Stealing Her Heart: Paradise Pines, #6

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

     In Paradise Pines, real men don't read romance much less write it. That is until Liam O'Toole comes to town. Unfortunately, using a woman's identity to write under might get him hung. Because of a misunderstanding, a murder charge could put a rope around his neck for his own murder

     Margaret Hennessey's homemade biscuits have homesick miners flocking to her table.  To her utter frustration a misguided thief is stealing her biscuits only to pay with a romantically written IOU. When the town cook dies, the townsfolk need her to take over the cafe kitchen. An intrigue involving hidden gold and a band of renegade outlaws drives Liam to become the hero he's always written in his books. How else can he save not only his muse but, the fiery redheaded biscuit maker who's not only his muse, but the woman he just might call his happily ever after.

Paradise Pines Series #6  100,243

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paisley Kirkpatrick
• Release date: Feb 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386882671

Paisley Kirkpatrick

Drawing from her family history and a healthy imagination, Paisley Kirkpatrick kicked off a wild ride down a dusty trail with Marriage Bargain. It would be the first of many adventures during a time when men were men, and women knew how to put them in their place. Writing is in her blood, so it came as no surprise when she followed in the family footsteps. Her great, great grandfather kept a journal while traveling on a wagon train from Missouri to the California Goldrush of 1849. This beautifully written diary is considered five star and is kept in the Bancroft Library at the University of California, Berkley. Charles Kirkpatrick was married to the first woman to have a story printed in a magazine. With these credentials, is it any wonder that Paisley would use her talent to write historicals with a touch of romance? Paisley and her husband moved from the Sierra Mountains of California (near Coloma, where the goldrush originated) to a small community in the Northwoods of Wisconsin four years ago. History in the 1850's abounds and has given her a place to create both of her series. She's written six books in the Paradise Pines Series, and then seven in the Northwoods Series.

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Stealing Her Heart

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This work is copyrighted © as of 2015 by Paisley Kirkpatrick

The cover design is copyrighted © by Gwen Phifer

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Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

Chapter One

Sierra Mountains, California

June 1855

He'd wasted enough time. Liam O'Toole tossed his pencil onto the writing table and crumpled yet another piece of paper. He needed a feisty woman with red hair, and sitting here wouldn't find him one. God didn't rain redheads down from the heavens.

He got up and pulled the white lace curtain back from the window that overlooked the hillside behind Chaumers Hotel. The residents of Paradise Pines were out and about. No doubt about it, they had the right idea. Fresh air would clear his mind.

He took his wire-rimmed glasses off to clean and then put them back on. Where was his small pad of paper? He moved his reference books out of the way and found what he needed. The pad and a pencil fit perfectly in the breast pocket of his chambray shirt. On the way out of his room, he grabbed his wide-brimmed hat off the brass headboard and locked the door behind him.

None of the many attractive women he'd seen since his arrival in town hadn't stirred his imagination. Maybe today his luck would change. He grinned at seeing George manning the counter. When it came to the mountain community, the man was a fount of information. Perhaps George could recommend a place where he could start searching for his muse.

Good morning.

Yes, it is a great day, sir. The clerk closed the novel he was reading and set it under the counter. Is there something I can do for you, Mr. O'Toole?

Maybe. I imagine you hear quite a bit of gossip about the happenings in Paradise Pines. Can you help me find a spirited, red-headed woman?

"I beg your pardon, but this is a decent hotel. We don't find women for our male guests. I suggest you go around the corner to Kitty's Pleasure Palace."

Liam chuckled. No, I don't want a whore. I want a woman who can stimulate my muse not my manhood.

George chuckled. You caught me on that one, Mr. O'Toole. I apologize for the mistake. I would be happy to help you, but I'm not sure what your muse is.

My muse is what helps me put my thoughts together.

I see. George scratched his head.

The clerk still didn't understand. He'd better level with the man and hope for the best. George, I write novels and observe people to gain ideas for my characters.

A smile lit up George's face. Ah, I see what you mean now.

