“Congratulations,” Patrick said, the word stinging as he spoke.
“And who is this beautiful lady?” Conall turned to Sunday.
Shit. Patrick recognized that gleam in the man’s eyes. He’d seen Patrick talking to her, noticed his interest. Conall’s competitive nature had been sparked.
“I’m Sunday MacKenna,” she answered. A sudden roaring in Patrick’s head prevented him from hearing her tone. Had he mistaken the slight breathlessness in her voice?
Conall took her hand, but rather than shaking it, he lifted it to his lips for a kiss.
One day in town and Conall had already managed to kiss Sunday. A feat Patrick hadn’t accomplished in months.
“I need to get back on stage.” Sunday smiled at Conall then gave Patrick an odd frown. He must have looked murderous. Conall always brought out the worst in him.
Mercifully, new customers came in, quickly claiming Conall’s attention. Patrick slowly sludged through the evening, trying but failing to allow Sunday’s beautiful voice to calm him. At the end of the evening, Conall met Sunday as she exited the stage. Patrick tried to hear what they were saying, but he was too far away. Scully yammered in his ear, reading him the riot act for screwing up so many things tonight.
Sunday laughed at something Conall said. Patrick gritted his teeth, the action sending more pressure to his already pounding head.
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying, lad?”
Patrick turned to face his boss. He’d completely blocked out Scully’s voice. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“Och. You need to get your head out of your ass, and soon. Before some slick city boy steals your pretty gal right out from under your nose.”
Patrick should have known his too-alert boss would know the problem. “She’s not my gal.”
Scully threw his hands up in frustration. “She would be if you’d pull your thumb out! Lord knows she’s dropped enough hints about her interest in you.”
“She has?” Patrick asked.
Scully looked skyward. “Lord, grant me peace and give this idiot a brain.” He pierced Patrick with a steely glance. “I’ve had enough of this foolishness.”
Scully stormed away as Sunday and Conall walked over to the bar. “Hey mate. I’ve offered to walk Sunday home. She told me you usually escort her, but I figured since her aunt’s place is on my way, I’d give you a break tonight.”
Patrick looked at Sunday’s face, trying to determine if she was okay with Conall’s invitation. He thought for a moment she looked almost hopeful, but he couldn’t be sure.
To hell with it. Patrick was her escort. He wasn’t giving that up simply because Conall Asshole Brannagh expected him to step aside.
“Sunday,” Patrick started. “I—”
“Hell’s bells!”
Patrick turned around at Scully’s loud exclamation coming from the storeroom. He hesitated for a moment, afraid Sunday would leave with Conall before he could talk her out of it.
“Sounds like he needs you, Pat,” she said.
Patrick rushed to the storeroom and found Scully bent at an odd angle. His boss’ back wasn’t as strong as it used to be, but that didn’t stop him from trying to lift the heavy kegs of beer.
“Damn, lad.” Scully winced. “Afraid I twisted it bad this time.”
Patrick swallowed heavily before accepting the hand fate had dealt him tonight. “I’ll get you home, Scully. Don’t worry.”
He offered his boss a supportive arm, leading Scully slowly toward a table and helping him into a chair. “Rest there for a minute while I get everything settled for the night.”
Sunday and Conall joined them.
“Scully? Are you okay?” Sunday placed a comforting hand on the older man’s shoulder.
Scully nodded, but the action obviously caused him pain as he winced again. “Och. I’m fine, lass. Just a foolish old man who refuses to accept his limits. Pat will get me home and get me my pills. I’ll be right as rain in the mornin’, don’t you worry about that.”
“He was trying to lift a keg,” Patrick explained.
Sunday narrowed her eyes. “What on earth were you thinking, John Scully?” she exclaimed. “Why would you attempt something like that on your own?”
