A Passion Denied

by Julie Lessman

  He slanted a narrow hip and blew the hair out of his eyes. “No, I’m gonna kidnap you. What d’ya think? Of course we’ll come right back.”

  She thought about it and then slowly rose to her feet. “You’re lucky I like Life Savers,” she muttered under her breath.

  He grinned. “I am, aren’t I?” He turned on his heel and pushed through the doors, waiting until she followed. He led her down the hall to the front of the hospital where a beady-eyed watchman stood guard at a curved marble desk. The lobby was dim and deserted at this time of night, lit only by a glass-domed chandelier hung low over the door. Cluny nodded to the guard before depositing his money into the machine. He gave Katie a sideways glance. “Life Savers or gum?”

  “Did you hear me say anything about gum?”

  He grinned and yanked on the lever. “You’re a pistol, Katie Rose. Life Savers it is.” A roll thudded into the open slot while change clinked into the coin return. He retrieved the candy and dropped it in her waiting hand.

  She arched a brow, hand still extended. “I believe you said five.”

  He pulled his change from the return and tossed it in the air. “Nope, said I’d buy you one, but had enough for five.”

  She jiggled the roll in her hand. “I want five.”

  He grinned. “Kind of hoping you’d say that.”

  “You were?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I was. And I would dearly love to give you five.”

  “You would?”

  “For a price.”

  “A price?”

  “What, are you a parrot?” He redeposited his money and repeated the procedure until four rolls of gold and blue candy gleamed in his palm. She reached and he jerked them away, slipping them into his pocket with an annoying grin. “Yes, ma’am, a price. Kind of an experiment.”

  She folded her arms and watched through slitted eyes as he opened a roll and popped one in his mouth. He held another in the air, taunting her. “Mmmm . . . minty.”

  She stared, jaws clamped tight as he rotated the little white circle an inch from her nose. She could smell the sweet scent of peppermint when he gently prodded it against the tight crack of her lips. Seconds seemed like an eternity before she finally snatched it with her teeth, almost taking his finger in the process. He jerked away.

  She smiled. “A bit twitchy, are we?”

  “No more than usual when you’re around.” He sucked on his finger as if she’d bitten clean through. “Do we have a deal?”

  “What kind of experiment?”

  He turned and strolled nonchalantly toward the waiting room, hands jiggling in his pockets as he ignored her question.

  She bounded after him. “I-said, what-kind-of-experiment?” she demanded, each word ground through clenched teeth.

  The annoyance in her tone obviously amused him. He stopped and chuckled, giving her a sideways glance. “A science experiment. To see if being nice would crack your face. You say something nice to me, I say something nice to you. What do ya think?”

  She shot him a glare that only made him grin. He reached into his pocket to produce the four additional rolls of Life Savers and bounced them in his hand.

  “So, you game? Think you can say something nice to me?”

  She tried to leave, but he blocked her with a hand to her arm and a lift of his brow. “One measly compliment, Katie Rose, and if Life Savers were money, you’d be a wealthy woman.”

  She studied him with a critical eye, deciding for the hundredth time that Cluny McGee was a cocky little brat who grated on her nerves. He had way too much confidence for a boy with a sunken chest and arms no bigger than a willow twig, and enough freckles to make you lose your train of thought. Sweet saints, she hated freckles! Her eyes shifted to the glittering treasure in his hands, shimmering like gold as he rolled them in his palm. Her gaze flicked up to the piercing blue eyes that glinted as if they could read her mind. She firmed her stance and lifted her chin. “One-measly-compliment,” she whispered, the very thought causing her stomach to turn. “Providing I can come up with anything. You’re no prize, you know.”

  A slow grin traveled his lips. He pocketed the candy with the same unwavering confidence that always got on her nerves. He crossed his arms and gave her a hard, penetrating stare. “Go ahead, then. Give it your best shot. And it’s gotta be sincere.”

  Her forehead puckered as she flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder. “Ask for the moon, why don’t you?”

  The corners of his mouth flickered before his eyes narrowed. “So, fake it.”