It's important people aren't aware of my profession. I want to observe them as they are, not as they want me to think they are.

Well, in that case I am your servant. Your secret is safe with me. What kind of stories do you write?

The kind people like to read. He grinned at George. That's all I will say on the subject.

The clerk chuckled. I will do the best I can for you.

Fair enough. Now, how about that redhead?

You may be in luck. I've not seen her myself, but men come in here praising the woman who bakes biscuits somewhere upriver. I'd say go pick up a biscuit and find out for yourself if what they say is true.

Thanks, George. He tipped his hat and left through the front entrance. Normally he would rent a horse and ride, but early summer warmth graced the morning, and he wanted to not only clear his head, but to stretch his legs as well.

The mile or so hike up the dirt road was pleasant, but dusty. He cut across a grassy knoll and headed down to the south fork of the American River.

By the time he reached the water, he'd all but forgotten the morning's frustration at his writing table. He pulled off his boots and socks and waded into the river. The melting snow from high up the Sierras sent a chill through him.

He sat on a flat rock and soaked up the warmth of the sun while he contemplated his story options. Loud voices close by disturbed his thoughts. He shoved the rim of his hat back and checked out two miners setting up their camp further down the riverbank. He hollered a greeting. They waved for him to join them. He nodded and pulled his socks and boots back on.

Liam walked over the pebbly ground to reach their camp.

I'm Slim and that's my partner, Beau, the tall slender man said.

He shook their extended hands. Liam O'Toole. He accepted the tin cup filled almost to the brim with coffee from Slim and relaxed on the canvas chair they offered. What's that you're eating?

A cathead biscuit, Beau said. "This morning she put honey inside it." He rolled his eyes as he spoke of the woman who did the baking.

You're funning me. Cat heads? I've never seen a cat head look like that before.

Slim and Beau chuckled. You've never heard of biscuits big as these?

Liam scratched his beard. I can't say as I have. It's an interesting way of selling a biscuit, though. Liam's stomach rumbled at the thought of food. Where would I find one of those catheads?

There's an angel up the way who bakes and sells them. Never ate nothing like one of them before, Beau said. Ain't I right, Slim?

Yup! She's an amazing cook. My pa told me to marry a girl iffen she could cook a decent meal no matter what she looked like.

What's you waiting for then? Her asking you? Beau slapped his thigh and hooted.

As soon as I find me a fortune is what. Slim grinned and bit into his biscuit.

The two old goats piqued Liam's interest. He had a feeling their angel was the redhead George mentioned. He tossed the untouched coffee into the dirt and set the cup on their makeshift table. Where'd you say I could find this store?

Ain't no store. She sells 'em off a table in front of a tent, Slim said.

"You don't say. What an unusual setup. I might check it out."

Slim pointed west. Follow the river and you'll know when you're gettin' close. Your nose will guide your way.

Liam stood and tipped his hat. He picked his way along the river's edge until, just like Slim said, the aroma of baking biscuits tugged his senses. He crossed over the pebbles and entered a thicket of trees and buck brush. He heard voices up ahead. He climbed a slight embankment covered with pine needles and peeked through the brush. A young woman with the brightest red hair he'd ever seen stood close enough for him to see the freckles on her nose. A customer held her attention.

Liam reached into his pocket. Dammit! He didn't have money to pay for one of those biscuits he so desperately wanted. He did, however, have his notepaper and pencil on him. While she had her attention occupied elsewhere, Liam wrote out an IOU and exchanged it for the biscuit sitting on a plate close enough he could grab it without being seen.

The first bite of the warm treat damn near melted in his mouth. A taste of heaven.

Liam heard her gasp. He looked up. The angel stood only a few feet away from him now. She stared into the brush waving the note.

Show yourself!

He hunkered down out of her line of vision.

Wherever ya are ya dirty rotten thief, I hope ya choke on me food.

Her beauty stole his breath, but her quick temper sealed his fate. He'd found his heroine. She stood so close he could have reached through the thick brush and touched her, but at the moment he struggled to breathe.

