“That’s your Papa, Devlin,” she urged.
He fisted his hand and stepped away from the doll, giving a slight shake of his head. He was angry with Patrick. And visibly hurt. She wouldn’t voice those emotions for him today, however. They were too close to her own feelings about the man.
Devlin took the Tara and Devlin dolls and sat on the wall beside her away from the other dolls. He cradled them in his arms as he kept stealing glances at the Patrick doll.
Tara let him have his moment, because they’d been playing outside for nearly an hour. She was relieved to see he still thought of his father, despite the man’s long absence. How Patrick could stay away from the child, she couldn’t guess. When she went back to Indianapolis, she would miss Devlin terribly. She would have her memories, she supposed. Her mouth quirked. God, would she have her memories.
She knew she’d never forget Patrick’s kisses in the clearing. Such passion. Such heat. She fisted her hands in her lap and set it from her mind.
“Come, Devlin,” she said, coming to her feet. “It’s nearly time for your nap.”
Devlin stood and began to gather up his dolls. The Patrick doll still sat on the wall as he turned toward the house. Tara grabbed up the doll and clicked her tongue.
“Patrick MacDonald,” she whispered, staring down at the false little face. “Don’t you see what you’re doing?”
Holding the doll at her side, she followed Devlin into the house.
Chapter 13
Patrick stood in the shadows beyond the garden wall, his heart pounding. When Tara had spoken his name, so low and soft, he had nearly run to her. When he saw Devlin playing with the dolls he’d made, his heart filled with pride. Sean had asked him on Tara’s behalf to make them, for obviously that lady didn’t want anything to do with him after his behavior in the clearing. But the sight of Devlin’s tiny smile, the halting way he’d said Tara’s name, caused his heart to clench. His son was coming back to them. Well, to Tara. Not to him. Never to him. Such goodness would never belong to him.
“I don’t deserve the boy,” he said to himself.
“Are you daft, lad?”
He whirled to find Seamus perched on the wall behind him. His uncle wore a frown on his face and Patrick kept his own features smooth. He gave a cool nod.
“Uncle.”
Seamus hopped down and peered up at Patrick. “Did you see the lass with the boy, Patrick? Did you see the magic she’s makin’ right in front of you?”
“He says her name, that’s true.”
Seamus waved one hand through the air. “That’s not all, lad. He’s a part of our family now, Patrick. All because of Tara’s doin’.”
Patrick didn’t see any such thing, but he wouldn’t argue with his uncle. “If you say so, Uncle.”
Seamus grabbed his arm. “Tara is the one, Patrick. She’s worth more than all the MacDonald gold!”
Patrick thought of her kisses, of her strong heart and kind soul. “Aye.” He shook his head. “But it’s not my concern.”
Seamus spit out a string of colorful curses. “Damn it, lad! You come here, sneakin’ like a thief to see your son. And Tara.”
Patrick snorted. “You’ve been talking to Sean.”
Seamus nodded. “Aye. And he’s been takin’ up your duties where the little lad’s concerned. Talkin’ to him and playin’ with him.”
Jealousy pricked at Patrick. He longed to be the one to spend time with Devlin. To teach him things and tell him stories. But it was his own fault, his cowardly defection, and couldn’t be helped.
“I’m not needed here.”
Seamus rolled his eyes. “Your son needs you, lad. Tara needs you.”
“Tara needs nothing from me!”
Seamus blinked in response to his outburst. “What are you sayin’, Patrick?”
Patrick raked his fingers through his hair. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Tara will help Devlin in her own fashion, Uncle.”
He turned and headed back to the workshop.
“Patrick!”
Patrick waved one hand through the air and didn’t stop walking.
“You’re wrong, lad,” he heard Seamus say. “They both need you.”
Patrick’s heart dared to hope that was true even as his mind told him it couldn’t be.
***
Tara ran her fingers over Devlin’s hair as the child settled down for sleep. She didn’t have to urge him onto the little bed any more, but he still tossed and turned more than she liked.
