A Love Surrendered

by Julie Lessman

  Steven sighed. Did he? No, but I care about her, and she’s the mother of my child—what more do I need? He leaned in, forearms on his desk and patience wearing thin. “Look, Joe, I’ve never stopped caring about Maggie, and you know that, so lay off about whether I love her or not. What I want to know is why you’ve been so nasty ever since I told you? You’re turning into a bigger nag than Hatch. Why don’t you just come out and tell me what’s really eating you? I know this is sudden and all, but I thought you liked Maggie.”

  “I do like her, Steven. Maggie and I were good friends, but holy blazes, you haven’t seen the woman for three years! Then two weeks ago, she shows up out of nowhere and you propose in two blinkin’ hours?” He shook his head, flexing the pencil so hard, it snapped. He hurled the broken pieces across his desk. “Not to mention your family hates her? No, there’s something you’re not telling me, Steven—I can smell it.”

  Yeah, well, you always did have a nose for dirt, Walsh. Steven launched his feet up on the desk like Joe, grateful it was after eight and most of the office had gone home. He closed his eyes and massaged his temple with his forefinger and thumb, determined to spare Maggie embarrassment by keeping her secret, at least till they were married. But it hadn’t been easy. From the moment he’d told him about the engagement, Joe had been like a bloodhound with a burr up his nose, itching to dig it out and downright nasty in the process. As if Steven wasn’t bleeding enough over what he’d done, first to Maggie and then to his daughter . . .

  My daughter. His eyes drifted closed. Glory. Joe’s grousing faded away, replaced by the same dull ache that had persisted since Maggie told him Glory was his. No one had known the shocking truth but Maggie and her parents, keeping Annie and Eleanor in the dark all these years, as well as him. Moisture stung beneath his lids as always when he thought about the golden-haired moppet who already owned his heart, and now Steven had the chance to give her the family she deserved. The muscles in his jaw tightened. And he would, even if it meant marrying the wrong sister and forgetting the

  other.

  His throat constricted. As if he could.

  Annie. Sweet, young, pure. And yet possessing a maturity he’d seldom seen in a woman outside his family. As hard as he tried to put her out of his mind, she dominated his thoughts and haunted his dreams, heart wrenching whenever he thought of the pain he’d caused. And the pain he’d caused himself by falling in love. The malaise of the last two weeks seeped back in with its usual numbing ache. Because if he hadn’t been sure before, he was dead-sure now—he was in love with Susannah Grace Kennedy, and it took giving her up to realize just how much.

  “Steven!”

  He jolted, still in a stupor as he stared up at Joe, who was even starting to look like Hatch, thick brows slashing low. Steven blinked. “What?”

  “See? That’s what I’m talking about. It’s like you’re somewhere else all the time, half dead and just biding your time till the other half dies.” Joe slipped his legs off his desk and leaned in, his devotion to Steven evident in the squint of hazel eyes dark with worry. “So are you going to tell me the truth or not? Why are you doing this?”

  Sucking in a deep breath, Steven assessed his best friend with a wary eye, well aware that when Joe was riled up, he was like a pit bull with a T-bone after a forty-day fast, unrelenting until you gave him something to chew on. Steven vented with a noisy breath. “Okay, Joe, the truth is, dating Annie forced me to do some soul searching and, well, I find that I’m . . . changing.”

  “No joke,” Joe said, lips in a twist. He settled back in his chair, some of the strain in his face easing as his gaze locked with Steven’s. “What kind of soul searching?”

  Steven lowered his eyes to scratch the back of his neck, not sure how to explain that God was now more than a Sunday obligation to a former choir boy who’d never given him much thought. His gaze wandered into a stare. “I don’t know, the kind that unlocked the jail cell I’ve been in most of my life. That ruthless drive to achieve and vindicate a past that made me feel like dirt.” He glanced up, hungry to connect with Joe on a spiritual level for the first time in his life. They’d always been there for each other to listen and encourage, but they’d never scratched the surface of the truth that had set Steven free. The truth that God wasn’t just a “maybe” but a living, breathing Savior who not only saved lives but changed them for the better.