An older man stepped from the tent's interior and rushed toward her. Margaret, what's going on?

She stuffed the IOU into her apron pocket. A biscuit bandit is prowling these woods, Da. He stole one off me plate, the scoundrel.

Her father reached inside the tent and pulled out a shotgun. He checked to make sure the chambers were loaded. Don't ya worry, daughter, I'll put buckshot in his behind.

Not liking where the old man's actions headed, Liam hurried back through the woods and didn't stop until he reached the river. He sat on the bank and stuffed the rest of the biscuit into his mouth. Damn but that was good. He wiped the crumbs off his face with the back of his sleeve. In fact, he'd never tasted anything like it before. He would risk everything, including his life, to eat another. Maybe not today, but he'd be back first thing tomorrow.

He couldn't stop thinking about the redhead with the fiery temper. Before he'd left Dublin, he'd loved his share of beautiful women, but none of them compared to this daughter of Ireland. Her father called her Margaret. Hmmm. Margaret? Maggie? Meg? Yes, that was it. He would name his new heroine Meg.

Excited, he'd finally found the inspiration for his heroine, Liam wanted to write. He hiked down the dusty road into town. The fresh mountain air stirred his muse to a frenzy. At least today it did. It amazed him how this beauty could conjure up all kinds of ideas, most of them about writing—a few not so creative, but a lot more enjoyable to think about.

A premise started developing into a full-blown story. Liam picked up his pace and by the time he entered town, he was ready to create. He knew he didn't have enough supplies with all the ideas swirling through his mind so he stopped at the mercantile and headed toward the display of writing materials. The large selection stacked on the supply counter delighted him. With enough paper and ink to last for a while, he returned to the front of the store.

The clerk looked up from her bookwork. Did you find everything you need?

Not quite. Do you by chance sell rolls of ribbon?

A smile lit up her face. I'm a seamstress. I have many different colors of ribbons. Follow me.

Liam set the paper and ink on the counter. She led him to the back of the store and opened a door to a comfortable room with large windows. A good portion of the working area held tables loaded with fabrics and on the wall behind a long sewing table, small compartments of ribbons and buttons covered the space. His head spun at trying to pick out the color he liked best.

If you'll tell me what the ribbon is for, I might be able to help you choose.

In all of the romances he'd written, he'd never used robbery as a way to steal a woman's heart. If this concept worked, he would have a unique storyline to use in his book. There's this beautiful woman...

The clerk tittered. Ah, I understand. Let me see. She searched through her supply and pulled out two shades of pink, one of lavender, and a bluish-green color. He chose lavender. This morning when Margaret read his IOU, he'd seen the same shade in her unusual eyes. This color is what I had in mind. I'll take it.

She picked up her scissors. How many inches of ribbon do you need?

I'll take the whole roll. Would you have some different shades of writing paper as well?

She returned the scissors to her table and shook her head. Not right now, but we have a packet of fancy white you might like.

The white will work fine.

He followed her back into the interior of the store. The woman picked a packet of paper off a display table on the way to the front counter.

I'd like to add these items as well as the writing supplies to my account, please.

Certainly, Mr. O'Toole. She entered the charge in her ledger and wrapped his purchases in a piece of brown paper.

He took his package and tipped his hat. Thank you, miss.

Lizzie Phillips.

Liam nodded. Miss Phillips, you have a nice day.

He stepped outside and surveyed the buildings lining each side of Main Street. He set the package on the boardwalk, pulled his notepaper from his shirt pocket, and wrote down each building's location. Paradise Pines would definitely come to life in his new series.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a fancy black buggy coming his way at a fast pace. A woman inside the conveyance poked her head out of the small window as she passed.

She reminded him of Catarina Duffy. He'd heard his former love had left Dublin and come west during the gold rush. If the rumors were true, Paradise Pines would have suited her all too well during the days of good pickins'. He pushed the memories of the vile woman from his mind.