“Easy, sweetheart,” she soothed.
The child let out a breath and rubbed his cheek against his pillow. She let her gaze move over him. He was a Braunach. That explained that odd, charming quality that hung around him. He was a beautiful child, and more like his father than in looks.
The boy held her heart in his little hand. But his father? Patrick reached a part of her she’d never acknowledged before. At the children’s home she wasn’t exactly showered with affection, though she was treated well enough. Her life in Indianapolis was fulfilling. She shook her head. Her work was really all she had until Patrick brought her here. Now she had connections, brief though they may prove to be. She had a friend in Brianna and enjoyed the company of Mrs. O’Grady and all the MacDonalds. She fit in here far better than she ever had back home. Here with these people, these Braunachs and Pixies, she’d found her place.
Patrick had promised to take her back when Devlin was well. And she cared too much for the little boy to begrudge him his recovery. After those kisses with Patrick in the woods, she knew she’d be better off back in the safety of Indianapolis. Safe. In her little apartment with her fulfilling work at the Children’s Hospital.
“Good night, sweetheart,” she whispered, dropping a kiss on Devlin’s cheek.
She left the child’s bedroom and returned to the living room. Seamus looked up from his book, a pipe held tightly in his teeth. She blinked. A Braunach, to be sure. He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling, and she returned the expression. She picked a book from one of the shelves and settled down on the loveseat.
She wouldn’t think about Patrick anymore, she decided as she stared at the words on the page. But she couldn’t get the image of him out of her mind, so wild and beautiful there in the woods. And the taste of his fierce kisses.
She’d never imagined a man’s body could be so attractive. Mark had been good looking in an easy sort of way. But Patrick… Corded muscles, smooth skin sprinkled with silky hair. Those angry scars on his shoulder meant something, for when she touched them she could feel his heat in her fingertips.
“So much for not thinking about him,” she grumbled.
“What’s that, lass?”
Shaking her head, she snapped the book closed.
“Nothing, Seamus.” She came to her feet. “I believe I’ll go to bed.”
Seamus glanced at the clock and arched one red brow at her. He shrugged his slight shoulders. “Good night then, Tara.”
“Good night.”
She went down the hall to her bedroom. She stripped down to one of her borrowed slips and unpinned her hair. Sitting at the pretty little vanity, she regarded her reflection. She’d changed since coming here. Her complexion was brighter and her hair silky. It must be the fresh air and that creamy soap she used in the shower. She thought for a second. Patrick had run his fingers through her hair there in the woods, making that sexy sound in the back of his throat.
“Enough!”
She turned her back on her reflection and crossed to the bed. Settling beneath the soft linens, she punched her pillow and squeezed her eyes shut.
***
Patrick prowled the woods, unable to sleep. It wasn’t lust that drove him deep into the trees tonight. There was no witch waiting to lead him into sin here. Nay, ‘twas Tara.
The memory of her. The lure of her. He wanted her. The tightness in his breeches was all the evidence he needed. But he wanted more than her delectable body and her sweet lips. He wanted her kind heart and her p
ure soul.
The lass loved Devlin. And his son loved her. The way Devlin said her name told Patrick as much. But she didn’t belong here. He told himself that now for the hundredth time. But when he’d held her close, his body recognized what his mind fought even now. She was his!
He reached over his shoulder and touched his scars. The skin itched and tingled beneath his fingertips and he pulled away. Clenching his fist, he turned on his heels.
He wouldn’t find relief here in the woods. The best he could hope for was another night of fitful sleep on his lonely pallet in the workshop.
***
“Pa.... Papa?”
Tara froze, turning in her seat to face Devlin. The boy looked right at her, his eyes clear.
“Papa?” he asked again, turning toward the front door.
She heard the footsteps Devlin had and knew Sean would soon walk into the house. And the little boy would be disappointed again.
