Bridget's eyes widened in surprise. "And what might that be, pray tell?"
Charity cocked her head and angled a brow. An impish grin hovered on her lips. "Close, Grandmother. Praying is definitely involved and telling too. That is, when God tells me what his answer will be. Until then, I intend to leave nothing to chance. Mitch Dennehy is the desire of my heart, and I'm taking my request to the top."
Mima and Bridget blinked, their mouths slacking in unison.
Charity smiled and hugged Mima's shoulder. With a tilt of her chin, she squeezed Bridget's hand. "Shall we pray?"
Mitch coasted to a stop in front of Kathleen's house and disengaged the drive gears. The engine sputtered to a stop as he shifted in the seat. "It was a wonderful evening, Kathleen."
She turned to him, her face backlit by the glow of the street lamp. "It was, wasn't it? They get better and better."
He reached to take her hand and caressed her palm with his thumb. "Yeah, they do. Come here." He pulled her toward him on the seat and wrapped his arms around her waist. He buried his lips in her hair, burrowing through to find the soft skin of her neck. He made contact with his mouth and heard her faint moan as she weakened in his arms. "Marry me, Kathleen," he whispered. "Don't make me wait any longer."
She pulled away, but her breathing was soft and rapid. "Mitch, please. You're not ready."
He stroked the curve of her chin with the back of his hand, then caressed her lips with his thumb. "I'm ready," he whispered and leaned in to fondle her mouth with his. He felt her catch her breath and pressed in. "Marry me, Kathleen. I need you.,,
She pulled away, breathless. "What about Charity?"
His jaw stiffened. "What about her?"
"Do you still love her?"
He groaned and trailed her throat with urgent kisses. "I love you. I want you. As my wife, in my bed. Now!"
"But you're not over her, Mitch, I can feel it."
He sighed and pressed his mouth to the soft fold of her ear. "I'll get over her with you by my side, night after night. Trust me."
She cupped his face in her hands. "I do trust you, Mitch. I just feel unsettled in my spirit."
He went in for the kill, gliding his fingers along the delicate crease of her collarbone before dipping low to graze his lips at the hollow of her throat.
"Mitch, stop," she moaned. "What are you doing?"
He answered her with a tug of his teeth on her lips, culminating in a hungry kiss. "I need you, Kathleen. Every time I'm with you, I have less and less control. Marry me, please, or I can't be responsible for what I do."
She pushed him back to stare for several seconds, her chest rising and falling. "All right, I'll marry you."
He pressed his mouth to her ear, filling it with a husky chuckle. "Better to marry than to burn, 1 Corinthians 7:9."
She laughed in his arms. "So you win me with Scripture, do you? You're a devil, Mitch Dennehy."
He kissed her on the cheek and pulled something out of his pocket. "Maybe, but a devil who wants you for his wife, Kathleen Meyer." He held up a ring that glittered in the lamplight.
She uttered a soft cry and grasped it in her hand. "Oh, Mitch, it's beautiful! Will you put it on me? Please?"
He laughed and took her hand, slipping it on her finger. She grinned and held it out to admire, a hand pressed to her mouth. "Oh, I love you, Mitch Dennehy!"
"And I you, Kathleen Meyer, till death do us part." He gripped her in his arms and squeezed his eyes shut, blocking every other thought from his mind. She would be his wife. The mother of his children. And with time, the love of his life.
And nothing was left but the vows.
"I smell smoke. Are you burning the candle at both ends again, Mitch Dennehy?"
Mitch startled, spinning around to face a nighttime Mrs. Lynch, who assessed him through a crack in her door. She opened it wider, revealing her faded lavender robe cinched tight at the waist, littered with the most garish pink and purple flowers he'd ever seen. She wrinkled her nose and adjusted the matching kerchief on her head. Her lips pinched in a comical way. One that usually brought a smile to his lips. If he were in the mood.
He blew out a heavy breath and groaned. "Mrs. Lynch, don't you ever sleep?"
A silver brow jutted up. "Don't you?"
He rubbed his face with his hand and bit back a growl. "Right now, as a matter of fact. Good night."