The beginning of a new story always excited him, and by the time he reached his room on the second floor of Chaumers Hotel, Liam was itching to write. First, he filled his inkwell. He pulled a piece of paper off the top of the stack he'd purchased. He dipped his pen into the ink and wrote The Biscuit Bandit by Chastity O'Malley.

MARGARET HENNESSEY measured the dry biscuit ingredients into her favorite wooden bowl, dropped small chunks of softened butter into the fixings, and then added buttermilk. She hummed as she stirred the dough until the consistency was ready to knead, and then turned it onto a floured board. After gently patting the dough until she liked the texture, Margaret dropped six heaping portions into the prepared cast iron Dutch oven and covered the pan. She set it in the coals and spread additional coals evenly over the lid. Making a mental note of the time, she washed her hands and started preparing the next batch of cathead biscuits.

Two miners came up to the table in front of the tent. Ma'am?

She glanced up and recognized the two miners from yesterday. Ya both back for more of me biscuits?

We sure as hell are. Beau removed his hat. Beggin' your pardon, miss, but those things is damn good eatin'. I want two again today. How about you, Slim?

Yup, two for me.

Beau placed his hat back on his balding head. They both pulled out coins and paid for their food.

Margaret wrapped the biscuits in paper and handed a package to each of them. Thank ya for your purchases. Enjoy your food.

The miners tipped their hats and headed off the road and down toward the river. She expelled a long sigh and concentrated on pulling the second set of biscuits out of the coals. She lifted the lid and slid her spatula under the middle one. When she turned to set it on the biscuit cooling plate, she noticed one was missing.

A quick look around the table left her frustrated. Bollocks!

Margaret removed the rest of the biscuits before they stuck to the hot bottom. She hurried into the tent and grabbed Da's shotgun. When she returned to the table, yet another biscuit was missing. In its place rested a white piece of paper with a lavender ribbon tied around it.

How can this be happening? She'd only been gone a few moments. Show yerself, ya bounder!

Nothing moved, not even the dry grass. The bandit had disappeared into thin air again. She leaned the shotgun against the side of the tent and untied the ribbon. Her hands shook as she unrolled the paper and read the note.

Sweets from my sweet. IOU the coin for two more of your delightful biscuits - BB

She jammed the note into the pocket of her apron and stirred the hottest coals around the Dutch oven. The insolent rogue. What nerve.

Miss?

She grabbed the shotgun and swung around. Her stomach clenched. Oh, Sweet Mother Mary. Pastor Hughes!

He raised his hands and stepped backwards.

Margaret lowered the shotgun and leaned it against the side of the tent. She'd learned too many bad habits from the miners since she and her father arrived in Paradise Pines six months earlier.

I am so, so sorry, Pastor Hughes. A thief is stealing me biscuits and I overreacted just now. Her cheeks burned, which made the situation even more embarrassing, if that was even possible. Is there something I can do for ya?

The pastor frowned, but he still approached the table. Yes, my wife is hosting a supper party tomorrow evening and sent me to order ten of your biscuits.

His request both surprised and pleased her. Her reputation as a biscuit maker kept expanding. Delivering baked goods to the prominent townsfolk could increase profits beyond her wildest dreams. A house would be a blessing. She could bake her biscuits in an oven. No more Dutch ovens in coals.

Yes, of course, I'd be happy to have the biscuits made for your wife. Would ya like me to deliver them?

No, that won't be necessary. My wife thinks I need the exercise. What time should I be here to pick them up?

How about this same time?

Fine, I'll be here. He tipped his hat. I'll expect you in church Sunday morning at nine.

As soon as Pastor Hughes walked away and turned the corner, she pulled a chair out of the tent and sank onto it. A band tightened around her brow. She tried to massage the headache away, but to no avail. How could I have pointed a shotgun at the preacher of all people? So far, the day hadn't worked out well.

Margaret expelled a long sigh. She stood and cleaned out the inside of the Dutch oven.

While she started her next batch of biscuits, her mind wandered back to the rogue thief. What she could not understand is why someone would risk buckshot in their backside for a simple biscuit or two. He was obviously a rotten coward and survived at other people's expense. If he had any self-respect, he would have at least offered to work for his food instead of promising to pay another day. She doubted she'd ever see cash paid for even one IOU.

