“I thought so,” she said with a purse of her lips. “So, the way I look at it, you owe me.”
His jaw dropped. “For what—lying? Making a fool of me with your . . . your—” he waved his hand in the air, words stuttering off his tongue like buckshot—“your fairy-tale notions that I could ever be romantically linked with a woman who lies, manipulates, and throws herself at a man like some . . . some . . .” He groped for the right words, his face feverish with fury. “Some desperate floozy hawking her wares on Ann Street?”
The air stilled. Wet shock welled in her eyes, and he knew his words had pierced her like a well-aimed bullet. Two tortuous tears trailed down her pale cheeks, and his heart ripped in two as thoroughly as he had ripped hers. Chin trembling, she turned away.
“Rose, wait—” He gripped her arm. “I didn’t mean that, I swear. I was just angry . . .”
Her small frame convulsed with sobs, and the bullet ricocheted to nail him right in the heart. With a low groan, he tugged her into his arms, his voice hoarse with repentance. “Forgive me, Rose, please—that was cruel and utterly untrue.” He closed his eyes and massaged her back, completely indifferent that he stood on a field at dusk with a woman in his arms. He held her away, his thumbs slowly grazing the sleeves of a cashmere sweater that fit her body a little too well. Ducking his head, he gave her a sheepish smile. “Will you forgive me? Please?”
She sniffed, and he handed her a handkerchief, then tucked a finger to her chin. “Come on, Miss Kelly,” he said with tease in his tone, desperate to make amends. “You owe me.”
“I owe you?” she cried with a thrust of her jaw.
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am—fired, remember? So you have to forgive because I did.”
She chewed on her lip. “Oh, that’s right—drat!” The sparks in her eyes tempered to a tiny sparkle as she tilted her head. “On one condition.”
Every nerve in his body tensed as the smile faded from his lips. “What?”
“You buy me ice cream at Robinson’s—tonight.”
“Oh, man, Robinson’s!” He sucked in a sharp breath and glanced at his watch, emitting a low groan. “Sweet saints, I’m going to be late.”
She adjusted her shapely sweater over a slender tweed skirt that boasted just as many curves and offered her arm. “We’re going to be late, so we best be going.”
He froze. “We?” Hands parked low on his hips, he dug his heels in for another fight.
“Yes, we,” she said with a lift of a penciled brow. She gave him a thin smile. “You know, you and the woman who lies, manipulates, and throws herself at a man like some—”
“All right, all right!” He swabbed his face with his hand, certain he’d never met a more exasperating female. His mouth slanted as thoughts of Charity came to mind, giving him a true appreciation for Mitch Dennehy. He aimed a thick finger at Rose, determined to make it crystal clear he had no room for a woman in his life. “I’ll take you to Robinson’s, but after that, it’s done. I am not interested in having a relationship with you or any other woman. Is that clear?”
She nodded, lips pursed in consent.
He peered at her through narrowed eyes. “You’re sure? You promise to leave me alone?”
Flinching, her nod was weaker this time. “I promise . . .”
The breath he’d been holding slowly seeped through his lips in one arduous exhale.
She drew in some air. “After our date on Saturday night, you will never see me again.”
He choked, his hoarse gasp triggering yet another coughing fit.
“You really should see a doctor about that.” She patted his back. “It could be allergies.”
He slapped her hand away with fire in his eyes. “We are not going on a date on Saturday night, Miss Kelly, or any other night.”
“Oh,” she said with an innocent blink. “Well, Mrs. Dalton will certainly be glad to hear that. What time should I tell her you’ll call?”
The tic in his eye slowed to a crawl. “You wouldn’t . . . ,” he whispered, teeth clenched.
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to, Sean,” she said with a show of sincerity, “but I know you’re adverse to women who lie, so naturally I’ll need to set the record straight.” She patted his hand. “She’s a lovely woman, really. I think you’ll like her.” She turned to go.
He clutched her arm and spun her around so hard, she let out a soft gasp. Jerking her close, he loomed over her, his face pure granite and mere inches from hers. “You’re just brazen enough to do it, aren’t you, you little brat? You’re that crazy!”