"Not so fast, young man. I don't wait up all hours of the night for my health, you know. What have you been up to?"
He was too tired to scowl. "I'm thirty-six, Mrs. Lynch. My need for a mother expired twenty-five years ago. I'm going to bed." He shoved the key in the keyhole and hoped this wouldn't be one of its temperamental nights. It ground in the lock-not unlike the teeth in his mouth.
"I haven't seen hide nor hair of you for the last month, young man. Are you going to give me some information, or am I going to have to badger you for it?"
He jimmied the lock with more force, which only made it more bullheaded-not unlike the silver-haired bloodhound breathing down his neck.
"Mitchell? Are you going to answer me?"
He slammed a fist against the door and rattled the knob with renewed fury.
"Oh, stop that banging." She shot out from her apartment, lavender robe swishing around fluffy slippers. She butted him aside to flick the key in the lock with all the ease and precision of a safecracker. She pushed the door with an impatient prod. With a pitiful squeak, it wheeled open in complete submission.
Mitch gritted his teeth. "Thank you, Mrs. Lynch. Good night."
A lavender-clad arm thrust against the door, yanking it closed. "Not so fast. Are you getting serious with that young woman?"
He huffed out a sigh and sagged against the wall, feeling a lot like he was thirteen and caught smoking in the bathroom. He heard Runt whining on the other side of the door. "Yes, Mrs. Lynch, I am." He clamped his lips shut, unwilling to go any further. He had pressed the engagement because he was desperate to get on with his life. But not desperate enough to disclose it to Mrs. Lynch. Yet.
"And?"
He gently lifted her hand from the door, trying to muster a patient smile. "And, you will be among the first to know, all right?"
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. He must be tired. He imagined a glint of steel in her jaw. "Well, I'd better be, young man, or your name is mud. Is that clear?"
"Yes, ma'am. Can I go to bed now? Please?"
"I suppose. Lean down."
He bent over.
She perched on tiptoe to brush a kiss to his cheek. "Get some sleep, will you? You look terrible." She whirled around and disappeared with a slam of the door, leaving him in a stupor.
He hung his head and lumbered into his dark apartment, too tired and numb to greet Runt with more than a rub of his ears. Seeming to sense his mood, Runt trotted into the bedroom and curled up in front of the bed, his eyes following Mitch's every move. Mitch hung up his jacket in the closet, then loosened his tie and slung it over a chair. He stripped off his shirt and undershirt and flung them across the room, missing the hamper by a mile. He trudged to the bathroom with a yawn, then plucked his pajama bottoms off the back of the door and slipped them on. Assessing his image in the mirror by the light of the full moon, he looked tired and spent, like a man with a lot on his mind.
Out of sight, out of mind. Yeah, right. So much for fantasy. She was there every night. In his dreams, haunting him with her smile and her laughter and her beautiful memory. He turned on the water and reached for his toothbrush, closing his eyes while he scoured his teeth. Maybe they weren't dreams. Maybe they were just thoughts that refused to go away. He spit in the sink and reached for a towel, wiping his mouth with a sigh. This was normal, wasn't it? He'd felt it before. First with Faith, and now with her. The terrible longing, the dull aching, the missing that throbbed like a deep-seated nerve. All the more reason to marry Kathleen. He'd gotten over Faith with time. He'd get over Charity with passion.
He stumbled t
o his bed, collapsing on the springs with a weight that far exceeded that of his frame. He lay, legs spread and arms limp at his sides, no energy left to even tug at the blanket to cover his chest. He closed his eyes. At least she was an ocean away.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Lord, please, one down and one to go ...
"No!" Emma sat upon the bed and blinked, her mouth gaping open. She pressed a hand to the collar of her silk blouse.
"Yes!" Charity giggled and twirled around, propping her hands on her hips.
"But you never breathed a word in your letters."
"Of course not, silly, it's a surprise. So what do you think?"