Ready for lunch, Margaret scooped the last of the biscuits from the pan and set plates of unsold biscuits inside the tent. She banked the coals and grabbed one of the biscuits and an apple she'd placed under the table into her bag. She would take the shotgun with her today. If the bandit brazenly stole from right under her nose, he could be capable of anything.

A shady spot by the river appealed to her. She leaned the shotgun against the tree close enough where she could grab it at a moment's notice if necessary. She pulled out the blanket she always carried inside her bag and spread it on the pebbly ground. Noon had always been her favorite time of day. It gave her a few moments to relax and spend quiet time.

In a moment, she had her single braid undone. The wind whipped her waist-length hair, giving her a sense of freedom. She pulled out the latest book written by her favorite author, Chastity O'Malley, and ate her lunch while she read further into the romance novel.

Margaret dropped her biscuit and covered her burning cheeks with her hands. Oh my. She forgot her lunch as she read on. Try as she might, Priscilla couldn't push the duke away. She could not deny what her heart told her. He pulled her close to his chest. You are lovely, my dear, Lionel whispered, brushing his cheek against...

Chapter Two

Liam headed toward the Bell Tower Café for a bite of breakfast and some good, hot coffee before visiting the ladies at the newly established library. Meeting his Meg opened a floodgate of ideas and while they were fresh in his mind, he wanted to put them to paper. He had worked late into the night and made great progress on his book.

The usual bunch of townsfolk sat at the tables covered in cozy cloths of red and white squares. The only waitress in the bustling place pointed to an empty table across the room from the entrance. He nodded his thanks and settled on one of the spindle chairs. The cook always displayed the daily special on a board above the counter. Today he liked the idea of johnnycakes and a couple of fried eggs.

Morning, mister. The waitress pulled a pencil from over her ear, What are you ordering today?

He told her what he wanted and glanced around the room. You've got a boisterous crowd.

She nodded. Our cook got off to a late start this morning, but don't you worry I'll bring your meal out as quickly as I can.

Thank you, miss. I'll take a cup of coffee while I wait.

Right away.

She filled a cup at the counter and brought it back to his table. Here you are.

Thank you. Liam watched the young woman head back to the kitchen. With the size of the crowd eating in the establishment every morning, he couldn't understand why the owner didn't hire at least one more waitress.

He put a spot of cream and a couple of teaspoons of sugar into his cup and stirred. He sipped the coffee until it cooled, then emptied the cup in one long guzzle. He motioned to the waitress that he wouldd like a refill.

The waitress grabbed a pot of coffee off the counter and headed back his way. If you'd like, I can leave a pot on your table this morning.

He grinned at her. Yes, that's an excellent idea.

True to her word, the young woman brought his breakfast in short order. Thank you, miss. He leaned back as she set the steaming dish of golden johnnycakes and fried eggs on the table in front of him. A few moments later, she brought the promised pot of coffee as well.

He grabbed the small pitcher of maple syrup the waitress kept on the table and poured a healthy amount over the top of his food. He picked up his fork, cut a section of the cake with it, and took the first bite. Damn but these johnnycakes are good.

Liam pushed his empty plate away and, after wiping his mouth, dropped his napkin on the table. He stood and pulled his treasured watch from his breeches pocket. The lateness of the hour surprised him. On the way out, he paid the waitress for his food.

It was a short walk along Main Street to the library. He hurried up the steep flight of stairs and opened the door. The smell of books always gave him a sense of peace. He loved to read them, but loved writing them even more.

Good morning, ladies, he said as he entered a large room and found two women shelving books.

He recognized the librarian, Sadie, and her friend, Victoria. Their radiant smiles welcomed him. You look like you could use some help.

If you're offering your assistance, we would be delighted to have it. We've just received these beautiful oak bookshelves from Braden MacGregor.

Liam ran his fingers along the edge of the polished wood. The man's workmanship is definitely praiseworthy.

