“And now she won’t let me have the only decent room in the place. How can I be expected to uncover furniture, sweep floors, and put sheets on a bed at this late hour?”
Vena peeked over the railing at the grandfather clock—eleven o’clock. With her sister’s jet-set lifestyle, Vena knew Thia started her round of parties around this hour.
Finn placed a hand on her shoulder and patted it gently. “No problem, Thia. Take my room.”
Thia flashed a self-satisfied smile over her shoulder.
Unbelievable. Hot tears of frustration welled, and Vena bit her lip.
Finnian Quaid was nothing but a traitor.
Chapter Fifteen
THE NEXT MORNING, VENA filled her coffee cup for the third time and craned her neck toward the dining room door. All she heard was the murmur of their voices—Thia’s fast-paced chatter mixed with Finn’s deep, throaty rumble. Based on how long they’d been sequestered this morning, Vena figured they were getting along just like old times.
On the other hand, she was a wreck. Memories of Finn and Thia together—holding hands as they walked, sitting close on the porch glider—flashed in Vena’s mind, and the ache in her stomach worsened.
Since slamming the door to her room the previous night, she’d done nothing but stew about the impact of Thia’s arrival. After working together on the house, she thought Finn might recapture his dream and pursue a career doing house restorations. Now, she worried about Finn’s future.
Thia was so persuasive. The combination of her marketing degree, years of experience in public relations, and a lifetime of getting her way was potent. Being an expert manipulator, she could probably convince him he yearned for the glittery hustle of political life. When she wanted to, she could sell sheet music to a songbird. Last night, Thia had been adamant about helping Finn’s political career.
And maybe that wasn’t all.
This musing was getting her nowhere, except tied in knots. She sipped her coffee and gazed out the kitchen window to the back yard. A hummingbird darted to the feeder hanging from a maple limb and sipped. After her restless night, Vena wished for a fraction of the bird’s energy.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a straw hat bobbing near the fence line in the next-door yard. Auntie. Just the person she needed to see. No one better to pick up her spirits than Tootie with her rosy view of the world. She pushed open the half-windowed door and stepped onto the back porch.
At mid-morning, the air still held a touch of its overnight chill. Vena took a deep breath, enjoying the outdoorsy scent. “Hello, Auntie. Isn’t this a great morning?” She forced false cheer into her voice.
The hat popped up, and Tootie’s bright eyes peeped over the top of the fence. “Vena dear, I didn’t see you there.”
“I was having coffee in the kitchen and just stepped outside.”
Tootie’s face disappeared for a second and then reappeared, wobbling a bit. “Dang. I’m just too short to see you. Come to the fence, sweetie.”
Vena walked down two concrete steps, across the clipped grass, and stooped to drag a wooden crate behind her. Upending the box, she hopped up and leaned her forearms on the top of the wooden fence. “There. Is that better?”
“Morn—” Tootie broke off, squinting her eyes and peering upward. “What happened to you? Are you coming down with something?”
“I’m feeling fine. What do you mean?” She heard a nearby rustle, glanced right, and saw Ruth Maguire clipping dead leaves off a bush, intent on her task.
“Elfie dear, you’ve got those dark smudges under your eyes. The ones you got when you refused to take your nap or when the ragweed was in bloom.” Tootie put down her hoe and approached the fence, peeling the gloves from her hands as she walked. “Too early for ragweed. What happened last night?”
“Nothing.” Vena picked at the paint on the weathered fence boards. She didn’t want to talk about how upset she was over Thia’s arrival.
“Something wrong, Tootie?” Ruth’s strident voice carried across the yard.
Tootie spoke over her shoulder. “Something’s robbed Elfie of a decent night’s sleep. Come see for yourself.” She turned to Vena. “I spotted those marks with my own eyes.” She drew in a quick breath. “Oh. Can it be?” Her eyes rounded, and a wrinkled hand rose to cover her mouth. “Oh, my.”