She seemed to melt in his arms while the faintest of smiles tipped her pretty pink pout. He was so close he felt the warmth of her breath as that deadly cashmere sweater rose and fell. The scent of Chanel No. 5 taunted him, a scent Emma often wore—sensual, stirring, and as bold as Rose Kelly herself. Her brown eyes softened, and he could feel his defenses crumbling to his feet.
“No, Sean,” she whispered in a husky tone that heated his skin, “I’m that crazy about you.”
His fingers flinched away like the woman was on fire. And heaven help him, apparently she was—enflamed with the insatiable desire to have him. His gut constricted. Every fiber of his being railed at the thought of any woman forcing his hand—least of all Rose Kelly—but that didn’t stop his body from thrumming at the invitation in her eyes. He took a step back, jaw hard and eyes slits of warning. His lips went flat as he pumped the front of his shirt to cool off his skin. He sucked in some air before blasting it out again. “Are you a God-fearing woman, Rose?”
Her lips parted while a hand fluttered to her throat. “Why, yes, of course.” Her brow puckered. “My father’s cochair for the Cardinal’s Appeal this year, as a matter of fact. Why?”
He folded his arms and forced a cold tone. “Because, Miss Kelly, I want you to swear right here and now—before me and before God—that once our ‘date,’ as you call it, is over, you will never, ever darken my door again.” He ignored the hurt in her eyes and forged on. “Swear to me, Rose—right now—that you will leave me alone after Saturday night. Or so help me, I will march up to that fancy house of yours on Beacon Hill and ask your father to do it for you.”
The creamy skin of her throat shifted. Seconds felt like years before she finally nodded.
He leaned in, enunciating every syllable. “Out-loud, Rose, in-plain-words—swear-it.”
Her body quivered as she drew in a deep breath, and he wondered how in the blink of an eye, a woman could go from being a vamp who stirred his blood to a little girl who tugged at his heart. She bit on her lip with tented brows, as if this were the most important decision she would ever make. Inhaling again, she uttered the words he was desperate to hear. “Yes, Sean, I swear to you now, before God and man, that after Saturday night, you will never see me again.”
The air drained from his lungs, allowing his muscles to finally relax.
“Unless, of course, you want to,” she finished with a hopeful flutter of lashes.
He grunted and hoisted the equipment bag to his shoulders, eyeing her as if she’d just said she could fly. “We’re both too old for fairy tales, Miss Kelly.” He turned on his heel to head for the street, and she followed along, chattering as if she were one of the kids on the team.
“I’ve been dying to try that Italian restaurant, you know, the one at Washington and Summer? We wouldn’t want Father to know, so let’s just meet there, say seven o’clock?”
Sean ignored her and shifted the bag on his shoulder, but it didn’t seem to matter to Rose, who carried on as if he weren’t even there.
“Perfect! Oh, and now ice cream too! I just love ice cream, don’t you?” she said with a giggle, running to keep up with his long-legged stride. “One taste and I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Her sigh was pure contentment as she tagged along, motor still running at the next light. “I do believe that nothing tingles my tongue quite like butter pecan. How about you?”
He slid her a sideways gl
ance, and she looked up with a smile on those soft, pink lips. His mouth went dry. What tingled his tongue? His gaze jerked straight ahead, and his pulse pounded as if the bag over his shoulder was loaded with lead. None of your business, he thought with a grind of his jaw. But heaven help his sorry soul—it sure wasn’t ice cream.
10
Goodness, it’s hard to believe Gabe’s been a part of your family for two years now.” Emma breathed in the lingering scent of apple pie in Marcy’s homey kitchen, content as always to partake of the love and laughter that thrived within these warm and welcoming walls. She dried the wet dish that Faith handed her and sighed. “All I can say is, Gabe is one lucky little girl to have a foster family like yours.” A chestnut curl fell into Emma’s eye as she tipped her head to give Marcy a teasing smile. “I don’t suppose Mr. O’Connor would consider taking on another?”
“Oh, please, Emma, you’re already as much a part of this family as I am,” Charity said as she wiped off the table, absently flicking a few crumbs on the floor. “The only thing you don’t have is the name, and now, neither do we.”
“Hey, I already swept over there,” Lizzie said with tented brows, looking as if she wanted to pop Charity with the broom in her hand.