  She huffed out a sigh that sounded more like a groan and crossed her arms. Biting her lip, she assessed him through a critical eye, disregarding the messy, straw-colored hair that was almost white and the annoying freckles splattered across his face like mud shot. Her gaze shifted to his eyes and suddenly locked, drawn into their pale blue depths. She shivered and looked away, irritation nettling her nerves.

  “You’re cocky and obnoxious and I flat out don’t like you. But . . .” She swallowed hard to dispel the pride in her throat. “I suppose you have nice eyes.” She took a step back and thrust out her hand.

  He grinned, causing those very eyes to mock her. With a casual sweep in his pocket, he unearthed the prize for her humiliation and plopped them in her open palm. Without another word, he turned and ambled down the hall.

  A swell of irritation overtook her, and she grabbed his arm. “Wait, aren’t you going to say something nice about me?”

  He turned and grinned, the victory in those blue eyes as sure as the cocky tilt of his chin. “Sorry, Katie Rose. Ain’t enough candy in the world.”

  Katie blinked. Then cut loose with a kick in his shin that nearly doubled him at the knees.

  “Katie Rose? What the devil are you doing?” Patrick could hardly believe his own eyes. Was the dim lighting of the hall playing tricks, or had he just seen his eleven-year-old daughter haul off and kick Cluny? Sweet heaven, but she was a bully!

  Even in the dark, she turned more shades of red than he’d ever seen on her face before, and several more when the candy in her hand spilled to the floor. Cluny scooped them up faster than Patrick could blink and handed them back to Katie, who stood still as a rock.

  “Hello, Mr. O’Connor, it’s nice to see you again.” He pumped Patrick’s hand with all the ease of a politician, not a trace of embarrassment to be found on his face. “Not much has happened, far as we know. Charity’s been here since noon, but it’s really Mitch who looks like he should be admitted.”

  Patrick nodded, as astounded as Katie. “Thank you, Cluny, for the update. How’s your leg?”

  “Fine, sir. At least better than your daughter’s pride.” He grinned and swung out his arm, allowing them to go before him.

  Patrick latched a hand to Katie’s neck and led her down the hall, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder at the innocent look on Cluny’s face. A suspicion churned in his gut that for once his daughter might not bear the brunt of the blame. “Keep an eye on that one, Katie Rose,” he muttered under his breath, “I think he could be trouble.”

  “Father!” Faith rushed to give him a hug, and Marcy’s stomach jumped as always these days, whenever Patrick entered the room. He looked tired, his lids noticeably heavy over clear, gray eyes that still shone with a twinkle despite the fatigue in his face. There was a smattering of gray at the temple of his dark hair that only served to heighten his rugged good looks. Whether he knew it or not, the man still turned many a head. But none more than hers, especially lately, when he was so far out of reach. She smoothed out her skirt with hands far too sweaty for a forty-three-year-old grandmother, and watched as he cradled his girls, one under each arm. Something tugged at her heart. He was a wonderful father and would make an even better grandpa.

  “So, what’s the progress, eh?” He released the girls and bent to give her a stiff kiss, then turned quickly to shake Mitch’s hand. “It’s about time you see what it’s like with kids underfoot. How’s Charity?”

&n
bsp; “A nurse stuck her head out a few hours ago. Apparently our girl was getting a tad testy then, which was supposed to be a good sign, she said. I’d hoped we were getting close.”

  Patrick grinned. “Testy, eh? I believe that’s your trademark, isn’t it, Mitch? How you holding up?”

  “Well, I think Marcy may be close to having Collin hogtie and gag me with all the pacing and groaning I’ve been doing.”

  Patrick gave Marcy the perfunctory smile and took a seat on the bench across the way. His eyes flicked to hers. “A wee bit nervous, are we, Mrs. O’Connor? How’s it feel to be on this side of the wall?”

  Her smile was cautious but her gaze was not. “Worse, actually. At least in there, I knew what was happening. Out here, I’m shut out from someone I love, not knowing what’s going on when they need me the most.” She fought back a tremor with a lift of her chin. “That’s an awful thing, you know.”

  She saw a glimmer of grief in his eyes, and the muscles seized in her chest. For months he’d been nothing but a cold, steel wall, immune to her love. No caring, no grief. Only anger and ice. Her pulse began to race. Oh, God, are you bringing my husband back?

