A Passion Most Pure (Daughters of Boston, Book 1)

by Julie Lessman

  "Sorry I'm late," he stated without the least bit of repentance, "but I had to work late last night and needed to sleep in."

  Michael regarded Mitch through narrowed eyes, struggling to keep his lips from twitching into a smile. In some ways, Mitch was like a son to him. Unfortunately, in many others, he was the bane of his existence. Michael elevated his chin in an effort to ward off the inclination to shake his head. So pervasive was Mitch's influence over his subordinates that not one of them was willing to utter the clever comments that surely rested on the tips of their tongues. Instead, each simply nodded their acknowledgment of his presence.

  Michael coughed. "Mmm ... yes, well, you were late and I'm running this meeting now, so lean back and listen. Maybe you'll learn a little something about managerial style." His tone had an acidic edge that stopped Mitch in his tracks as he crossed the room. It did nothing, however, for the look on his face, which was clearly annoyed.

  "Michael, I'm here now. I'll take over," Mitch insisted.

  Michael leaned forward in the chair, his eyes pure granite. "I said, I'm running the meeting now. You abdicated that responsibility when you came through that door forty-five minutes late. Sit down!"

  Nobody breathed as Mitch propped enormous hands on the desk, his blue eyes volatile as he loomed over Michael like a plague. Their gazes locked for several seconds while friction sizzled in the air. Neither man blinked. With a ragged breath, Mitch slowly rose, towering to his full height. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he stabbed through his short blond hair in frustration, causing the natural curl to look even more disheveled. He sulked all the way to the back of the room, and Michael savored the victory with a silent sigh. It was a standoff that could result in only one winner. And other than Faith, everyone in the room knew that when it came to confrontation with Mitch, Michael was one of the few men who could walk away with the title.

  Michael calmly continued on, conducting the business of the meeting to its completion while Mitch scowled in the back of the room. At its conclusion, Michael looked up and nodded toward Faith. "Mitch, this is your new copywriter, Faith O'Connor. I want her to tag along with Bridie this first week or so, just to get her feet wet." He turned to Faith. "Faith, this. .." Michael said with a touch of drama, "is your manager, Mitch Dennehy."

  Faith turned in her seat to acknowledge Mitch, whose frosty gaze shifted from her face, down to her new leather shoes, and back up again. His blue eyes assessed her so completely that her cheeks bruised crimson as she stiffened in the chair, chin thrust high. "Hello, Mr. Dennehy," she said, her tone polite but cool.

  Mitch didn't say a word, only eyed her with practiced superiority, and the blush on her cheeks spread like blight in the rainy season. Michael watched in fascination as a smile fluttered on his department editor's lips. Mitch's penetrating blue eyes drifted from the tiny hands pinched white in Faith's lap to the soft tendril of hair that curved the nape of her neck.

  "Michael tells me you were a copywriter at the Boston Herald, is that right?"

  Faith hesitated, then sucked in a shaky breath. "Yes. I mean, I did write some copy. . ."

  Mitch nodded. His cocky smile worked its way into a grin. "Some copy? Have you done any feature writing before?" He was waiting. They were all waiting.

  The hot stain on her cheeks was a permanent condition now. "No, I haven't done much feature writing, exactly ..."

  "Any reviews, editorials, hard news?"

  She tensed as if straddling a mule about to buck. "No, I'm afraid I don't have much experience doing any of that ..."

  "Well, then, Miss O'Connor," he mused, his eyes laughing at her, "tell me. Is there anything you can do?"

  The air stilled to a deathly hush. Slowly, she lifted her chin to stare at him with as much defiance as she could politely display. "Yes, sir," she said, producing a smile that was anything but. "I can be on time."

  It was a bombshell poor Mitch never saw coming, and the impact blasted his face with a ruddy shade of unease. Bridie couldn't contain herself and laughed out loud, creating a ripple effect of laughter that tittered through the room. It rose to such a level of hilarity that even Michael had tears in his eyes.