  Steven studied his friend, freckles scrunched with a frown in a comfortable face most women found attractive, although you’d never convince Joe. Hazel eyes usually crinkled with humor now slitted in suspicion, and Steven’s heart ached for his best friend. Joe was as lost as Steven used to be, he suddenly realized. The easygoing, fun-loving guy who buried his head in good times as deeply as Steven had buried his in a career, both searching for something to alleviate the burden of sin on their soul. Well, Steven found it, and for the first time, he understood Joe needed it too. He swung his feet off and leveled his arms on the desk. “Look, Joe, I’m a moody son of a gun, and you know that better than anybody, but now I finally know why. I was always beating myself up for not making the grade, whether it was failing Maggie, my father, or myself. I’m a man who thrives on trust and yet I had no trust in who I was as a man.”

  He picked his pencil up, eyes fixed on it as he idly rubbed it between forefinger and thumb. “When I started falling for Annie, I wanted to treat her differently than Maggie—you know, keep it aboveboard?” His gaze veered off into a pensive stare. “Only I kept messing up, just like with Maggie . . . and Annie called me on it.” A harsh chuckle erupted from his throat. “I’ll tell you what, Joe, it made me crazy. Not just because some kid was dictating how things were going to be but because she had way more control and strength of conviction than I could ever hope to have.” He looked up, meeting Joe’s gaze. “And suddenly I realized I wanted that as much as I wanted her—substance and strength that didn’t come from me but from something greater.” He eased back in his chair, a peace settling deep in his spirit as he rested his head. “So I talked to Annie and Sean and Pop, and I finally understood the thing I’ve been searching for all along is not trust in myself . . . but trust in God.”

  Joe blinked. “God?” he whispered, jaw sagging so much that Steven smiled.

  He cuffed the back of his neck, the smile giving way to a grin. “Yeah, well, I guess it does sound pretty crazy, but it’s the truth.” He folded his arms and cocked his head. “Remember the time Nate Phillips dared us to smoke in the confessional and we got caught?”

  Joe grinned. “How can I forget? I was so scared, I thought I’d have to change my pants.”

  “Me too,” Steven said with a faint smile, recalling with perfect clarity how his stomach had plunged when Father Mac opened that confessional door, smoke billowing in his face like a fog. All he could think at the time was what Pop would say, and the mere thought had chilled his blood. “I can still remember how my body went cold, pretty sure my life was over.”

  Joe chuckled. “And mine would have been had my parents found out. I thought we were dead in the water, but then Father Mac let us off scot-free.” His nose puckered in thought. “Never could figure out why.”

  “Me neither, but he called it ‘mercy,’ remember? All I know is how incredible it felt when he let us go with just a warning and a promise to never smoke again.” Steven glanced up, his eyes intense. “Well, that’s how it is for me now, Joe. I’ve been botching my life up left and right and feeling worse about myself all the time, which is not a good state of mind for somebody trying to be perfect. So I prayed and gave it to God, just like Pop did years ago when he married my mother. My dreams, my desires, my life—all of it. And this is going to sound nuts, I know, but ever since?” He exhaled slowly. “I’m at peace for the first time in my life, not just wanting to be a better man and failing miserably . . . ,” his throat clotted with emotion, “but actually becoming one through his strength instead of my own.”

  Joe just stared, mouth dangling open, and Ste
ven couldn’t help but grin. All at once Joe started laughing, shaking his head with an openmouthed smile. “So the wayward choir boy returns to his roots, huh? And I suppose you’re planning on dragging me along?”

  Steven’s grin grew. “Why not? You’ve followed my lead since the first grade, Walsh, helping yourself to my homework, my fraternity, and my job. Why should this be any different? Besides, you need it more than me if you’re ever going to settle down with a decent woman.”

  Joe’s smile sobered. “I have to admit, I’m pretty tired of the party scene, and settling down with a decent girl has its appeal.” He paused, peering up. “But you still haven’t explained yourself. By your own admission, the ‘decent’ woman here is Annie, so what am I missing?”

  Joe’s words sucked the peace right out, leaving an empty hole in his chest. He sighed, absently fingering the tip of the pencil eraser, wishing he could erase the pain he’d caused. “Sleeping with Maggie was a mistake back in college, Joe, and I knew it deep down, although God knows I never admitted it. Instead I took advantage of her with the promise of marriage.”