“No, sweetheart,” she said softly.
“Bloody fool,” she heard Seamus mutter.
Devlin retreated a bit into himself, his little mouth drawn in a line.
“Good evenin’,” Sean boomed.
Tara smiled at the man, unable to keep from wishing he was someone else. Someone Devlin wanted so desperately to see. And she did too, but that was a thought best not considered right now.
Sean ruffled Devlin’s hair, but the boy held himself still. Anger burned in Tara’s belly, and from the scowl on Seamus’s face she knew she wasn’t alone. Why didn’t anyone tell Patrick the truth? He was needed here. By his son, she quickly corrected.
Dinner was subdued despite the conversation kept up by Seamus and Sean. Tara found she couldn’t summon more than polite answers. She kept her eyes on Devlin’s slumped little shoulders, holding her own emotions in check.
When dinner ended, she saw Devlin to bed. He looked so lost, and there was a slight pout on his lips.
“You’re sad, Devlin,” she said for him. “It’s all right. Tomorrow will be another lovely day and we’ll play outside in the yard.”
His eyes shifted toward the row of dolls perched on the table beside his bed. Tara reached for the Patrick doll, holding it out to Devlin. The boy gave a tiny shake of his head and she placed the toy back on the table.
“What story would you like to hear tonight, Devlin?” The boy offered nothing of encouragement, though she persevered. “How about the one with the little girl and the bears?”
She told him the story from memory, watching him for any sign of the enjoyment he usually took in her stories. But tonight he stayed quiet and immobile.
When she finished, she came to her feet.
“Good night, sweetheart,” she said, her throat tight.
Devlin closed his eyes tight and she sighed. Rising to her feet, she squared her shoulders. Oh, she’d make sure the little boy wouldn’t know tonight’s rejection and hurt again.
She closed the door behind her when she left the room. If she had to go to Patrick and drag him home, she would.
***
Patrick returned to the shop, after another lonely walk did little to ease him. His body burned with passion. His mind churned with guilt. Lord, he was a miserable excuse for a man. He let himself into the shop and slammed the door shut.
“About time you got here.”
He froze, narrowing his eyes to make out a slight female form standing in the middle of the shop.
“Tara?”
Was that a soft curse he heard her utter?
“Yes,” she sighed.
He went to the lantern on his workbench and turned up the flame. When he turned he found her standing with her arms crossed, her brow furrowed.
“What the devil are you doing here?”
She clicked her tongue. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“You walked here?” He glanced out at the dark night, finally arching a brow at her. “Alone?”
“It was still light out when I left,” she countered. “After I put a very disappointed little boy to bed, I couldn’t just let this go.”
Patrick sat down on his pallet, keeping as far from Tara as he could.
To his surprise she stepped closer to him. “Don’t you see what you’re doing to Devlin, Patrick? Every night you say away?”
“He’s getting better,” he grumbled.
She nodded. “Yes, he is. But no thanks to you. He needs you.”
“Nay, lass. We’ve discussed this.”
“No!” She let out a breath and held her hands at her sides. “You decided to take yourself away from your son. He’s connected to you, Patrick.”
Patrick rested his head in his hands. “Nay. It’s not a natural connection.”
“What do you mean? Oh, that.” She waved one graceful hand through the air. “So you’re a Braunach. So what?”
He looked up at her in surprise. “You know? Who told you?”
She shrugged and sat down beside him, her thigh brushing against his. He fought the urge to turn and pin her beneath him on the narrow bed, and focused intently on the toe of one of his boots.
“I knew there was something there,” she said. “Devlin seemed… different. Otherworldly, sort of. And then Luke said something about MacDonald gold and it all made sense. Once Brianna explained it, that is.”
“Luke and Brianna?” He thought of what his family said of Tara and their gold, of her value. He lifted his head to face her. “What else did Luke say?”
Even by the meager light he could see her pretty blush.
“N-nothing, really. But that’s not why I’m here.”