  Reaching for his handkerchief, Michael stood, still chortling as he wiped the wetness from his face. "Well, now, I can see you do know how to run a meeting, Mitch, so my usefulness here is over, I suspect. Faith, I know it's hard to believe right now, but you'll learn a lot from this pigheaded editor of yours. Just let me know if he gives you any trouble."

  He laughed and winked at her as he headed for the door, a smile permanently on his face for the duration of the day, he was sure. It wasn't often he got to witness Mitch Dennehy being put in his place by a woman. He suspected the experience was supremely more effective than aspirin in curing any headaches inflicted by his temperamental department editor.

  He entered his office and sat down at his desk, exhaling deeply, feeling almost relaxed. He had worried about Faith O'Connor, that Mitch might chew her up and spit her out, but the fear no longer needled him. She may be slight of stature and "still wet behind the ears" as Mitch had said, but she seemed more than enough woman to deal with the likes of him, and Michael relished the thought of further such encounters.

  "She's a pistol," Michael said to himself as he thought of Patrick. "You did good, my friend, and so, I'm quite sure, will she."

  "Well? How was it?" Marcy hurried into the room after tending to Mima, bubbling with excitement over her two girls' first days at work. She set plates of steaming lamb stew before each daughter and stepped back to wait, hands clasped in anticipation.

  Charity's excitement seemed nearly equal to her mother's. She quickly divulged the full extent of her day-from her brief training on the cash register to balancing the ledger at the end of business. The highlight had been, she announced with pink in her cheeks, discovering that one of her sales had been the biggest sale of the day. "Honestly, Mother, I never thought I would like working so much. Mrs. Shaw is wonderful, so kind and encouraging. And the customers, my goodness, they were so pleasant! And prosperous, judging from the amounts they spent."

  "Did you meet any young men, my dear?" Bridget asked in an innocent tone.

  Charity gave her a teasing smile. "A few, Grandmother, but I already told you, I'm taken. Or, at least, almost taken.' And, after reading Collin's last letter, I'd say it's more likely I'm completely unavailable."

  "Mmm. We'll call you 'unavailable' when there's a ring on your finger, my dear," Bridget remarked dryly. "Till then, you're too pretty to waste on 'almost taken."'

  Charity laughed, seemingly unaffected by her grandmother's remark. "As a matter of fact, I did see a few young men who turned my head, and I theirs. I have to admit, Grandmother, it did feel good to have young men notice me again."

  "They never stopped noticing," Marcy said. "Once Collin came into the picture, it was you who stopped noticing them."

  "I know," she whispered, her thoughts obviously on Collin. She swooped up her spoon and smiled brightly. "Well, I suppose a little competition might do him good. He is rather sure of himself, isn't he?"

  "Cocky sounds like a better word to me," Bridget said.

  Marcy eyed her mother, raising her brows in warning. "Mother, please! I know what I've told you in the past, but Collin's nearly a member of our family. We all love him a great deal." Marcy winced as she noticed a rush of rose in Faith's cheeks. She clamped her lips closed.

  "Mmmm ... sounds a bit too much of a rogue to suit me, if you know what I mean." Bridget pursed her lips.

  "Mother!" Marcy's eyes widened in shock. "Really, you forget that the right woman can tame the rogue in any man. Look at Patrick; you swore he would break my heart, and he's the love of my life."

  Bridget smiled. "Yes, he is. And there's no doubt in my mind I was completely wrong about him," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "Either that, or the boatload of prayers I said took full effect."

  Marcy's mouth dropped open before she closed it with a
smile. She shook her head and laughed, reaching for a piece of bread. She ignored Bridget and turned to Faith. "And you, Faith, how did your day go?"

  "I think it went well, for the most part."

  "What do you mean'for the most part'? What part didn't go well?" Marcy asked, buttering her bread.