Vena started at the surprised expression on Tootie’s face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“It happened, didn’t it? Ruth, guess what—Gwen’s got her wish.” She lowered a hand to rest on her ample bosom and began patting. Her mouth broke into a broad grin. “Oh, sweetie, we’ve been hoping this would happen.”
“Nana?” Vena almost wished she’d stayed in the kitchen. “Hoping what would happen?” She glanced toward Ruth, hoping to end this confusion. Instead, she found herself the victim of one of Ms. Maguire’s cutting stares.
“The evidence is as plain as day.” Ruth spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “Can’t say as I’m surprised. The demonstration yesterday and all that ruckus.”
“The right circumstances. Finn coming to the rescue. Couldn’t have planned it better.” Tootie’s tone was wistful and her eyes dreamy. “Like Gwen always said, you can’t fight fate.”
Why wasn’t either woman talking in complete sentences? Vena rubbed her temples. What did they think had happened between her and Finn?
Ruth snipped her clippers several times in the air, punctuating her words. “Definitely not like in my time. Youngsters these days—so impatient.”
“Impatient?” Vena braced her hands on the top of the fence. “Do you mean me?” They couldn’t mean what she imagined. She sucked in her breath and stared at each gray-haired woman in turn.
“Of course we do, Elfie.” Tootie’s eyes twinkled, and she beamed upward, hands clasped under her chin. “And I couldn’t be happier for you.”
Ruth squared her shoulders. “You mean, happy for them both.”
Then the full impact of their words hit. How could these ladies, who worried about her reputation a few days ago, be happy thinking she and Finn had spent the night in bed?
A giggle escaped Tootie’s lips. “Of course, I mean for both of them. I had a feeling it would happen this time. Where is that handsome fella?”
“Finn? He’s, um, I can’t believe you ladies figured—I mean…” She had to tell them they were wrong. But her brain couldn’t find the right words. Had lack of sleep and too much caffeine pickled her mind?
Sliding the clippers into her apron pocket, Ruth stepped closer. “Not much goes on in this town that your Auntie and I don’t hear about.” She lifted her chin. “Matter of fact, we usually hear it first.”
“That’s nice, I guess, but I think you’ve misunder—”
“Yoo hoo, Finnian,” Tootie chirped and waved a hand over her head. “She’s over here.”
Vena swung toward the house and spotted Finn standing on the back porch, a hand raised to shade his eyes. Her heart jumped as it always did when she saw his charming smile.
He waved a hand. “Morning, ladies. Hate to interrupt, but could I steal Vena?”
“Just a couple minutes, Finn.” How to clear up this misunderstanding? “Now, ladies, there’s been a—hey.” Strong hands clasped her waist firmly just a moment before she was lifted down from the crate.
His piercing blue-eyed gaze locked with hers. “Now, Vena. You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Don’t you just love a masterful man?” Tootie’s heartfelt sigh came from just the other side of the fence. “I remember when my Herbert… Oh, you don’t want to hear my old stories.” Her straw hat bobbed as she bounced on tiptoe to see over the fence. “Go on, Elfie. Finnian’s your number one priority now. Ruth and I will spre—uff.”
Ruth’s head disappeared below the fence line and she whispered, “Pipe down, Tootie.” Her face popped up, a wide smile on her thin lips. “We’ll just finish our humdrum gardening. You run along and talk to your man.”
Ignoring Finn�
��s questioning look, Vena grabbed his arm, turned toward the house, and stepped through the uneven soil. She would have to keep him away from the ladies until she could explain everything. “Bye, Ruth, Tootie.”
“Off with you both. Toodle-oo.”
As if from the length of a tunnel, Vena heard Ruth’s parting comment. “Finnian Quaid, you make sure she gets more sleep tonight.”
****
Why did talking with Ruth Maguire make Finn think his hearing was going bad? Judging by the flush on Vena’s cheeks, he’d interrupted a heated discussion. What were they discussing that had to do with Vena’s sleep?
He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Want to tell me what that’s about?” He grasped at anything to distract him from the subject he knew he had to broach. Thia had spelled out the pros and cons of Vena’s continued presence at The Shamrocks—the cons had won out.
