“He did,” she said, looking back at Michael. “But he came home to me last night.”

“Farley,” the marshal shouted to his deputy. “Help me carry Miss Catherine’s husband inside while Ted locks up O’Connell.”

The marshal helped her to her feet.

“Where you want us to take him?” the marshal asked.

“To my room,” she said, leading the way back into the boardinghouse.

*   *   *

Michael O’Connell didn’t say anything for the rest of the day. His head swam with what had happened.

Why had Pete lied?

Why had Catherine protected him, when she could have easily seen him in prison for the next ten to twenty years?

None of it made any sense to him, and worse, Catherine had avoided coming into the room for him to question her. If he’d been able to, he would have gone after her himself, but he was too weak to do much more than just breathe.

The door to his room creaked open. He glanced over to see a tiny dark head peeking in.

He smiled at the sight of his daughter in the doorway.

When Diana saw him look her way, the little girl smiled from ear to ear.

She fanned the door back and forth as she twisted in the door frame. “Are you really my daddy?” she asked.

“What did your mama say?”

“She said St. Nick brought you to me last night.”

O’Connell gave a half laugh at her words, but he couldn’t manage any more than that, since pain cut his breath off. Pete had been called a lot of things over the years, but this was the first time anyone had ever referred to his brother as St. Nick.

“Yeah,” he said with a grimace. “I guess maybe he did.”

Releasing the doorknob, she ran across the room and scrambled to sit next to him on the bed. He winced at the pain she caused by dipping the mattress, but in truth he didn’t mind it at all. To have his daughter near him, he would suffer a lot worse than that.

“You sure are pretty for a man.”

O’Connell smiled at her words. No one had ever said that to him before.

She reached out one little hand to touch his eyelid. “You do have eyes like mine. Mama told me you did.”

He cupped her soft cheek, amazed at what he saw in her face. It was so strange to see parts of him mixed in with parts of Catherine.

Never in his life had he seen a more beautiful little girl. “We get them from my mother.”

“Was she pretty, too?”

“Like you, she was as pretty as an angel.”

“Diana!”

He started at Catherine’s chiding tone.

“I told you not to disturb him.”

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

“She’s not disturbing me,” he said, dropping his hand from her face.