  "Well, I love the main editor, Michael Reardon-he's Father's friend from the Herald, you know. He's very kind and protective, and I really like that. Most of the people seem nice enough, I suppose. Although I don't think this older woman liked me at first." Faith stopped talking to swallow a mouthful of stew. "But then she seemed to warm up after our morning meeting, and I think I'm really going to like her. She's the one training me this week."

  "What's her name?" Marcy asked.

  "Bridie ... O'Halloran, I believe. She's a widow who went to work at the Times a number of years back, not long after her husband passed away. I think he worked there too, and that's how Michael knew her. She has several older children, at least in high school. She's such a character, Mother. She made me laugh the entire day."

  "Any young men catch your eye?" Bridget ventured, relentless in her pursuit of romance for her granddaughters.

  Faith laughed. "Well, maybe. There's a young man named Jamie who happens to be our department editor's right-hand man. He's in charge of editorials and book reviews. He's kind of cute in a bookish sort of way."

  "Anybody else?" Apparently Bridget had no time for subtleties.

  "Not really, although there is this kind of rough-looking man named Jack who stared a hole through me. I suppose you could say he was handsome in a dark sort of way. He gave me the chills the whole time he looked at me, though."

  "Was that the part that didn't go well?" Marcy inquired.

  Faith scrunched her nose. "No, that wasn't it. I hate to say this, but I think I got off on the wrong foot with my immediate supervisor."

  Marcy felt her heart catch. "What do you mean?"

  Faith sighed. "Well, he came in forty-five minutes late for a meeting he was supposed to be running, only Michael had to fill in because Mitch wasn't there."

  "Mitch?"

  "Mitch Dennehy, my supervisor. Then, after Michael introduced me, Mitch started picking at me, asking what I'd done before. Honestly, Mother, the man was downright rude."

  Marcy's spoon drifted to her plate as her eyes went wide. "Oh no, Faith, tell me you didn't mouth off to him. Please tell me you were respectful."

  Faith's chin lifted. "As respectful as he deserved, Mother. He's arrogant and a complete bully. Everyone in the department is afraid to even open their mouths. Well, I'm not. He's nothing but an egotistical womanizer who just happens to have the good fortune of being a great journalist."

  "No, he just happens to be your manager, young lady, and I think you need to adjust your attitude accordingly."

  "A womanizer? How do you know that? What does he look like?" Charity was suddenly breathless with curiosity.

  Faith shot her a scathing look. "You would be interested, wouldn't you? Well, he thinks he's God's gift to the women of Ireland-and probably the world."

  "Is he tall, dark, what? Come on, Faith, what does he look like? Is he good-looking?"

  "Yes, he's good-looking, all right? Very good-looking, if you must know-very tall, very muscular, and very blue eyes. But I'm telling you, his obnoxious personality ruins any attraction. All I want to do is punch the clock, do my job, and stay out of his way."

  "Promise you'll be a good girl, Faith, please?" Marcy began, her tone pleading. "Promise you'll be nice to him? I know your temper can get the best of you sometimes."

  Faith sighed and squeezed her mother's hand. "I promise, Mother. I'll do my very best to be civil to him, honestly I will."

  "Sounds like a pretty tall order to me," Charity said with a grin as she buttered a piece of bread. "So ... any chance we'll get to meet this man of the world?"

  "In your dreams," Faith mumbled.

  Charity laughed out loud. "Or your nightmares," she countered, and promptly helped herself to another plate of stew.

  "Come on, Brady, you could use a night off from that Bible of yours. Don't you ever get tired of reading that thing?"

  Collin looked at Brady, who was stretched out on his bunk with the Bible in his lap, and decided he'd never met anyone so absorbed in God. Except for Faith, of course. He wondered if that was the reason Brady fascinated him so. He had the same intensity and passion in his eyes when he spoke about God-which he did a lot-as Collin had seen in Faith over the many months he'd battled with her. Normally Collin wouldn't have chosen someone like Brady as a friend. But they'd been assigned to the same billet and the same trench, and in no time at all, Collin found himself drawn to this man, despite his obvious obsession with morality. In fact, he was closer to Brady than to any of his drinking buddies; sometimes the two of them would talk for hours on end about anything at all.

