A Passion Denied

by Julie Lessman

  “Soooo . . . give me all the details! I’m dying to know. How was it?” Millie pounced on Lizzie like a toad on a fly, steering her toward the back room of Bookends the moment she entered the store. Millie’s eyes, smudged with gray shadow and black eyeliner, blinked wide in anticipation as she pursed her cupid’s-bow mouth. “Tell me the truth—did you finally let him kiss you?”

  Lizzie arched her brows. “Give me a moment to breathe, will you, Millie? I just stepped through the door.”

  “I’ll bet Tom Weston didn’t give you a moment to breathe, did he?”

  “Millie!”

  “Well, did he? Every girl I know is carrying a torch for him but you. Unless, of course, he managed to change your mind.” Millie wiggled her pencil-thin brows.

  Lizzie put a cool hand to her hot cheek. “Stop! You’re embarrassing me.”

  Millie laughed and grabbed Lizzie’s arm. She hauled her to the back and down the hall with as much propriety as she could with Mr. Harvey glaring after them. She pushed her into a chair at the table in the rear of the store where a scarred wood counter was stacked high with boxes and books. She sat down beside her, almost breathless. “Come on, Lizzie, we’ve got fifteen minutes before the store opens, so level with me. Did Tom Weston kiss you?”

  Lizzie felt a burn in her cheeks. “Yes.”

  “Did you kiss him back?”

  “I suppose.”

  Millie grinned. “And were you a pushover?”

  “Absolutely not!” Lizzie jolted up in the chair. “You know how I feel about that.”

  “Yeah, but that was before he kissed you.” She buffed her nails on her drop-waist sweater, then peeked up beneath thick lashes. “So, give! Was it wonderful?”

  Wonderful? Lizzie sighed and reflected on the night before, when she’d sat on the porch swing with Tom Weston. It had been their fifth time out together and the fifth time he had tried to kiss her. But last night had been the very first time she let him, at least without objection, and the first time she ever really kissed him back.

  She thought about him now, and her pulse quickened just a tad. He had the look of an athlete, with sandy hair and hazel eyes, his muscular body casual and confident as he’d lounged against the corner of the swing. She could still see his faint smile as he’d toyed with her hair, fondling it between his fingers as she’d chatted away. All at once, his hand moved to trace the curve of her neck, and then the line of her jaw, finally silencing her lips with the tips of his fingers. She remembered how they’d felt warm to the touch, like the feeling he was beginning to stir inside her. He whispered her name and slowly bent to kiss her, and her mouth had parted in surprise at the heat he triggered. With a low groan, he’d pulled her close and deepened the kiss, reminding her of that night with Brady. At the thought, the warmth that had seeped into her body suddenly turned cold, and she’d pushed him away. “Tom, I need to go in.”

  He clutched her close. “Lizzie, please, don’t go. I care about you.”

  She stood to her feet, desperate to get away. “Thank you for a lovely evening, but I do need to go.”

  “Can I see you Saturday?”

  She had stared, seeing only Brady’s face, feeling his kiss.

  “It was, wasn’t it?”

  Lizzie blinked. “What?”

  Millie shook her arm. “His kiss! The way you’ve been staring off into space, it must have been pretty keen. So, when are you going to see him again?”

  “Saturday.”

  “Oh, Lizzie, I swear, you are one of the luckiest girls alive.” A slight pout settled on Lizzie’s lips. “How come I don’t feel like it?”

  “Because you’re probably still mooning over John Brady. You need to forget him, and Tom Weston is the perfect man to help you do that.”

  Lizzie’s ire rose. “No, there’s only one ‘perfect’ man, Millie, and his name is John Brady. There’s not another like him— honest, moral, decent.” A spark of anger tinged her tone.

  A quiet sigh drifted from Millie’s lips. “No man is that perfect, Lizzie, except maybe those in the fairy tales you read to the kids. It’s time you face up to that and get on with your life. Besides, it’s been over a month since you’ve even seen him. And his letter made it perfectly clear he wanted to be left alone.”

  Her lip jutted. “But I miss him.”

  “If you’d just give Tom a chance, he’d remedy that in no time.”