Patrick restrained a grin at seeing Sunday’s annoyed face. She had a slow fuse, he’d noticed that right off, but when she blew, she blew hard. She’d eviscerated one of the regulars a couple of weeks ago after the man continued to make risqué remarks to her during her performance. Patrick had headed over to kick the asshole out when Sunday stopped playing and set the man down with a string of words that stung more than a kick to the balls. The drunk had staggered away and shown up the next day, offering the most sincere apology Patrick had ever heard. He’d known then and there she was a force to be reckoned with, and he’d lost even more of his heart to her.
“Now, lass, you wouldn’t kick a dog when he’s down, would you?” Scully pleaded.
A sly smile replaced Sunday’s scowl. “No. I wouldn’t. However, I feel fairly certain your wife would be interested in hearing exactly how you injured yourself.”
Scully’s already pale face faded even more. Patrick fought back his laughter. He suspected the only reason his boss worked such long hours was so he didn’t have to go home to his overbearing wife. “Now there’s no need for that. It’s a mere twinge.”
“Promise you won’t lift any more kegs on your own?” Sunday asked.
Crafty woman. Patrick smiled at her clever manipulation.
“If I give my word to stop, you won’t tell my wife?”
“I won’t tell,” Sunday assured him.
Scully sighed heavily. “Then you have my promise.”
Conall stepped forward and wrapped his arm around Sunday’s shoulders, the touch too familiar for Patrick’s liking.
“Do you need any help closing down for the night, Pat?” Sunday offered.
Patrick shook his head. “No, I’m almost finished here. You sang really good tonight, Sunday.”
Conall tightened his grip. “That she did. I fully intend to come in every night to hear that beautiful voice of yours. You know, Sunday, there’s an annual Christmas dance next weekend. Usually I don’t bother with such provincial traditions, but with you on my arm, it might actually be fun. What do you say?” Conall asked.
Sunday looked at Patrick. “Well, I hadn’t really made plans to go. Are you going, Pat?”
His mouth went dry. What did she expect him to say? He’d wanted to go with her, but his invitation was a bit too late now. One night back in town and Conall was making his life hell once more.
Patrick shrugged, uncertain how to respond. “I was thinking about—”
“We can go out for a fancy dinner beforehand.” Conall said, cutting him off. “Make a night of it. I’ll pick you up around six and we can take a drive in my Aston Martin.”
“You have an Aston Martin?” Sunday asked.
During their nightly treks, Patrick had discovered Sunday’s affinity for anything on four wheels. In fact, he’d been impressed by her knowledge of cars. She was also as big a fan of James Bond movies as Patrick was. Conall had just scored a double.
Conall must have sensed his advantage. “Saw it in a Bond movie and knew that was the car for me. Come out with me Saturday and I’ll let you drive it.”
Sunday didn’t answer. Instead she looked at Patrick. “I would like to go to the dance.”
Patrick studied her face. Had she just accepted Conall’s invitation? If so, why was she looking at him? He cleared his throat. He wasn’t willing to continue losing face in front of Conall. He’d spent too many years of his life playing second fiddle to the man.
He recalled Kathleen Murphy, the clerk at the local drugstore. She’d been dropping hints for weeks that she’d be more than willing to attending the dance with him. So far he’d skillfully dodged her, but now…
“Then I suppose I’ll see you there,” Patrick said. “I was thinking I might ask K
athleen.”
Scully groaned. Patrick suspected it wasn’t a moan of pain, but one of annoyance. Apparently he’d screwed up again.
Sunday frowned. “Oh.” For a brief moment, Patrick thought she seemed disappointed. She hadn’t wanted him to ask her, had she? Compared to Conall, what did he have to offer a woman as beautiful and intelligent as Sunday MacKenna? Certainly not an Aston Martin.
Looking at the two of them together, he realized he’d been a fool to think he had a chance. She was made for someone like Conall, someone handsome, wealthy, someone who wasn’t living on dreams, but living the dream.
Even so…
“Sunday, I—” Patrick started, trying to find a way out of the mess he’d made.
Sunday didn’t give him the chance. Instead, she turned to Conall. “I’d love to go to the dance with you.”