Yes, we're very lucky to have him as a supporter of our library, Mr. O'Toole.

Won't you call me Liam?

Thank you. Since you are an avid reader, Liam, I'd like to show you something and ask your opinion.

Sadie led him to a back corner and pointed out a couple of stacks of leather-bound books. These were donated by Widow Jensen's son. She died last week and he wanted to donate her collection to our library.

Liam knelt on the hardwood floor and picked up a couple of the books and read their titles. Ah, these romances written by Jane Austen are definitely classics.

Classic romances? Are you certain romance is appropriate to keep on our shelves?

He stood and ran his fingers over the bindings of the books. It most definitely is, milady. I would consider it a must. He winked. To read about a lovely heroine staring into the handsome rake's deep blue eyes is a great way to spend an afternoon.

Sadie's cheeks turned deep red. You sound well-versed in romance, Liam.

How could I not with all the lovely ladies in your community?

You are a tease, sir.

You caught me, fair lady. He grinned at her. My grandmother accused me of having too much Irish charm.

Sadie giggled. Her assumption is quite correct.

He picked up two more books. "The author was best known for these two—Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice. He picked up another book from the box. From what I've heard from women friends, Emma is also another good romance. He placed all three books on a shelf. The readers in Paradise Pines are lucky to have these Austen books available."

We are most appreciative for your opinion and help.

A tall, dark-haired woman strolled into the library and joined them. "Am I to assume you are the Liam O'Toole, the new man in town that all the ladies are talking about?"

Luckily for him, his short beard hid the blush rising up his cheeks. You flatter me, ma'am. I am, indeed, Liam O'Toole.

It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Rebecca MacGregor, owner of the newspaper in town. She held her hand out to him.

Something about this lady's style captured his interest. Liam took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he kissed the back of her knuckles.

Rebecca's face lit up. I can see your reputation is well deserved.

He liked her outgoing manner immediately. If he could talk her into giving him some fun antidotes from happenings around town, his stories would come to life on the pages. Ah, The Mountain Review?

Yes, that's the one.

Are you married to the man who built these bookcases?

Rebecca shook her head. No, that would be my brother-in-law, Braden.

If I stay in Paradise Pines, I will keep him in mind for building some bookshelves for me as well. His workmanship is commendable.

"I'll let him know. He'll be pleased you compliment his work. For a while now, I've been planning on starting a literary corner column in the newspaper. What do you think if once a week I alternate book summaries and biographies of authors who have books in here?"

Her support would do a lot to keep the library open. You've come up with a great idea. I might be able to help you with some of the book summaries. If you look on the jacket of each book, you can find the information you need for the biographies. If there's no jacket, I might still be able to locate them for you.

Thanks, it's a plan I can work with.

If there is anything else I can help with, please don't hesitate to ask. On another point, do you think your brother-in-law might build a stepstool for the ladies here in the library? It would be a great help for patrons to reach books on the higher shelves.

I have no idea, but will certainly ask him at supper this evening.

Sadie clapped her hands. A wonderful idea. My guess is you've spent a lot of time in a library, Liam.

Yes, ma'am. I grew up reading every spare moment I could find.

I am on my way, Rebecca said. I enjoyed meeting you, Liam. When you have a chance, stop by my office and we can start that column.

I will. It should be in the next few days.

After she left, he picked up a handful of Austen books. Where would you like me to start shelving these other romances, Sadie?

The two librarians glanced around the room. He could see they had no preference. Why don't we try having one wall setup for romances, cookbooks, and other books women would look for and on the opposite wall men's stories, farming, and animal husbandry. Then, you can put children's stories behind your desk.

Sadie nodded. Yes. Library patrons could easily find what they want.

If you'll hand me the books, I can reach the higher shelves for you right now. Later, when you have time, you can alphabetize the books.

Soon he had all the romances on shelves and the few dime novels and ranching books on the opposite side of the room. He picked up a Farmer's Almanac and set it at eye level where the patrons could easily find it. He stepped back and liked the way they'd set up the shelves. "The room looks like a