  Lizzie sighed, her tone resigned. She patted her friend’s arm. “Sorry, Millie, for snapping at you like that. And I will give Tom a chance, I promise. But in the meantime, I miss Brady a lot—as a friend.”

  Millie folded her arms and arched her brows. Her scarlet lips pursed in doubt. “A friend?”

  “Yes, a friend. Nothing more. If the man doesn’t want me, I’m certainly not going to throw myself at him again. I just miss talking to him, that’s all, and praying with him.” Lizzie released a weary breath and lumbered to her feet. “I guess we better clock in. I’m surprised Mr. Harvey hasn’t dispatched a search party by now.”

  “So, what are you going to do?” Millie asked.

  Lizzie took her cloche hat off and hung it on a hook by the door. “I’m going to work.”

  “No, I mean about Brady. Your friendship. What are you going to do about that?”

  Lizzie stole a quick glance in the oval mirror hanging by the door. She patted her shingled bob, then shot Millie a pursed smile that indicated trouble would be brewing on the horizon for Mr. John Brady. “Like I said—I’m going to work.” She cocked a brow. “On getting him back.”

  “So . . . why are we here again?”

  Brady peered at Cluny out of the corner of his eye and prayed for patience. “Because it’s Easter and we were invited.”

  “You couldn’t say no?” Cluny stared up at him with a scowl on his freckled face, which for once was as clean and glowing as a baby’s behind . . . or Cluny’s, for that matter. Gram had been missing in action for over a month now, with no word as to when she might return. Brady had altered the boy’s life considerably in that short time: clean clothes, clean body, clean dog. He glanced at the slight fourteen-year-old in his starched cotton shirt, all neatly tucked into plaid knickers that came just below the knee. Argyle knee socks and brand-new leather shoes completed the ensemble, causing Brady to feel a sense of pride. Along with a secret wish that Gram would stay put for a while.

  He smiled and pressed a firm hand to Cluny’s back as they ascended the steps to the O’Connors’ front porch. “Sorry, bud. Collin brought out the big guns. He had his mother-in-law call.”

  Cluny gave Brady a half-lidded glare. “Wimp.”

  Brady fought a smile and pressed the doorbell. No doubt about it, the little brat had a way with the truth.

  Cluny snorted. “I don’t wanna be here and neither do you.” Brady sighed and clutched Cluny by the scruff of the neck. “No, I don’t. But we’re going to make the best of it because that’s what civilized people do.”

  “What’s ‘civilized’ mean?”

  Brady thought of seeing Beth for the first time in over a month and sucked in a deep breath. “It means doing what you don’t want because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Braaaady!” The door swung as wide as Katie’s grin as she looked up with twinkling blue eyes. “Don’t you like us anymore? We haven’t seen you in forever!” Her gaze drifted to Cluny, and her little nose scrunched up. “What’s this?”

  Brady looked down at Cluny to make sure he wasn’t scowling, but he needn’t have bothered. A grin had sprouted on Cluny’s face. Brady’s jaw dropped when he saw him wink. “The name’s Cluny McGee, you pretty little thing, and don’t be forgettin’ it.”

  Katie stared, blue eyes gaping along with her mouth. Her lips snapped shut, pinching into a hard line. “Sorry, my memory’s short. Like you. You can sit at the kids’ table. In the kitchen.”

  Cluny arched an almost invisible brow. “With you?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Not on your life. Let Collin
suffer. He’s the one who invited you.”

  “Your loss,” he said with a nonchalant air. His grin turned cocky as he sidled past Katie into the house, hands buried in the deep pockets of his knickers. Katie had him by half a head, but at the moment, Cluny towered way over her.

  She blinked, then glanced up at Brady as if he had just brought a mud-soaked Miss Hercules home for dinner. “Tell me you’re not related—please.”

  Brady laughed and gently tugged on a blond curl trailing her shoulder. He leaned close. “Be nice. He’s practically an orphan.”

  She sniffed and closed the door. “I can see why.”

  “Hey, I thought you fell in somewhere, ol’ buddy.” Collin strolled into the foyer and glanced at his watch. “You’re cuttin’ it awfully close. Marcy’s putting the food on the table now.” He eyed Brady up and down—from his charcoal woolen vest and red geometric tie, to his gray seersucker slacks—then let out a low whistle. “Haven’t seen you look this good since . . . well, I don’t believe I ever have. I’d be hard-pressed to find a smudge of ink anywhere.”