Patrick felt his heart crack, but he couldn’t think of a way to turn the tide to his favor. He wasn’t even sure he should make the attempt. Sunday was one of the most talented singers Patrick had ever heard. A man like Conall had connections. Conall could open doors for her career that Patrick couldn’t. Didn’t he owe it to her to step aside so she could pursue her dreams?
“Come on, Sunday. I’ll get you home.” Conall took her hand and led her to the front door.
Patrick watched his nemesis walk out of the pub with the woman who owned his heart—and prayed for the strength to truly let her go.
“Oh Pop. You didn’t?” Keira shook her head, obviously exasperated with the turn his story had taken.
“Didn’t let her walk out with Conall?” Patrick shrugged. “I’m afraid I did.”
Riley rolled her eyes. “Criminy. And here I’ve spent my whole life thinking you were the smartest man I’ve ever known.”
Sean looked at his sister, confused. “What the hell did you expect him to do, Riley? It was obvious Mom had her head turned by this rich, good-looking guy.”
Tris and Killian nodded in agreement.
Riley threw her hands up. “Can you guys really be that stupid?”
“I agree with Riley,” Teagan said. “Isn’t it obvious? She was testing Pop.”
“Testing him?” Ewan asked. “By accepting a date with the rich dude? Kind of a dumb test.”
Keira sighed. “Like father, like sons, apparently. Mom was obviously crazy about Pop, but he wasn’t making a move. So—”
“So,” Riley interjected, “she forced his hand. And he failed the test.”
Patrick nodded, never so proud of his beautiful, intelligent girls as he was at the moment. “I did at that.”
“She was trying to make you jealous?” Tris asked.
Patrick grinned. “Yes, she was. And it worked.”
Tris shook his head. “I’ll never understand why women feel the need to play games all the time. If she wanted to go to the dance with you, why didn’t she just ask?”
Keira narrowed her eyes. “How was she supposed to know Pop was interested? I mean, he’d walked her home every night for months and hadn’t even tried to kiss her. He’d never asked her out. Obviously she was feeling him out. Trying to figure out where she stood. And believe me, Pop telling her that he was inviting another woman to the dance was not the way.”
“I’m afraid your sisters are right, but I’d dug my own grave, so to speak. I asked Kathleen to the dance the next morning and suffered your mother’s silent treatment every evening for the next five nights. Conall became a regular at the pub, sitting at the table closest to the stage. Your mother sat with him during her breaks instead of at the bar as she had before. Conall showered her with little gifts, making a point of presenting her with flowers, chocolates and jewelry in front of all the patrons of the pub. In a few short days, the town gossips were all abuzz about their whirlwind romance and everyone was wondering if Conall would invite her to travel to New York with him. Some of the more romantic ladies in town were hoping he would propose to her at the dance.”
“Propose?” Teagan became alarmed. “She can’t marry him. Christ! Who gets married after only a week?”
Killian laughed. “Don’t worry, Teagan. I think this story has a happy ending.”
Teagan flushed. “Oh. Yeah.” She shook her head. “Got carried away there.”
“Go on, Pop,” Sean encouraged him. “What happened next?”
“And please tell me there’s an ass-kicking somewhere in this story,” Riley added.
Patrick gave her a noncommittal wink. “I guess you’ll have to wait to find out. Pass that bottle back around, son.” He gestured to Tris. “All this story-telling is leaving me parched.” He chuckled as Tris, Teagan, Sean and Keira all took sips as the bottle made its way back to him. The fruit certainly didn’t fall far from his tree.
“So the night before the dance, Conall didn’t show up at the pub…”
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Patrick asked Sunday when she approached the bar. She’d asked him for a glass of water—her first words to him in days. He’d been grateful to hear her voice. Then he’d blown it with his hostile question.
“He had to attend a family dinner. He wanted me to go with him, but I didn’t feel right canceling at the last minute. I know Scully is enjoying the increased business with so many relatives and friends in town for the holidays. Why does it matter to you?”