“No.” Her voice was quiet. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I don’t want to go inside right now.” He glanced at the house and then at her. “Let’s sit in the gazebo.” He grasped her hand and led the way to the farthest corner of the yard, to a small, vine-covered white enclosure.
Vena sat on a bench and peered around. “I’ve always loved this place. I loved those summer evenings after dinner when your family gathered here to talk. Certainly more than my family ever did. Funny, I remember this place being bigger, with a roof that almost touched the sky.”
As she spoke, he remembered a younger Elfie’s face—at the dinner table, on the living room floor playing Monopoly, listening to his granda’s stories of the old country. She’d always looked … hungry. “When we’re young, we don’t appreciate our families—we’re just living our lives. I remember you acting like you were getting something new here.”
“I did.” She gazed downward and kicked at a leaf. “At my house after dinner, Poppy and Oswald went into the study and discussed the latest professional journal or made plans for their next dig. Thia and I were left on our own, and she always had lots of friends. That’s why I loved having dinner at the Quaid house. Your folks were interested in everything you and your brothers and sisters were doing, and there was always someone to talk to. I got a taste of being in a real family.” The last statement came out no louder than a whisper.
“I always thought your use of your parents’ first names was strange.”
“No sociologically stifling roles for them. The habit probably lessened their guilt about leaving us behind.”
Finn moved closer, fighting the urge to scoop her into his arms. This insight into the lonely girl she’d been softened his heart. “I’m sure your folks were interested. They just showed it differently.”
She stood and smoothed a hand over the vines. “I’m a big girl now, used to being on my own. I’ve come to realize they’re not really to blame. It was nobody’s fault. They didn’t understand a little girl who liked to make up stories and play dress-up. That’s why I spent so much time upstairs on Grandpop and Nana’s floor. Did you know she sewed costumes and helped me act out the stories I wrote?” She turned and moved to the arched opening.
“Miss Gwen helped you like I did? Hey, I’m in good company.” He heard her sniff once and walked behind her. With hands on her shoulders, he gently pulled her back so she leaned against his chest. “Losing her was hard, wasn’t it?”
Vena nodded. “Devastating. After eight years, I still have things I want to share with her. Like this project. She’d get a big kick out of this presentation. That’s another reason I wanted to return. My family’s home is gone, sold after Grandpop’s death. I remember times we came to tea at The Shamrocks and visited your mom. I can almost feel Nana’s spirit here.” She turned to gaze upward.
He watched her face light up as she spoke, noticing the yellow flecks in her hazel eyes.
“I’ve been at the same places in town she took me as a child, and I somehow feel her encouragement. That doesn’t sound crazy, does it?”
He brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek. “No, it doesn’t sound crazy.” How could he have mistaken her passion for her writing as signs of a nervous breakdown? The woman before him believed she received help by staying at The Shamrocks. Who was he to argue? Suddenly, he didn’t want to deny her a single thing.
“Did I tell you I met a lady at the museum who lent me her grandmother’s trousseau? Insisted, in fact, just because she knew and liked Nana. People all over town have said similar things.” She shrugged. “I guess my parents did one thing right. They gave me the security of doting grandparents and a stable address while they jaunted all over the world. Close, but not the same as having my own parents care.” She sighed and turned, crossing her arms at her waist. “I used to be envious of Moira—she had all those siblings, loving parents, and laughter. There was always so much laughter at your house.”
His throat tightened. He wanted to enfold her in his arms and give her comfort. Instead, he slid his hands down and cupped her elbows. “Yep, there was that. Or at least, a lot of noise. Eight people, plus an extra relative or two, doing little more than just breathing at the same time makes noise. Did you ever think about the lack of privacy? Nothing happened without everyone finding out.” That statement’s similarity to what he had to discuss hit him between the eyes, and his resolve slipped a notch.
“Somehow, you can’t convince me that’s a bad thing.”