  Brady shot him a patient look. “Settle down, Collin, it’s Easter.” He nodded his head at Cluny and rolled the sleeves of his white long-sleeved shirt. “I’ve got an example to set.”

  “So I see.” Collin extended a hand. “Hey, Cluny, my man, put it there. I do believe you may turn some heads in those glad rags, don’t you think, Katie Rose?”

  “So you sit with him.” Katie said and strolled from the room.

  Cluny squinted up at Collin. “A bit uppity for a girl, ain’t she though? She shor don’t show much respect for elders.”

  “Well, Cluny, if you want my opinion,” Collin said with a conspiratorial smile, “I’m convinced Katie Rose is a sixty-five-year-old woman in a ten-year-old body. And as far as respect for one’s elders goes, don’t take it to heart. Trust me, she doesn’t show much respect to anybody, me included.” He grinned and lowered his voice to a whisper. “But she sure is a whole lot of fun when you ruffle her feathers.”

  Cluny’s grin spanned the whole of his face. “Is she now?” He turned and strutted after her, reminding Brady so much of a banty rooster that he shook his head and laughed.

  Collin slung a loose arm over Brady’s shoulder, eyeing him tentatively. “So, you okay with this?”

  Brady gave him a sideways glance. “Would it matter? Seems to be your self-ordained mission in life to keep me from loneliness. Especially on holidays.”

  Collin chuckled and led him toward the dining room. “Have to, ol’ buddy. You don’t know how.”

  “Brady! Sweet saints, man, we’ve missed seeing you.” Patrick O’Connor shook Brady’s hand with a solid grip and genuine enthusiasm. He ran a hand through dark cropped hair salted with gray and nodded toward Collin, his gray eyes twinkling. “Glad to see my son-in-law is finally pulling his own weight so you can have a day off.”

  Brady laughed. “Yeah, well, I had to take over deliveries because we were losing money. Too much gift for the gab.”

  Collin flicked the back of Brady’s head. Patrick’s husky laughter filled the room where a whirl of activity was taking place. Steven and Katie were sparring over who would sit on the end while Cluny attempted to referee. At the head of the table sat their blind, elderly neighbor, Mrs. Gerson, sipping a cup of tea with a contented smile on her face. Sean chatted with Emma, Charity’s best friend from Dublin, while he poured homemade cider into Marcy’s wine glasses, now bereft of wine due to prohibition. Mitch held the kitchen door open for Marcy, who bustled in with a platter of sliced ham glazed with pineapple and honey. Blarney trotted close behind with a hopeful look in his eyes, while Faith followed with a steaming bowl of scalloped potatoes. The table was set in grand O’Connor style, sporting crisp, white linens, glowing candles, and a crystal vase of Easter lilies scenting the air. Brady took a quiet breath, allowing the memory to embed in his mind with a quiet joy he’d seldom known. The warmth of this family seeped into his bones like

  the warm honey on the ham, reminding him just how much he had missed them.

  “Goodness, Brady, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” Marcy hurried over to give him a hug.

  Faith grinned as she assessed him head to toe. She leaned close. “Mind taking Collin shopping sometime? He could use a little help.”

  Collin latched a firm hand to the back of her neck. “Is that a complaint?”

  She giggled and scrunched her shoulders. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

  “You do look wonderful, Brady.” Beth stood in the doorway with a basket of biscuits in her arms and a shy smile on her lips.

  The smile on Brady’s face solidified like the warm wax cooling at the base of Marcy’s candlesticks. He stared, the hands in his pockets suddenly feeling like dead weights. She looked different, as if a month had changed everything. Her chestnut hair glimmered with highlights from the crystal chandelier overhead, giving her a soft shimmer that matched the sparkle in her near-violet eyes. Her new haircut seemed to transform her from a little girl to a woman, its short gleaming waves framing her heart-shaped face like a priceless work of art. She seemed so much older, so much more assured. Her once lanky and spindly body was still slight, yet now willowy and rounded with gentle curves that bespoke a transformation he had denied far too long. He fought back a hard swallow. God help me, when did she become a woman?

  “Thanks, Beth. You look pretty too.”