He pasted on an impassive face. “It doesn’t. Just surprised one of you could be in a room without the other. Started to suspect you’d become permanently attached at the hip.”
Sunday narrowed her eyes. “If you have something to say about my relationship with Conall, Patrick Collins, then say it. Otherwise, I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my business.”
Patrick felt his temper snap. He’d been feeling like shit for days, trying to be the bigger man, stepping aside because he believed Conall could offer her a better life. That didn’t mean he was a robot. It didn’t mean he wanted her throwing her fancy presents and newfound happiness in his face every minute of the day. “I think the two of you are moving too fast.”
Every night when he closed his eyes, he imagined Conall kissing Sunday, wrapping his arms around her. The vision drove Patrick to madness until he gave up hope of sleeping. He hadn’t managed more than a few hours of rest a night. He was tired as shit and cranky as hell.
“I don’t know about that. I seem to recall you telling me on one of our late-night walks that you believed in love at first sight. Have you changed your mind?”
He hadn’t. He’d loved her from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. However, her question sent a barb straight to his heart. “Are you saying you’re in love with Conall?”
She didn’t reply. Instead she countered with a question of her own. “So how long have you been seeing Kathleen Murphy? I had no idea the two of you were an item.”
Patrick considered her question and the heated tone behind it. “I don’t remember saying we were dating. Just said I was asking her to the dance.”
“Why?”
He tilted his head, confused. “Why what?”
“Why are you taking her to the dance?”
He licked his lips nervously, his mind racing to find a reason. He’d let his pride get the better of him, as it always did whenever Conall was around. “She’s a pretty enough little thing. We’ve known each other forever. Her family owns the farm next to mine. Why shouldn’t I ask her out?”
Sunday fell silent and he thought he detected the slightest trace of hurt in her eyes. “You think she’s pretty?”
He nodded slowly before the truth fell from his lips. “She doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
Sunday smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Conall‘s father has some connections in New York. He knows some bigwigs in the music business.”
Patrick swallowed heavily. “Is that right?”
“Conall’s been dropping hints that he’d like me to go with him to New York. Do you think I should consider it? The two of you have been friends forever, right?”
; Calling them friends was a definite stretch. “I’ve known him since we were kids. So would you travel with him as a friend…or as more?”
Sunday shrugged. “He’s let me know he’s interested in me romantically. I’m sure if I agreed to go it would be with the understanding that we’re a couple. What do you think of him?”
Patrick looked at her and considered all his reasons for stepping aside. “He’s quite well off. You’ll never want for anything if you eventually marry him. A woman like you deserves pretty things, a nice home, the security a man like him can provide.”
She nodded. “My own home would be nice.”
He cleared his throat and forced himself to continue. “And he’s educated, got a college degree and everything. Chances are good he’ll go far with that new career of his.”
“It does sound like a promising job.”
“And it’s in New York,” he added. “You’ve dreamed of moving to America. Conall could take you there right away.”
She toyed with the condensation on her water glass. “I’ve heard a lot about the city. I’d like to see it.”
Patrick picked up a rag and absentmindedly wiped at a nonexistent stain on the counter. Now that he’d begun, he found all the excuses he’d thought of throughout the past week falling from his lips. “Of course, you’d be able to pursue your music.”
She continued to look at her glass. Patrick wished she’d look at him, give him some glimpse of her thoughts. “Yes, there is my music to consider.”
She was starting to sound like a parrot, repeating everything he said. It was frustrating. “He can give you a lot, Sunday. You deserve the world on a silver platter.” He wished he could offer her just that. Instead, he faced a lifetime of hard work, possibly struggling to make ends meet. How could he ask her to follow him into an uncertain future when Conall’s tomorrows looked so bright, so easy?
Her gaze finally captured his. For several moments, she simply looked at him. “What do you think of him, Pat?”
She was pushing him into a corner, forcing him to make a hard decision. Did he lie about his opinion of Conall’s character or tell her what he really thought of the man?
Home for the Holidays: A Contemporary Romance Anthology Page 9