behind Finnegan with her head down and trusting him not to cause her to collide with anything. This scarf around her head made seeing much difficult in these close quarters of the hall and it also made breathing uncomfortable. She had no idea how those women from the eastern world wore garments like these daily. It would drive her batty!

Finnegan looked just as ridiculous as she did though no one would realize it if they did not know how he looked at any other time. His wild and unruly dark hair had been slicked back on his head with enough grease to fry fifty chickens. He had found quite a dapper suite and waistcoat somewhere on this train and even had a cane with silver handle draped over his arm. A golden pocket watch chain draped over his flat stomach and a pair of wire rimmed spectacles sat low on his nose.

She knew her father would not recognize him. The last time Vincent Little had seen Finnegan Callahan he'd had more hair than head and a skinny boyish figure. Finnegan certainly had a man's body now as was made evident by the muscles she could feel beneath her hand as she gripped his upper arm, and his hair lay slick and neat.

"You look a fool, Finn," Cassandra whispered. "Where did you find those spectacles?"

"In a suitcase, Gretchen dear, and remember to call me Gregory," Finnegan replied, any hint of his Irish accent completely hidden.

Cassandra sighed. While it was exciting to be on a secret mission of sorts, (even if it was simply to get a meal), she wished he'd picked a better name for her than Gretchen. She was trying to look on the bright side of things instead of the bad.

The bad was that she was awfully close to being caught by her father, Seamus was tied up and no doubt mad as hell in his room and Finnegan had chosen to pretend as if their earth shattering kiss, (from which she still felt a bit heated and off kilter), had never happened.

But the good was that she was truly having that adventure and it had her head spinning just knowing they were finally doing things that were on-edge and (while not necessarily dangerous), still very risky, Finnegan had come back and hadn't run away from her all together and they were sharing a bed tonight. She knew the man had felt something in that kiss and she knew it had scared him. He might be able to pretend it hadn't happened now in the daylight on this crowded train but he wouldn't find that so easy tonight when they were all alone and curled up together in the dark.

Cassandra wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt while inside she felt nearly giddy with the knowledge that she had power—sure it was power over a skirt-chasing, whiskey guzzling, gambler but power was power and she would take it any way she could after feeling so powerless most of her life as Vincent Little's daughter.

"There's your papa now." Finnegan's voice floated to her ears and Cassandra's gaze instantly found her father as they stepped into the dining car. Cassandra felt nervousness begin to eat away at her stomach and then she nearly cried out with disbelief when Finnegan took them on a path directly to her very tall, very large, very imposing father.

"Good evening, sir," Finnegan said with a tip of his head. "May my wife and I join you at your table?"

Vincent glanced around the dining car and Cassandra knew he was seeing the several empty tables but Finnegan flashed a charming smile and her father seemed just as affected by it as everyone else who had ever seen it.

"Of course," he waved his hand toward the empty side of the booth. "Have a seat, both of you."

Cassandra slid into the seat first and Finnegan took his place beside her. She saw her father study Finnegan a moment as a crease formed on his brow, "Do I know you?" Vincent asked.

Finnegan pretended to study her father a moment and then shook his head quite slowly as if he were deep in thought. "I do not believe so, though I must say you seem familiar to me as well."

Seconds ticked by and Cassandra found herself growing nervous. Finnegan looked nothing like the boy her father had run off five years before but what if Vincent had recognized him anyway? And what in the world was Finnegan hoping to accomplish by testing fate enough to sit at the same table with the man?! Cassandra's worries were eased when her father again spoke, "Have you ever been to the capital?"

"Several times," Finnegan replied with a triumphant laugh. "That must be why we are so familiar to one another. My name is Gregory Peters, sir, and this is my wife Gretchen."

"A pleasure to meet you both," Vincent greeted as he reached across the table and shook Finnegan's offered hand. Cassandra kept her hands folded in her lap and merely tipped her head. It was very important that she did not speak.

Vincent gave her a curious glance but then turned back to Finnegan and the two became lost in a conversation about politics and current events. Cassandra was amazed that Finnegan knew about such things but he seemed every bit the educated gentleman as he spoke to her father as an equal.

Finn never failed to surprise her.

Cassandra took that time to study her father. He looked tired and had rings around his eyes. She felt a moment of guilt but pushed it aside. Her father had put all of this worry upon himself. She had left him a letter telling him that she was quite fine and in capable hands. But in true Vincent Little fashion he had decided to chase after her and steal back all of his control and power that she had taken simply by slipping out the window in the dead of night.