  He looked away and tapped his palms on his legs, then rose to his feet. “So, Collin, you and Faith plan on putting us through this exercise anytime soon?”

  Collin shot him a guarded look from where he lounged, back against the wall. “Don’t look at me, Patrick, it’s your daughter gumming up the works.”

  Faith’s mouth dropped open. “How can you say that? I want a baby as much as you.”

  “No, you say you want a baby as much as me, but you’re not focused on it.”

  “What?”

  Brady nudged, keeping his voice low. “Easy . . .”

  “You’re too focused on that silly job of yours.”

  Faith shot to her feet. “Silly job?”

  “Okay, maybe not silly, but it’s certainly not helping. You come home tired and spent, having given your all five days a week. That can’t be good for the process, you know.”

  “So now it’s a ‘process’? I’m nothing more than a means to an end?”

  Patrick clamped a hand to Faith’s arm and sat her back down on the bench. He tucked her firmly to his side with a chuckle meant to diffuse the tension. “Looks like I’m going to have to fire you, darlin’, if I want more grandchildren.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Collin muttered, ignoring Brady’s jab.

  Patrick patted Faith’s shoulder and kissed her head. “I think everyone’s a bit tired, given the emotional strain of the day.” He looked around. “Where’s Sean?”

  Marcy rose and buffed her arms. “Home in bed, sick. He was here most of the afternoon, but he was up all night with stomach problems, so I told him to go home.”

  “Anybody think to call Emma?” Patrick asked.

  Faith and Marcy exchanged blank looks. “Oh dear. And it’s too late now. With her schedule at the store, she’s in bed by nine.” Marcy eyed Steven, prone and snoring on a bench next to Katie, who was now yawning in Cluny’s face. “Patrick, maybe you need to take the children home. It could be late.”

  Collin jumped up. “No, you stay. Brady and I will take them home, then I’ll come right ba—”

  “Mr. Dennehy?”

  Mitch jerked around like he’d been shot. “Do we have a baby?”

  “Yes, sir, a healthy baby girl.”

  “And my wife?”

  The silence was deafening as the nurse scanned the anxious faces before her. “She seems to be fine, Mr. Dennehy. She’s still asleep, of course.”

  Air drained out of lungs collectively, and then Mitch hoisted Marcy high in the air. His laughter echoed in the sterile room. “Sweet God in heaven, thank you!”

  Marcy giggled and squeezed him tightly. “Congratulations, Mitch. I’m so happy for you both.”

  He spun around. “When can I see her? Both of them?”

  The nurse smiled. “It will be awhile yet, Mr. Dennehy, but we’ll call you.”

  “Hey, I’m an aunt!” Katie exclaimed. “What are you going to call her?”

  “Hope Marceline,” Mitch said, his voice gruff with emotion. “The first name in honor of Faith’s twin who was lost to polio and . . .” His gaze softened as it lighted on Marcy, “the second for a woman we happen to think is the perfect mother.”

  Marcy’s hand flew to her mouth. Tears swam in her eyes. “Oh, Mitch!”

  She jolted as Patrick touched her arm. “A beautiful name, Mitch. And no truer words.”

  Marcy shivered with joy, searching his face. “We’re grandparents, my love. A whole new world awaits.”

  He nodded, his eyes as misty as hers. “It does at that.”

  Lizzie squealed and gave Mitch a hug. “Oh, Mitch, a little girl! I’m so jealous. I can’t wait to have my own.”

  Patrick cleared his throat. “You can wait, darlin’, trust me. All in good time.”

  Collin slapped Mitch on the back. “Nice going, Dennehy. But it looks like I still have a shot at the first boy.”

  “Mr. Dennehy?”

  A sea of eyes singed the face of the nurse at the door. She hoisted her chin with a touch of rose in her cheeks. “I’m afraid we were a bit premature. You have a son.”

  Mitch blinked. “You mean instead of a daughter?”

  “No, I mean in addition to. You have twins.”