  “But you loved her, Steven.”

  He glanced up, gaze pensive. “Yeah, I thought so at the time, but Annie taught me that I really loved myself more.” His chest rose and fell with a heavy breath. “I stole Maggie’s virtue with a cheap promise,” he said quietly, “and now I intend to make good.”

  “But why Maggie?” Joe said, color rising in his cheeks once again. “We both fooled around with a lot of girls—that doesn’t mean we have to marry ’em.”

  Steven’s stomach wrenched. “Yeah, I know, but Maggie’s the only one I promised, and if there’s one thing you know about me, Joe, I don’t break a promise if I can help it.”

  Joe lumbered to his feet, his look of resignation threaded with sorrow. “I wish you’d reconsider, Steven. Something in my gut tells me marrying Maggie won’t make you happy.”

  An unsteady breath expelled from Steven’s throat as he rose and hooked his coat over his shoulder. “Maybe not,” he said, slapping his best friend on the back. His smile was somber. “But a clean conscience will.”

  17

  Maggie, just so you know—Steven cheats at Pinochle.” Charity sent a smirk Steven’s way as she dealt the cards, sliding them rapid-fire around Marcy’s dining-room table where Thanksgiving dinner had been consumed just three hours before.

  Steven shook his head and laughed, determined not to dignify Charity’s taunt in a Pinochle game to the death between most of his sisters and their spouses. Brady and Lizzie had bowed out to give Steven and Maggie a turn, opting to fawn over their three-month-old baby, Sara, with Marcy and Emma instead. Giggles carried in from the kitchen where cousins played Old Maid, merging with chuckles in the parlor as Patrick annihilated Sean at chess.

  “Is that a fact?” Maggie said with a gleam in her blue eyes. “My honest and straitlaced fiancé, the die-hard prohibition agent? Hard to believe.”

  “What’s hard to believe, Mags,” Steven said, perusing his cards, “is that Mitch hasn’t put a muzzle on Charity yet for all the tales she spins.”

  “Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind,” Mitch said, earning a raised brow from his wife.

  “Only because you prefer my lips free,” Charity said sweetly, lashes aflutter.

  Steven cleared his throat. “For your information, sis, unlike Collin, I win by skill.” He flicked a stray crumb of pie at his sister.

  “Hey, so my wide range of talents doesn’t include Pinochle,” Collin defended.

  “Or basketball, or baseball, or chess . . . ,” Luke said with a grin.

  Collin shot him a mock glare. “At least I don’t cheat like you and your partner here.” He reached around Faith’s chair to thump the back of Steven’s head. “With nonverbal communication that puts Braille to shame.”

  “See, Maggie?” Charity assessed her cards. “Outright cheaters—both of them.”

  “Can we help it if men are better at Pinochle than women?” Luke asked with an innocent lift of brows. “It’s not my fault God gave us keen survival instinct that borders on telepathic.”

  Katie elbowed Luke in the side. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘pathetic,’ McGee.” She leaned on the table with an angelic smile, chin propped in hand. “But if you did mean telepathic, darling, why don’t you tell me what I’m thinking right now?”

  “I’ll give you a hint, Lukie,” Charity said with a chuckle. “It has to do with where you and Mitch’ll be sleeping tonight.”

  “In your dreams, little girl.” Mitch seared her with a smoky gaze.

  “Oh, I hope so,” she breathed, an impish tug of her lip that had Mitch shaking his head.

  “Speaking of sleeping . . . ,” Faith covered a yawn with her hand, “I think I may need to call it a night.” She skimmed a palm across a heavily pregnant stomach and wrinkled her nose. “This little one’s been kicking up a fuss since dinner, just like when her sisters came.”

  “His sisters,” Collin corrected, caressing her abdomen with a ridge in his brow. “Why didn’t you say you weren’t feeling well, Faith?” Worry threaded his scold as he helped her to her feet. He kissed her on the nose. “I don’t want to take any chances with you or my son.”

  She patted his bristled cheek with a tired smile. “I’m fine, Collin, really, but it could be a girl, you know, so you have to be prepared.”