The wistful tone in her voice hung in the air, and he steeled himself not to react. “Maybe, not bad, but it got old.” With deep regret, he released his hold on her soft arms and stepped backward. “Uh, Vena, we need to talk. Maybe you should sit again.” This idyllic reverie had to end.
She stiffened and her gaze clouded. “I agree. We need to talk.”
As soon as she sat, Finn paced the cramped area. “Yesterday’s demonstration had an effect on my thinking. I—”
She jumped up. “Did I thank you for saving me from the crowd? I was so glad you stepped in.”
“Yes, you thanked me.” He steered her back to the bench. “After we watched the news, I needed to think, so I left. I shouldn’t have been surprised by how fast what I was doing became public knowledge. Hit pretty hard on the old lack of privacy thing. Do I want every action to be held up for scrutiny? I wasn’t so sure.”
“Wasn’t? Like, past tense?” Vena’s words hung in the air.
“Thia explained how to view yesterday’s incident in a positive light. The press can be our friend.” He noticed he was talking with his hands. Thia knew someone to teach him which movements to save and which to lose. “If worked right, we can have it turned to our benefit. Instantaneous national coverage can push issues in the right direction at a faster pace. Wider exposure can put a tighter focus right where we want it. What do you think?”
“I thought you were mad about the reporter pestering me.” She dipped her head, her hands clasped together. “You seemed angry at the personal comments.”
“I was.” He stopped and crouched in front of her. “I saw how upset you were, and I charged full steam ahead. Not the smartest way to handle the press. Thia says after a little practice, I’ll learn to steer the interview where I want it to go. What’s that look for?”
“What look?” She turned and gazed over the garden.
“The sad face you just pulled. Talk to me.” He sat on the bench and waited.
She fidgeted with the buttons on her vest. “I don’t know what to say. First, we’re working on the house, and you’re sharing your passion for restoring houses. A venture which I think you’d be great at. Then, after fifteen minutes of national fame, you’re running full-tilt in a political direction.”
“Yeah, Thia says—”
With a groan, she sprang to her feet. “Thia this and Thia that. Tell me this about Thia. Why did you cave and offer her a room at the snap of her fingers? How come when I wanted to stay, you gave me all sorts of grief? I had to bribe you with pastries from Lottie’s and pump up the ladies’ concern, uh—”
; The Irish in him rose, and he pointed an accusing finger. “That was a con job the three of you pulled that day on the porch. Was the allergy attack faked, too?”
“You saw my face. How could I fake that?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure why they relented about me staying here.” Her pacing stopped and she stood opposite him, hands on hips. “At times, you can be so pig-headed.”
“Me?” His head snapped up. “How can you say that?”
“Answer me this, Finnian Quaid. Have I broken our agreement?”
He fumbled to keep up. “What do you mean?”
“Have I complained once about the room or the water being turned off?”
“No.” He thought of the neat arrangement she’d created in her room from the furniture odds and ends.
“Have I gotten in the way of your work?”
A picture of her under the bathroom sink with a wrench in her hand flashed in his mind. “Not exactly in my way.”
“Have I, at any time, demanded meals?”
He remembered her smiles and sparkling eyes the night she’d cooked Tootie’s fresh-picked vegetables and shared the meal. Or the microwaved casseroles. “No, you’ve been helpful.”
A smile flashed. “So, you admit I’ve met every term of the original agreement.”
Finn grinned at the image of her pacing in the small gazebo, her full skirt flowing around shapely legs as she walked. “I guess I do.”
Suddenly, she slumped to the bench opposite him and folded her hands in her lap. “Then why did you let Thia stay, no questions asked, no conditions stated?”
Damn. The orphaned little girl note was back in her voice, and he’d put it there. His chest pinched. At the time, he’d wondered himself. Instead of wrestling with the demonstration’s impact on his future, his thoughts kept returning to Vena and her problems. The image of Vena’s proud face at the end of her speech danced before him.
His gaze met hers. She waited for his answer. His logical reason for the illogical decision he’d made the previous night.
“Finn.” Thia’s voice called from the house. “Where are you?”
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