A serving man brought out a tray and sat three steaming bowls of soup on the table as well as a plate of freshly baked bread. Cassandra felt her stomach roar to life with hunger and then realized that she could not eat. Not with this annoying contraption over her face.

"I do not mean to be rude by asking this, so please take no offense, but, why does your wife keep her face covered so? I daresay she'll have difficulty eating as such," Vincent inquired.

Finnegan let out a great sigh. "My Gretchen has an allergy to the sun and it would seem that the allure of feeling it on her skin proved to be too much for her to resist two days ago. The rash and boils it caused on her beautiful alabaster complexion are quite a sad sight to behold. For the sake of the other passengers on this train she is keeping them covered and she will eat later in our room."

Cassandra glared at him. Eat later? She was starving!

"I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am," her father offered though she noticed he moved a bit further away as he did so. Boils and sores.. she'd show Finnegan boils and sores!

As he and her father went back to discussing the current economy while sipping their soup and scotch, Cassandra decided to have a little fun with her best friend. Below the table, she placed her hand upon his thigh and applied the slightest pressure.

The spoon jumped in Finnegan's hand and soup ran down his chin. Offering a quick apology as he coughed and swiped at the mess with his napkin, Finnegan shook his leg as if hoping to shake off her hand.... Not going to happen.

Feeling emboldened by his obvious response to her touch and the sheer naughtiness of doing this directly under her father's nose, Cassandra moved her hand higher until she was only about an inch from his groin and that particular bit of his anatomy that had been pressed against her thigh just over an hour ago.

She barely suppressed a laugh when his voice became a squeak on the word finances. He cleared his throat and shook his head at a questioning glance from her father. "I apologize. I had a rather exciting day at the races not too long ago and my voice is still recovering."

Vincent chuckled. "I understand completely."

Cassandra frowned. He did? She had no idea that her father was a fan of horse racing and she knew her mother did not either. That was a handy piece of information she would have to tuck away for later use.

Cassandra raised her hand just a bit higher and let her fingertips brush over the bulge in his trousers. A blush stained her cheeks though it was hidden by her head wrap. Finnegan's nostrils flared, his jaw tightened and his grip on the spoon in his hand turned his knuckles white but he did not miss a single beat in the conversation he was continuing to have with her father.

"So, where are you and your wife heading if you do not mind me asking?" her father finally questioned. Cassandra gave up on her teasing of Finnegan and sat back in her seat feeling like a child. Unable to speak or eat as the adults discussed their business.

"California is our final destination," Finnegan replied.

Vincent looked at Cassandra doubtfully. "There's a lot of sun out there."

"Northern California," Finnegan amended. "Close to Oregon. We're going to set up a homestead in those thick woods. I hear it is a good place for a man to start a new life and a new life is what I would like to have."

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No, nothing like that of course," Finnegan placed his bowl to his lips to drink down the last of his broth and Cassandra barely fought the childlike urge to tip his bowl up and cause him to spill his meal upon his lap. "I am merely tired of the political grind and wish to have a simpler existence."

"I would go stir crazy without the grind," Vincent admitted with a chuckle. "I will give you one year tops before you are scurrying back for the hustle and bustle of the city."

Finnegan laughed, "You may be right, sir!"

Her father waved his hand. "Call me Vincent."

"Vincent," Finnegan tipped his head. "Where are you heading to?"

Cassandra saw her father's expression change then. He looked a bit sad but a lot angry. "My daughter has been kidnapped and I am trying to find her."

"Kidnapped!" Finnegan exclaimed with shocked horror. "That is quite terrible, sir! How old is your daughter?"

"Twenty and innocent as they come."

"Who are her kidnappers, Vincent? Did you go to the authorities?"

"Her kidnapper is an Irishman that means to do away with her virtue and break her heart."

"Breaking hearts is what Irishmen are good at," Finnegan said sadly and Cassandra did not miss the way he emphasized those words. Was he trying to tell her something? "Did this man ask for a ransom?"

"No. He somehow convinced my daughter that leaving with him is what she wanted. That is why the authorities would not help me. They say she is old enough to make her own decisions. But I am determined to find her and I have reason to believe they may head west. I am on my way to Tennessee and will work my way back on horseback searching."