  He gave her a soft kiss full on the mouth. “I will love this child with all my heart, and you know that. And if the McGuire name ends with me, I will still die a happy man.”

  “Not for a while, I hope,” she said with a misty smile. “I’ll need your help with . . . Oh!”

  “What’s wrong?” Charity shot up, bounding around the table one way, and Katie the other.

  “Faith?” Collin’s voice rose in volume as blood drained from his face.

  “Nothing,” Faith said quickly, hand to the small of her back. “Just a contraction, I think.”

  “You think?” Katie’s voice was frantic as she spun around, eyes fixed on her mother in the parlor. “Mother, we need you!”

  “Uh-oh . . .” Faith chewed her lip as she looked down at Collin’s shoe, now speckled with a cloudy-looking liquid. “I think my water broke.”

  Steven swallowed hard, his first real exposure to having a baby a bit daunting. He reached for Maggie’s hand and stood, pulling her with him as he whispered in her ear. “Did you have that?” he said with a gulp, not feeling overly confident in his pending role as parent.

  She grinned. “Afraid so,” she whispered. “It means the baby is on its way.”

  “What’s going on?” Marcy rushed in with Lizzie and Emma, eyes on Faith as she cradled her stomach. “Contractions?” Smile tentative, her tone was almost giddy.

  “Just beginning, I think . . .” Faith gritted her teeth while Charity eased her into the chair.

  Palms pressed skyward, Marcy whipped into action, discharging orders. “Patrick, get your keys—we’re going to the hospital. Luke, keep the children in the kitchen till we leave, then divvy them up between you, Sean, and Brady—my girls are going with me.”

  “I can take a few kids,” Mitch said.

  Marcy seared him with a look, from loving mother-in-law to drill sergeant in under two seconds. “No! We’ll need two of you to drive to the hospital, Mitch, so go wait in your car.”

  A groan parted from Faith’s pale lips as Charity rubbed her back.

  Marcy shot Collin a steely look, gaze dropping to his wrist. “Where’s your watch?”

  He blinked and rubbed his arm. “Uh . . . don’t know. Took it off when I helped with dishes I think . . .”

  Marcy huffed her impatience. “Then find Faith’s coat and purse on the double, will you, please?” She zeroed in on Steven. “What time is it?”

  He jerked his cuff back to glance at his watch. “Nine-thirty.”

  Pursing her lips, she held out her hand, as patient as Mitch on a bad day. “Give it to me.”
/>   “What?” Steven stared while Maggie stifled a chuckle with a clear of her throat.

  “I need to time the contractions, and Patrick’s watch is slow.” She glanced over her shoulder where Patrick stood at the chessboard, finalizing a move. “Like your father, apparently. Patrick—we need to go—now!” She turned back with a hike of her brow, snapping her fingers.

  “Okay, okay,” Steven groused. He handed the watch over, scowling when Luke laughed.

  Marcy wheeled on Luke with a jut of her brow, taking the starch out of his grin. He stifled a smile with a firm salute. “Yes, ma’am, children packed up, divvied, and contained in the kitchen—got it.” He barreled through the swinging kitchen door to corral the kids.

  “How long are the contractions?” Patrick asked with all the calm of an experienced father.

  Charity glanced over her shoulder. “It’s over,” she said, gently brushing Faith’s hair away from her face while her sister sagged into the chair, body as limp as her stray curls.

  Marcy glanced at Steven’s watch now gracing her arm. “A minute and a half—sweet saints, Patrick, we need to go!” She glanced up when Collin bolted through the swinging door with Faith’s coat and purse after saying goodbye to his daughters. “Collin, put her coat on and get her to Patrick’s car, pronto.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He helped Faith to stand, slipping her wrap over her shoulders. “How you doing, Little Bit?” he whispered, kissing her cheek.

  “Crabby.” Faith slid him a crooked smile. “I’d steer clear, McGuire—these contractions don’t exactly endear you to me, you know.”

  He chuckled, guiding her toward the front door while her sisters followed behind. “I know, but once that baby’s here, you’ll be crazy about me again.”

  “You better hope so,” she whispered, her breathing heavy. “Oh . . .” She doubled over, and Marcy shooed him through the front door. “Don’t stop, Collin—get her into the car.”