He moved a fraction closer to her, taking some pleasure in the widening of her pretty amber eyes. She wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended to be. Suddenly he had no desire to send her from him.
“Why are you here, lass?”
She licked her lips and he watched the motion, his breath coming fast.
“Tara,” he began, his voice a warning he wished he could heed.
She leaned toward him, her lips parted. He could see her little pink tongue just inside her mouth and wanted to taste her again.
Suddenly she jerked away, jumping to her feet. “Oh no, you don’t! You won’t charm me again, Patrick MacDonald!”
He bit back a curse. She thought he was trying to charm her? Nay. He had seduction on his mind, damn his guilt.
“I wasn’t tryin’ to charm you, Tara.”
She gestured toward the bed, her mouth moving. “Then what was this?”
He stood and gathered her in his arms.
“This, lass?” He kissed her, catching her sigh in his mouth. He brought his lips to her ear. “This is passion, Tara.”
Chapter 14
Tara closed her eyes, letting Patrick’s soft touch and lyrical voice wash over her. This wasn’t right, her mind screamed. Oh yes, it was! her body countered. She leaned her head back, her eyes drifting closed.
“Patrick,” she murmured.
Was that her voice, all husky and pleading?
“Aye, lass,” he rasped.
He held her tightly, dropping kisses over her throat. She reached her arms around him, pulling him closer to her. When she ran her hands over his back, his shoulders, he wrenched out of her arms.
“Nay!” he roared.
She opened her eyes and stood there, her arms still reaching toward him. He pulled away as Devlin did, backing against his workbench to hang his head. Silent sobs shook his big body and she felt his despair as acutely as she did Devlin’s.
“Patrick?”
“Ah, it’s no use, Tara.”
She felt cold seep into her, and her passion was a distant memory.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
He lifted his head to stare hard at her. He was so much like Devlin, she thought. Saying so much with those gorgeous blue eyes. She could read his hurt and pain and desire.
“I’ll walk you home,” he stated.
She glanced at the rumpled blankets on that cot an
d knew it was for the best. And if night hadn’t come while she waited for him, she’d tear out of the workshop and run home alone.
“Yes.” She ran a hand over her heated cheeks. “Thank you.”
The walk back to Seamus’s house began in silence. But with him beside her, her attention focused on putting one foot in front of the other, she could voice the concerns that had driven her to the workshop in the first place.
“You need to take an active part in Devlin’s therapy, Patrick.”
“Nay,” he said, his voice firm.
“He needs the connection,” she insisted. “He looks for you every night at dinner. Every morning when he wakes up.”
Patrick was quiet. She chanced a look at him, finding him frowning with uncertainty.
“But I only had him a few days before bringing you here, lass. He needs you more than me.”
“I don’t know why you stay away from him, Patrick. It’s not my place to judge you.”
He spat out a curse. “You’re the only one, then.”
She stopped and reached out to grab his arm. “Your family loves you.” She released him and pressed a hand to her breast. “Look, I never had a real family. I’d give almost anything to have one like yours.”
He stared into her eyes, his expression raw. She pulled back at the emotion there.
“You deserve a family, Tara.” He began to walk again, his face shuttered. “I don’t.”
She couldn’t say anything to that dark statement.
“Devlin deserves a family, too,” she said.
“He’s a MacDonald,” he muttered. “He has the whole family.”
“But he has no parent.” She took a breath and asked the question that had been torturing her almost since he brought her here. “Who’s Devlin’s mother?”
Patrick flinched as if she struck him.
“Devlin’s mother… She…” Rage twisted his face and he spit on the ground. “That witch doesn’t signify.”
Tara couldn’t make her mouth form words. Had this woman hurt him so much he couldn’t even speak her name? That little bit of hope she hadn’t even known she harbored shriveled in the pit of her stomach. Patrick’s heart belonged to the woman. The hatred clear on his face didn’t matter.
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