"We will be in Tennessee by mid-morning tomorrow," Finnegan noted. "What does your daughter look like? My wife and I will keep an eye out for her during our travels."

"Tall," Vincent replied suddenly appearing thoughtful. "Beautiful green eyes—"

"Are they like emeralds?" Finnegan questioned. "Those are always the prettiest eyes." Cassandra blushed again behind the satin.

"Yes, they are like emeralds, just like her mothers," Vincent nodded. "She has a head full of long blond curls and freckles litter her face. She'll be with a man who, the last I saw him, had a skinny build, thick dark curls that swallow his head and the most annoying Irish accent my ears have ever heard."

"Irish accents do grate upon the nerves," Finnegan agreed and Cassandra once again found herself stifling laughter. "Well Vincent, I do hope you find your daughter safe and sound and we will keep our eyes open for any sign of her ourselves. I must be getting my wife back to our quarters now so that she may quiet that growling in her stomach."

"Of course." Vincent stood as Finnegan did and Finnegan offered Cassandra his hand to help her up. She accepted the assistance and then took her place beside him with her arm through the crook of his, "Thank you, Gregory, for the conversation and Mrs. Peters I am dreadfully sorry about your... condition."

Cassandra tipped her head, Finnegan, gathered up her food, bid her father farewell one last time and then they headed back toward their room.

Once they were inside and the door was closed, Cassandra pulled her head wrap off. "Gretchen Peters covered in sores and boils?!" she exclaimed. "Was that really the best you could come up with for my secret identity?"

"Are we spies then, Little Cass?" Finnegan questioned with amusement, his voice once more the voice she loved so dearly even if she did want to strangle the man. "Perhaps ya would like to go back out and tell your lovin' father that you're the daughter he's searchin' for so hard."

Cassandra glared at him. "Haha. Yes and you can tell him that you are that skinny Irish boy with big hair and an annoying voice."

Finnegan laughed. "Ya love me voice, Little Cass."

Cassandra shrugged. It was the truth and she would not deny it, nor would she confirm it aloud and cause his big Irish ego to grow any larger. "Was there a reason you risked so much to sit at his table?" she questioned as she sat down on the tiny sofa across from the bed and Finnegan handed her the bowl of soup.

He sat on the edge of the bed and their knees were touching. Quickly he moved down a bit and then grinned at her. "Do not pretend that ya didn't enjoy the bit of danger. I saw the sparkle of rebellion in your eyes."

"My beautiful emerald eyes?" Cassandra teased before taking a sip of her soup.

"'Tis no denying you're a beautiful lass," Finnegan replied. Cassandra's heart skipped several beats but she focused on her soup and working hard to keep her hands from shaking. "And a sinfully evil one! What was that about, you puttin' your devil hands all over me like that at dinner? And directly in front of your father?"

Cassandra blushed but refused to look away from him. "Do not pretend that you didn't enjoy it, Finn," she challenged. "And it was not directly in front of my father, it was under the table. He could not see a thing."

Finnegan scoffed, "Enjoy it hell!" he exclaimed. "I damn near choked to death on a boiled carrot!"

Cassandra burst out laughing and nearly choked on a carrot of her own. As she coughed and sputtered, Finnegan took the bowl to keep her from sloshing it over the sides, set it on the table and then sat beside her and patted her back. "Ya did well out there, Little Cass, I was proud of ya. Ya acted every bit the meek and mild mannered wife."

Cassandra wiped at her watering eyes. "I will not be a meek and mild mannered wife, Finn," she warned, though why she was warning him of that she had no idea. She would never be Finnegan's wife—she wasn't sure she would even want to be. A man like Finnegan could never be faithful. Could he?

"Thomas Shelton will want a meek and mild wife," Finnegan reminded her, his tone was teasing but nothing else about him was teasing just now. Their thighs were pressed flush together, his breath was washing over her cheek and his hand, which moments ago had been patting her mid back, was now rubbing her back gently and moving lower.

"I won't marry Thomas Shelton," Cassandra countered, her voice a bit strained as his nearness was leaving her breathless.

"No ya won't," Finnegan agreed.

Cassandra heard the words and the conviction in them and she sat there struggling to understand what they meant. Did he simply mean that he knew she would not marry a man like Thomas or did his words have more meaning than that....?

Before Cassandra could ask, Finnegan scooped her up, pulled her across his lap and silenced all her thoughts when his hungry lips crashed down hard on her unsuspecting mouth.