The hand at Emma's collar flew to her mouth, muffling a giggle that rolled from her lips. "Oh, my goodness. You ... a merchant with your own store. And not just any store-one of the finest in the city." She bounded from the bed and squeezed Charity in a peal of laughter. "So, no more Mrs. Shaw? I'm working for you now?"
Charity laughed, knees bent as she squealed at the top of her lungs. "Yes!"
"God bless Mr. Hargrove. He came through? How?"
Charity took a deep breath and flopped on the bed, adrenaline twitching under her skin. She tucked one leg under her skirt, fairly quivering with excitement. "Well, shortly after Mitch left, I knew I had to do something, so I wrote Mr. Hargrove. Told him I planned to return to Ireland and wanted to know if his offer was still good. He responded right away with a plan of action that made me giddy. He sent me a proposal, which Father looked over and approved. Most of the proceeds, of course, will go back to Mr. Hargrove initially, but I'll have a tidy sum to live on until the debt is fully paid. And so, with a stroke of my signature and a good-faith deposit from my savings, Mr. Hargrove and I will soon be the proud owners of Shaw's Emporium."
Emma sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, a dreamy look in her eyes. "Does this mean that we might actually have wood heat in the back room and maybe even an icebox?"
Charity laughed. "That and much more, my good friend. Because you-my new assistant manager-and I are going to dream up ways to make Shaw's Emporium the most prosperous store in all of Dublin."
She squealed again and looped her arms around Emma's neck, toppling them in an outbreak of giggles. All at once, she jolted up from the bed to glance at the clock. "We have to go. You need to get to work, and I need to meet Mr. Hargrove at the bank. I've got a busy day."
Charity bounded to the closet to hunt for an outfit. She spotted the pale pink double-breasted satin blouse and smiled. Perhaps "snug" in Grandmother's estimation, but completely alluring in hers, and certainly professional. She snatched it from the hanger, along with the matching burgundy and gray plaid skirt.
"Will you be coming into the store after?"
Charity glanced over her shoulder before lifting the tight hobble skirt over her head. "For a little bit. But then I have an engagement."
"An engagement?"
She slipped on the blouse and latched the pearl button, turning to admire the sheen of the satin as it hugged the curve of her breast. She smiled and reached for the brush, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "Well, actually an encounter ..." She grinned at Emma in the mirror. "That I hope will turn into an 'engagement.-
Emma's eyes widened. "You're going to see Mitch?"
"I am." Charity bent over and brushed her hair with hard, determined strokes.
"Does he know you're coming?"
She peeked out through the honeyed folds of her hair. "Nope."
"You haven't seen him in almost four months. What are you going to say?"
"The truth. That I've been a fool-both about him and about God. And that I've changed." She stood and flipped her hair over her head. It rippled down her back in waves of gold. "The old manipulative Charity is gone and a new, improved model has taken her place. Honest, trustworthy, no longer bent on seduction."
Emma's lips twitched as she eyed Charity's blouse. She tilted her head and cocked a brow. "I think the old Charity left her blouse here."
She looked down at her sateen breasts and bit her lip, smoothing her hands at her waist. "Well, I can't leave everything to chance, can I?"
"I thought you were leaving it to God, not chance," Emma said with a hint of a smile.
Charity jutted her jaw. "I am, but he and I are in this together. I'm just doing my part."
"And then some."
Charity whirled around to apply a touch of rouge to her cheeks. "I never claimed to be Faith, did I? Besides, I'm new at this."
Her friend chuckled. "I suppose we should be grateful it's not more ... revealing."
She touched some rouge to her lips, then pursed them into a pout. "Yes, we should. I happen to know that Mitch Dennehy has a particular fondness for 'revealing,' so God knows I'm conceding advantage." She sighed and shoved several hairpins into her mouth, twisting her hair into a loose chignon. She rammed the pins in with a grunt, then patted her head to test the hold. She turned. "How do I look?"
"Like a woman with business on her mind." Emma picked her purse up off the dresser and strolled toward the door, turning to flash a grin. "But I won't say what kind."
Charity gave her a smirk. "You're working for me now, so behave. And don't forget to pray. I need all the help I can get if the old Charity's taboo."