  A blush stole into her cheeks, and she quickly set the rolls on the table as Charity bounded through the door with a platter of deviled eggs in her hands. She stopped midway to drop her jaw. “Save my soul, is that you standing there, John Brady, or are you on loan from Vanity Fair?”

  A lazy smile traveled his lips. “If you came to visit once in a while, you’d know that I wear more than ink and an apron.”

  She set the dish on the table with a groan, then hurried over to give him a tight hug. She shot an accusing glance at Mitch. “You can blame it on the lord of the manor there. He’s curtailed my activities considerably in the last month.”

  Mitch smiled and propped against the kitchen door with arms folded. “It’s for your own good, and you know it.”

  “So you keep telling me. And who’s this?” She massaged her stomach and quirked a brow in Cluny’s direction.

  “Sorry, everyone. This is Cluny McGee. He’s bunking with me while his gram is out of town.” Brady palmed the top of Cluny’s head and smiled at Charity. “He and Miss Hercules belong to each other.”

  “How old are you, anyway? And who is Miss Hercules?” Katie’s tone was belligerent at best.

  Cluny’s chest expanded as he rose up on his heels, his grin as daunting as the gleam in his eye. He stared Katie down. “Fourteen, going on fifteen. You?”

  Her chin rose to meet his. “Eleven next month and very mature.”

  He winked. “Well, good for you. Miss Hercules is my dog, and Brady says she’s an English sheepdog. All I know is, she’s pert near bigger than me.”

  “Oh, now there’s an impossible feat.”

  “Katie Rose, I suggest you mind your tongue, or you’ll be eating in your room.” Patrick shot her a look of warning. “Apologize—now!”

  “Sorry.”

  Cluny beamed. “Howdy, everyone. Much obliged for the invite.”

  “Well, you’re more than welcome, Cluny. Any friend of Brady’s is a friend of ours.” Marcy placed the last of the vegetables on the table with a sigh. “Katie and Steven, Cluny will be your guest in the kitchen. Be nice. Sean’s agreed to join you since this table only seats ten.”

  Katie’s face bleached white. “But Collin already volunteered to sit in the kitchen so I could sit with the adults.”

  “Railroaded into it is more like it, Katie Rose, but no one can accuse me of being a welsher. Marcy, I’ll sit with Brady and Cluny in the kitchen, as long as we get to fill our plates before Sean and Mitch.”

  Sean groaned. “That’s worse than sitting at the kids’ table.”
/>   Collin grinned and draped an arm over Brady’s shoulder. “Yeah, we know.”

  “Mother, I’ll take the fourth seat in the kitchen.”

  Brady’s gut tightened at the sound of Beth’s voice. Collin gave him a sideways glance and slapped him on the back. “No need, Lizzie. Faith will sit with us, won’t you, Little Bit?”

  “Of course I will. That way I can make sure the pies don’t get eaten before their time.”

  Collin appeared wounded. “I’m hurt. You act like I don’t have any willpower.”

  She reached up to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “Yep.”

  “Well, let’s eat before the food gets cold. Patrick, will you say the blessing, please?” Marcy moved to her husband’s side, and he pulled her close. “Yes, darlin’, I will.” His gaze drifted around the table before he bowed his head and closed his eyes, wearing the look of a contented man. His words rang through the room, reverent and low and wavering with emotion, thanking God for sending his Son. His praise resonated deep and rich in Brady’s heart, extolling God’s goodness and boundless mercy.

  Brady stole a glance at Beth, totally relieved she would not be gracing his table tonight. He closed his eyes and released a sigh of assent. Yes, God’s boundless mercy. And then some.

  Lizzie’s absorption in dominoes was little more than pretense. She studied the mound of tiles in the center of the table with great deliberation, keenly aware of John Brady’s every move. He sat across the room in his usual spot on the sofa, long legs sprawled with a paper in his lap, but his interest in news seemed to match hers in dominoes.

  He leaned forward with one arm draped across the paper and grinned at Mitch, who sat on the other side of the sofa like a matching bookend, paper in lap and a smile on his face. Brady jerked a thumb at Collin, who straddled a needlepoint chair next to the couch, and their laughter rang out at something he said. Lizzie absently fingered a number of tiles, her interest far from the strategy of dominoes.