“Oops, sorry, sis—wasn’t thinking.”
“A common occurrence, no doubt,” Katie said with a grin. She covered the leftover ham with a generous sheet of aluminum foil and carried it to the icebox. “If Father won’t claim you as a foster child, Emma, I’m pretty sure Luke will.” Her lips swerved into an off-center smile. “The man is just itching for a large family, by hook or by crook.”
“I’ll go along with that,” Faith said. “Luke’s a glutton for punishment when it comes to kids.” She shook the rinse water off of the bowl and handed it to Emma with a smile. “I can’t seem to convince the girls that he’s not their own personal jungle gym.” Faith glanced at her mother, her green eyes squinted in question. “By the way, Mother, since tonight is a celebration of Gabe’s two-year anniversary with our family, when do you plan to pop the question to Father about adopting her? I mean, she’s already a little sister we all adore, so don’t you think it’s high time we make it legal?”
“It certainly seems the logical step,” Emma said with a sip of her tea, wishing she were as lucky as Gabe, soon to be officially and legally a part of this family she loved.
A blush crept into Marcy’s cheeks as she hurried to the pantry to jot a needed grocery item on the list inside the door. “In time, Faith, in time. Once he gets over the shock of paying for Katie’s wedding and settles in, I hope to ease in to the subject by Christmas.” A heavy sigh drifted from lips pursed in a dry smile. “That is, if Gabriella Dawn Smith’s antics don’t sink my efforts first. It seems every other week the little dickens is getting into some scrape or another with the boys at school, not to mention the growing stacks of warning notes I’ve received from Sister Mary Veronica on Gabe’s rather—” Marcy cleared her throat, a rise of color staining her cheeks—“shall we say, colorful vocabulary? But I’m hoping in time Gabe will settle down along with Patrick and I can introduce the subject without the man going into shock.”
“Yeah, well, good luck with that, Mother. When I broke it to Luke that I’d enrolled in law school, you would have thought I’d committed first-degree murder.” Katie poked a finger beneath the foil to pilfer one last piece of ham before closing the icebox door.
“Uh, you did, sis . . . on his pride.” Charity smirked while she wiped down the counter.
Katie shot her an evil grin. “Oh, please! As if you haven’t taken potshots at Mitch like a sideshow sharpshooter. He’s got so many holes in his pride, he probably thinks he’s part Swiss.”
Charity’s gaze thinned as her mother, Emma, and sisters chuckled. “Yeah? Well, he’s a very proud man, Katie Rose—he could use a little thinning out. He’s the most stubborn person you’ll ever meet.”
Rising to reheat the teakettle, Emma gave Charity’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Or one of them, anyway.”
Charity’s blue eyes narrowed in a mock scowl. “Excuse me, Emma, but I don’t need my best friend taking shots at me, if it’s all the same to you—I have Henry for that.” She honed in on Katie with a slant of a smile. “And sisters, apparently.”
Katie grinned. “Just doing my job, sis, both as a sibling and a woman who hopes to be a defense attorney someday.”
“I don’t know, Charity,” Lizzie said with a sigh, “I think Brady could give Mitch a run for his money. It was the man’s pride that almost derailed our life together, as you recall.” She swept Charity’s crumbs into the dustpan and glanced up. “You can’t believe how upset he was that I didn’t tell him Katie asked me to watch Kit five days a week. Said he was totally embarrassed in front of Father Mac and the guys at their weekly basketball game.” She tossed the crumbs in the waste can and glanced at Katie with a sympathetic smile. “He claims Luke’s frustration over Katie enrolling in law school triggered a heated conversation about wives keeping secrets from their husband. Says one minute he and Collin are bragging their wives don’t keep secrets, and then the next—”
“Wait . . . Collin was bragging too?” Faith said.
Lizzie hung the dustpan on the pantry door and blew a strand of dark hair from her eyes. “Yes, but my saintly status has been jeopardized, while yours, apparently, is still very much intact.”
Charity rolled her tongue in her cheek. “But not for long, eh, sis? When Collin finds out you’re to be published in Lady’s Companion magazine when he had no clue you were even writing again, I’m going to look like the good sister,” she said with a thump of her chest.