  Occasionally, Brady broached the subject of God, and Collin would feel his defenses going up, prompting a grin from Brady. "Can't run away from it forever, Collin. Eventually you'll have to make your peace with God. Sooner or later, everyone does. I just hope it's sooner. Later would be a real shame."

  And then Collin would get mad and storm out, opting for an evening spent at the nearest place he could buy the most drink for his money. There were times when Collin would return to their barracks so drunk that Brady would hoist him up on his bunk rather than let him pass out on the dirt floor. Collin supposed it was during one of those moments of drunken rambling when Brady found out about Faith. The first time Brady mentioned her name, a cold chill slid through Collin like a slow-motion avalanche. He wondered how the man could even know about Faith when he hadn't mentioned her to anyone.

  "So, this girl named Faith-pretty devoted to God?" Brady casually asked during one of their many training exercises.

  Collin positioned his weapon, pretending not to hear.

  "Who is she?" Brady asked again, causing a twinge in Collin's gut.

  "Nobody," Collin snapped, his jaw tight as he peered through the sight of his gun.

  "Yeah, nobody you just happen to talk about till you pass out in one of your drunken stupors. Come on, Collin, who is she?" Brady adjusted his own weapon, then looked up, his face pinched with impatience.

  Collin sighed. "I would have never let them put me in a trench with you had I known you'd be so nosy. She's nobody just the sister of my fiancee, or my ex-fiancee, I guess."

  "You're engaged?" Brady's jaw sagged in shock. "And you're out every chance you get, looking for women?"

  Collin grinned. "Why not? I'm a red-blooded American male, and I already told you, I'm not engaged anymore. At least, not till after the war."

  Brady slumped against the trench as if Collin had shoved him there. He shook his head. "So help me, McGuire, I had no idea you were so mixed up. I thought you were just strutting your stuff till you met the right woman and settled down. But you-you met the right woman, and you're still on the hunt? When are you going to grow up, anyway?"

  Collin laughed and slapped him on the back. "Never, I hope. I'm having way too much fun. And you could too, if you just cut loose every once in a while."

  Brady stooped to pick up his gear. He glanced up at Collin, his eyes dark. "Is that why Faith wouldn't have you? Because you cut loose every once in a while?"

  The smile on Collin's face slashed into a scowl. His eyes itched with fury. "You're a moron, you know that, Brady? What do you know about anything? She's nothing but a fanatic, just like you. You people make me sick, shoving your religion down everyone's throat. Well, I've had enough. Stay away from me, you got that?"

  Collin hadn't lost his temper like that in months, not since he'd lost it with her. Figures, he thought as he climbed from the trench. What is it with these people anyway that make me lose control like this? Whatever it was, he was fed up with it.

  He ignored Brady after that, as best he could, at least until the next drunk, when Brady would take care of him once aga
in. After that, they slowly eased back into the same close relationship, except this time, Brady seemed a bit more selective about his choice of subjects.

  Collin blinked back to the present and stood in the doorway, eyeing his friend. A grin pulled at his lips as he strolled to where Brady sat reading on the bunk. Leaning against the wooden bed frame, Collin used the toe of his boot to flip the Bible closed in Brady's lap. "I'm not taking no for an answer. You need a night out. You haven't taken one of the leaves they've given us. Besides, you can help keep me honest for my ex-fiancee."

  Brady cocked his head. "Okay, you're on. Where we going?"

  Collin laughed. "To heaven, Brady, to heaven." He slapped his arm around Brady's shoulder before his friend could change his mind and almost dragged him to the door. "Hey, lookie here, boys-we got ourselves a guardian angel," he called to a group of soldiers waiting on him. They started whooping and yelling.

  Brady smiled and shook his head as he climbed into the mule-drawn wagon next to Collin. "Something tells me you guys need more than a guardian angel."