Emma shook her head and opened the door. "Somehow I find that hard to believe."
Charity stared up at the Irish Times and put a shaky hand to her mouth. A belch bubbled in her throat and her stomach churned with acid. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders to steel her resolve. This was no time for nausea. She had a job to do and a heart to win. And by God-literallyshe would succeed.
She sucked in a breath of air thick with the smells of the city, then released it again, shaking off the barbs of fear that nettled her nerves. With a thrust of her chin, she entered the door, ignoring the obvious disdain of a certain Miss Boyle.
"Excuse me, miss, may I help you?"
Charity smiled, then continued toward the double doors, her chin leading the way. "No thank you, Miss Boyle, I've been here before." She ignored the receptionist's objections and glided into the newsroom, scanning the area for some sign of Mitch. She spotted Bridie hunched over her desk, immersed in a stack of galley sheets while Kathleen typed away, ramrod straight and fingers flying.
Charity stiffened her spine and moved across the room, head high and gaze fixed on Mitch's office. Heads turned as she passed, but she ignored them, her lips compressed as she made her way to his door.
He sat sprawled in his chair facing the window, one leg braced on the sill while he talked on the phone. A burly arm reached up to scratch the back of his head. It finally rested on top of shaggy curls in dire need of a trim. Her stomach squeezed at the sight of him, and her heart picked up pace.
"Charity?"
She spun around.
Bridie rose to her feet, all color draining from her face. "What are you doing here?"
Kathleen looked up. Her fingers stilled on the keys while her cheeks faded to chalk.
Charity glanced at Mitch, still on the phone, then back at Bridie. She forced a smile. "I'm back with my grandmother." Bridie blinked. "For how long?"
"For good. I'm the new owner of Shaw's Emporium."
Kathleen listed to the side, looking faint.
"Does Mitch know?"
Charity chanced a peek at his broad back. "No."
"Dear Mother of Job."
Charity bit her lip. "I wanted to surprise him."
Bridie sank into her chair. "Oh, you will."
Charity avoided Kathleen's face. "May I go in?"
Bridie nodded, her gaze flicking to Kathleen's. "Leave the door open. We'll need to know if he has a stroke."
"Thanks." Charity turned and tiptoed in, parking herself in one of the chairs at the front of his desk.
"The devil with McGettigan, Lucas, I want names and I want 'em now. Tell them that if they don't comply, we're going to press with what we have. Five o'clock editi
on. Front page."
Silence ensued while Mitch dropped his head in his hand, massaging his forehead. His fist heaved down on the arm of his chair. "No way! I'm done pussyfooting. Let's see how much bluster they have when we expose 'em."
He glanced at his watch. "Fine. Tell them they have till four o'clock. No names, no mercy. Ya got it? Yeah, thanks."
Mitch wheeled around and slammed the phone on the receiver. The earpiece fused to his hand as if embedded in his palm. He tried to breathe. He couldn't.
"Hello, Mitch."
His mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out but shallow air. Ice-cold prickles of heat traveled from the crown of his head to the soles of his feat. He swallowed.
Still no air.
She shifted in the chair, a shimmer of pink satin straining against full breasts while she adjusted her form-fitting skirt. Several seconds passed and his hand was still one with the phone. With a rash of heat up his neck, he slowly removed it, sagging back in the chair.
She smiled. "I knew I'd surprise you, but I didn't expect to render you speechless."
He stared, vaguely aware of Bridie hovering at the door. Air finally returned to his throat. He licked his lips, aware his heart was pumping at an alarming rate. "What are you doing here?"
She seemed nervous and shy, although she undoubtedly had the upper hand. Her front teeth absently tugged at her lower lip while her fingers fidgeted in her lap. With a soft sigh, she looked up, not a hint of seduction in her wide, blue eyes. "I came to apologize. To ask you to forgive me for what I did. It was wrong to lie and deceive, especially to someone I love."
He shook his head. "No, I mean what are you doing here ... in Ireland?"
A Passion Redeemed (The Daughters of Boston, Book 2) Page 36