Emma returned to her seat with a low chuckle. “Oh, I’m pretty sure there’s no danger of that.”
With a playful pinch of Emma’s waist, Charity honed in on Lizzie. “I don’t suppose Mitch did any bragging, did he?” She released a heavy sigh and tossed the dishrag into the sink. “Oh, well, the man’s on pride overload as it is.”
Faith chuckled, giving Charity a wink. “See how perfect you are for him?” Faith said with a flutter of lashes. “The sweet thorn in his side that keeps him humble.”
“Thorn?” Emma said, eyes wide and hand splayed to her chest, enjoying the ribbing of her best friend, who could certainly dish it out too. She winked. “We’re talking a rose trellis rivaling those in the James P. Kelleher Rose Garden, I suspect.”
“Gee, thanks, Emma, I feel so loved.”
Lizzie grinned. “Well, anyway, I had to laugh, Mother, when Brady said I should be more like you.” Her eyes twinkled. “An open book who never keeps anything from her husband.”
“An open book, am I? Mmm . . . that’s very true, Lizzie.” Despite the sudden flush in her cheeks, Marcy smiled on her way out of the kitchen, hand pressed to the swinging door. “Just remember, it’s best to bide your time in turning the page.” Shooting a grin over her shoulder, she looked a lot like a little girl with trouble up her sleeve. She inclined her head toward the parlor. “Like now, when your father is at his fullest and happiest, surrounded by men he can demoralize in chess?” Her lips twitched. “What better time to divulge that his foster daughter has blackened the eye of the class bully?” She sighed. “Heaven help Jeffrey Kincaid.”
“Brian Kincaid’s little brother?” Lizzie said with a gape of her mouth. “Sweet saints, is everyone in that family a bully?”
Faith drained the dishwater. “Probably. Have you seen Mr. Kincaid? A perpetual scowl worse than Mitch’s when Charity pulls one of her stunts.”
“Due to the fact his wife keeps secrets, no doubt,” Charity said with a grunt.
“You’re right—Stanley Kincaid’s a bully too,” Marcy said. “Obviously the entire family could do with some chastening.”
“Or more time with Gabriella Dawn Smith,” Katie said in a droll tone.
“Ahem . . . hopefully Gabriella Dawn O’Connor in the not-too-distant future.” Marcy sucked in a deep breath and forged through the
door. “Say a prayer.”
Faith tossed her apron on the counter. “Wouldn’t it be nice to be totally forthright with our husbands all of the time? But honestly, sometimes reticence is for their own good.”
“And ours,” Charity said with a wiggle of brows, rising when the whistle of the kettle pierced the air. “Anybody feel like another cup of Earl Gray?”
“Oooo, me, me!” Lizzie slid into a kitchen chair with a moan. “I just need a few more quiet moments while Brady is in charge of the kids.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Emma said, treasuring every moment she spent with these women she loved. She closed her eyes and breathed in the wonder of family with its hint of cinnamon from the pie or the citrus scent of Earl Gray, all laced with easy banter and good-natured teasing. How she relished this time with dear friends! No, she thought with a contented sigh, sisters, really, much more than friends.
“Yeah, I could use more downtime with Earl right about now too.” Faith blew out another sigh and slumped into a chair. “A man who can calm my nerves instead of frazzle them. I mean, let’s face it—you remember how Collin always pouted when I worked for the Herald? You would have thought that my job and my writing were a personal assault on his manhood.”
“Tell me about it,” Charity said. “Up till two years ago, Mitch was the same about me working at my own store, no matter how much Emma needed the help.” Her smile slanted while she poured more tea for each of them. “Just the mere mention of it would put the man’s nose so far out of joint, he looked like a blind prizefighter.” She plopped the kettle back on to boil and slid into her seat, steeping her tea with a vengeance. “Remember, Emma?”
“Oh, yes,” Emma said with a grin, remembering all too well the heated discussions in the Dennehy household over Charity working at the store. “And to be honest, he’s still not fond of you working the two days a week during the school year, either, even though he agreed to it.” She swirled her tea with her spoon and hiked a brow. “Ten to one says he’ll try to talk you out of coming back once the kids go back to school next week.”
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