Page 82 of Calling on the Matchmaker
In response, the cat flattened its ears and hissed. It only had a stub for a tail. One ear was chewed in half. And it was as fat as an overfed piglet. If the thing had ever been cute, it wasn’t anymore, either in looks or in temperament.
Riley held out a hand, in what he hoped was a gesture of goodwill.
He was met with a swipe of claws and a low growl.
“Come now.” Riley pulled back. “That’s not the kind of appreciation I expect for risking my life and limb to save you.”
He’d always told himself he wouldn’t put himself in danger for animals. But here he was. On the roof of his uncle’s barn. Rescuing a devil cat.
He paused and let himself take in the view. The land to the west of St. Louis was fertile for farming, and his uncle had cleared large swaths over the past ten years, earning himself a reputation as one of the largest corn and wheat producers.He’d also taken to raising hogs and was making a decent profit at the endeavor.
Acres of the countryside spread out as far as Riley could see. Some of the fields were dark with newly turned soil in readiness for the spring planting. Others were fallow with the remains of yellowed plants and weeds that had sprung up and been left to wither and die. Pockets of lush, untouched woodland offered hunting grounds and provided protection against the unrelenting winds that blew in from the Kansas prairies.
Riley dragged in a deep breath and tried to find satisfaction in the beauty of the scenery. After the filth and mud and overcrowded conditions of the city, this place, the land, the wide-open sky, it was all a slice of heaven.
But as much as he wanted to relish the fresh air and the time with his family, his lungs squeezed painfully. In fact, his entire body felt as though it had been run over by a dozen teamster wagons.
Bother it. He’d been away from Finola for less than twenty-four hours and it felt more like twenty-four years.
“Call the kitty by her name, Riley,” shouted one of the children watching him with wide eyes from below. “Her royal highness, Queen Victoria.”
He’d lost count of how many cousins lived on the farm. The oldest was around the same age as Lorette, with the rest ranging down to a newborn babe. When he’d arrived earlier today, he was greeted by the whole crowd, including his sisters, who had never looked healthier with pink cheeks, bright eyes, and wind-tossed hair.
The country life agreed with them. And with his dad too. From what Riley could tell, his dad was back to normal, helping around the farm with chores as if he’d never had a heart attack a month ago.
“You have to do it properly.” This came from his youngest sister, Colleen, who at eight was as bossy as a pecking hen.
Under normal circumstances, her ridiculous request would have made him grin. But not today. His grin was gone, along with his heart. He’d left both behind the moment he’d driven away from Finola’s last night and gone straight to his campaign office.
There he’d done what he should have all along—he told his team he couldn’t in good conscience run for mayor without taking a stand against slavery. The team argued with him, as they had previously. But he remained firm.
When Father O’Kirwin had told him to pull out of the election, Riley had done so willingly. In fact, even if Father O’Kirwin hadn’t told him to, Riley had planned on it anyway. He’d realized he didn’t want to join in political games where he had to compromise who he was in order to lead.
As soon as he’d left the campaign office and went back to the wagon shop, he’d written a letter to James Shanahan. He’d wanted to give Finola her freedom, needed her to know that she was no longer bound by the election or the steel contract. Then he’d paid one of the apprentices to drive it directly to Finola’s father. He’d had to do so before he changed his mind.
And it was a good thing he had because when he’d woken up this morning, he was desperate to make her see reason. He’d almost driven past her house on his way out of town. He had to remind himself multiple times that he was leaving her because he loved her too much to keep her from the life she wanted, the one she believed would make her happy.
He knew he wouldn’t be happy without her. But he’d made his choice. Now he had to resign himself to what he’d done.
He inched forward, trying to balance himself on the ridge. He’d been on plenty of roofs before. But the lusty wind and the light drizzle of the February afternoon were making this rescue more dangerous than he’d anticipated.
“You have to call her your royal highness.” Colleen’s call rose above the others.
Riley pretended to bow his head to the cat. “Will you please allow me to help you off this roof, your royal highness, Queen Victoria?” He raised his voice so the children could hear him and was glad the adults weren’t around to witness his foolish antics.
“That’s right, Riley.” Colleen’s voice contained happiness.
He shifted his attention to her, a forced smile at the ready. Before he could offer it, his fingers slipped again. In the next instant, he found himself sliding off the ridge and down the gable, unable to find a foothold to slow himself.
He clawed at the shingles, hoping to latch on to a loose one. The pitch of the roof wasn’t overly steep, but the dampness and ice made everything too slick, and as he neared the edge of the barn, he had one thought—he was going to die and wouldn’t get to see Finola again.
As his body plummeted over the side, he slapped a hand hard against the eave and managed to gain a grip.
He dangled precariously, the pressure tearing at his arm socket and stretching his fingers. He lurched upward and managed to grab on with his other hand. But even so, he wouldn’t be able to hang on for long. His fingers were already losing their hold.
A glance down told him the drop was too far, but he wouldn’t die today. Instead, he’d end up with a broken leg or arm at the very least. He couldn’t do that in front of the children. They didn’t need to see that sort of accident.
Rapidly, he assessed his other options. The window he’d crawled out of was at the other end. But the hayloft door was open below him. If he could get the right momentum, he might be able to swing into the upper-floor storage area. His landing would be hard. He’d probably still get hurt. But at least the children wouldn’t see it.
