Patrick's Charm (The Bride Train, #2) by E.E. Burke Read Free Book Online Page A

her down with him. Regardless, she wouldn’t let go and allow him to crumple.
    “Here, I’ll help you to a chair.”
    “Leave me be,” he muttered.
    What was it about men that made them refuse help when they so obviously needed it? He’d be more embarrassed if he ended up in a heap on the floor.
    She moved around to one side and kept her arm about his waist. He felt so strong, so solid. Her heart ached at seeing him trembling in distress. “Please tell me how I can be of assistance.”
    He shifted, leaning his weight to one side, away from her. He wasn’t in any condition to push her away, nor did she want him to, oddly enough. She longed to hold him and reassure him.
    Where had that come from? She wasn’t a particularly compassionate person. Yet, it wasn’t compassion, exactly, that she felt. Protective? That made no sense, either. She hardly knew him, and the thought of her protecting a big man like Patrick O’Shea was laughable. Maybe that’s why he laughed when she first put her arms around him.
    A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead. His black brows gathered in a fierce frown and pain darkened his eyes.
    “You look terrible.”
    His throat worked, dark amusement crossed his face. “I feel terrible.”
    “Then you need to sit down instead of being bullheaded about accepting my help.”
    “I’m not so weak I have to be helped to a chair like an old man.” He reached for an unmarked bottle on a shelf beneath the bar. His hands shook as he poured a measured amount of reddish liquid in a glass.
    Charm had grown up with a man who required a drink every morning just to get out of bed. Her father’s tremors came on when he didn’t get his whiskey. Was that what was wrong with Mr. O’Shea?
    What did it matter whether he liked his liquor? She would only be working for him. As long as he treated her right and paid her on time, what he did was none of her business.
    He downed the drink in one gulp. Afterwards, he stood with his hands braced on the bar, as if waiting for something. In few moments, his breathing slowed. “That’ll help.”
    She eyed the glass. “I know whiskey is considered a cure-all, but I’m not convinced.”
    He released a heavy breath. “What butter or whiskey does not cure cannot be cured. So say the old folks.”
    “Did it help them?”
    He shrugged.
    At least he seemed more in control. Her father had needed an entire glassful of whiskey in the morning, not just a shot.
    As the crisis passed, she became aware she had her hand on her employer’s arm. Warmth seeped through the fabric of his shirt. His body radiated heat. Any woman fortunate enough to curl up beside him at night would never be cold.
    She jerked her hand away, startled by the direction her mind had wandered. She had no desire to curl up beside Mr. O’Shea, or any other man, for that matter.
    He straightened, slowly, and was soon back to acting self-confident, although he appeared wrung out. “Better now. Just a wee pain.”
    His attempt to downplay the frightening episode was really quite endearing.
    “A wee pain? I’d hate to see what a severe pain might do to you.” Without thinking, she withdrew her handkerchief from beneath her sleeve, reached up and mopped the sweat on his brow.
    Based on his stunned expression, she’d surprised him—almost as much as she surprised herself. She withdrew her hand. His heat had magically transferred to her face. She focused her attention on folding the handkerchief. “What brought it on, this wee pain?”
    He didn’t answer right away.
    She lifted her head and their eyes met. The tension in the air fairly crackled, humming energy that started up whenever they were in close proximity.
    His gaze became thoughtful. “Mr. Hardt paid me a visit this morning.”
    “Did he?” She hesitated, apprehensive. The railroad agent might’ve heard she’d taken a job and tried to thwart her. “What did he want?”
    “He mentioned you have a contract. With the railroad.