Banner O'Brien by Linda Lael Miller

Author:Linda Lael Miller [Miller, Linda Lael]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 067173766X
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2012-08-07T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

BANNER’S KNUCKLES ACHED, SO TIGHT WAS HER GRASP on the bars behind her, and her throat worked convulsively, making speech impossible.

Adam came to her, caught her forearms in his hands. At his touch, she quietly fainted.

When Banner awakened, only minutes later, the world was spinning helter-skelter through space, off its axis, out of its proper orbit. She was lying on a cot and someone was waving smelling salts under her nose.

Sputtering and sick, she bolted upright, only to be pressed down again. “You just rest, Mrs. Corbin,” enjoined the marshal gruffly. “Your husband’s busy just now, stitchin’ up that fool Irishman’s head.”

Banner closed her eyes. She could hear Sean’s voice, and Adam’s—they were close, only a cell away, and yet their words seemed to be echoing through a long tunnel.

“Pretty piece, ain’t she now?”

“I think so,” replied Adam evenly. Banner didn’t need to see him to know that he was concentrating on the cleaning of Sean’s wound or already stitching it closed.

“She workin’ for you, or warmin’ your bed of a night?”

“Banner is my wife,” Adam responded. “And how would you like your earlobes stitched to the tip of your nose?”

“Is she your wife, now? That’s odd, that is—real odd.” There was a long silence, a silence during which Banner’s blood congealed in her veins. “Considerin’ that she’s already married to me.”

There was another silence, but this one was thunderous, like the stillness between violent earth tremors.

Sean laughed; the sound was low and weary, rumbling in the close, uncirculated air of the jail. “Thought you were the first to spread her thighs, did you? Well, you ain’t, mate, and that’s the truth of it.”

Adam said nothing, nothing at all. And, in a way, that was worse than any rage.

Banner sat up, made a conscious effort not to lose her supper. She would explain—Adam would understand when she had explained. . . .

Her husband finished his work, collected her in scathing silence from the cell where she’d been recovering from her shock. His face was cold and the expression in his eyes was colder still, and Banner wanted to die.

Outside, in the crisp, snowy night air, Adam lifted her by the waist and fairly flung her into the buggy.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he rasped, without looking at Banner, as the rig lurched into motion.

Banner lowered her eyes, and a tear fell to the lush fox muff that warmed her hands. All the reasonable, sensible things she’d planned to say rose into her throat and lodged there, in an impassible tangle.

Adam said nothing until they’d reached the stables, until he’d surrendered the horse and buggy to the man who tended them.

“Start talking, O’Brien,” he growled, grasping Banner’s arm and half flinging, half propelling her toward the house. “Right now!”

Banner swallowed, stumbled. Adam’s grip was almost bruising as he righted her and thrust her onward. The waiting room was dark and shadowy and monsters were lurking there. “I—I told you—”

“Damn it all to hell, O’Brien, I don’t remember what you told me and you know it!” Adam exploded, throwing in his lot with the monsters.

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