  Marcy stole a sideways peek as Patrick lifted Katie from the front seat. He hefted her high in his arms with a grunt, bestowing a gentle kiss to her forehead while she slumped against his chest. The poor thing had been so keyed up, she’d chattered most of the way home. Between her and Lizzie, Marcy hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise. And thank God, she thought to herself. The clip of her heart had rivaled the adrenaline pace of Katie’s banter, and Marcy was more than grateful for the buffer provided.

  She watched him circle around, undaunted by the dead weight in his arms, despite the fatigue she knew he must be feeling. She swallowed a deep breath and slipped out of the car, unlatching the back door to jostle Steven’s arm. “Come on, son, we’re home.” He didn’t move and she tugged, finally shifting him to his feet. He towered over her by a foot, but she braced his back with her small frame and followed Patrick and Lizzie into the house and up the stairs, each disappearing into the appropriate rooms.

  She made quick work of Steven, stripping off his shoes and clothes in no time, then wrestled a clean T-shirt over his head.

  “Did Charity have the baby?” Sean’s voice sounded groggy from across the room.

  “Oh yes! Two as a matter of fact, a boy and a girl.”

  “No kidding! Twins? Is she okay?”

  Marcy tucked the sheet in around Steven’s bed. “Yes, everyone’s doing fine, even Mitch. How are you feeling?”

  “The stomach’s still bubbling some, but better. At least I got some sleep.”

  She bent to kiss his forehead. “No fever, that’s good. Probably just a quick bug. I’d think about sleeping in tomorrow.”

  “Can’t. Too much to do.”

  She sighed and tucked in his sheet. “We’ll see. Good night.”

  She closed the door and glanced down the hall. Her bedroom was dark. Was Patrick inside? She pressed a calming hand to her stomach. Good heavens, she was acting like a love-struck school girl! She chewed on her lip and tiptoed into Katie and Lizzie’s room to give them a kiss. Both girls were already sound asleep. Clothes and shoes littered the floor. A faint smile tilted her lips. Oh, to sleep like that again!

  Her smile faded. She had once. Before Sam O’Rourke came to call.

  She shut their door and paused, her fingers hovering on the knob. Was that a light on downstairs? Her stomach tightened. No . . . please, he wasn’t . . .

  Her throat constricted as she moved to the landing, and her eyes spanned wide at the light streaming from the parlor. In a catch of her heart, she skittered down the steps like a little girl at Christmas, hands shaking when she finally reached the door. She bit her lip,
suddenly shy. “It’s almost midnight, Patrick. You must be exhausted. Are you . . . will you . . . come to bed?”

  He looked up from his paper, eyes limp pools of exhaustion. In fact, everything about him bespoke fatigue—heavy lids, sagging cheeks, drooping shoulders. As if he hadn’t slept in days. Or weeks. A mere husk of a man, except for one thing: the hard line of his jaw, now shadowed with a day’s growth of beard. He continued reading. “Not for a while. You’ll probably be asleep when I come up for my things.”

  She listed against the door. “Y-you’re leaving?”

  He glanced up. “You know that.”

  “But I thought . . . the babies . . . you and I . . .”

  He turned the page, his tone as steeled as his jaw. “Go to bed, Marcy. You need sleep.”

  She blinked, unable to fathom the depth of his coldness. She had done as he asked, left him alone for weeks on end. To sort out his thoughts and give him time. She had cried out to God and dealt with his rejection, praying with Mrs. Gerson to let it all go. “Keep your heart free of bitterness,” Christa had warned. And she had. Obedient to a fault, weeping and forgiving until she thought she would die. And now . . . he wanted her to go?

  Something deep inside snapped, defying all reason. With a low groan, she raised her fist and flew across the room, bludgeoning him with her rage. He leapt to his feet to ward her off, but she only struck harder, too blinded by tears to see the look on his face. “You want to leave? Well, then, go! And don’t come back!”

  He gripped her wrists and glanced at the door. “Stop it!” he hissed, “You’ll wake the children.”

  “Pretense,” she screamed, thrashing against his hold, “that’s all you care about. Well, I won’t live with it anymore, do you hear?”

  He forced her to the sofa and she bit his hand. He recoiled in shock, his anger congealing into cold fury. “Really? Well, I’ve lived with it for over twenty-six years.”

  For endless seconds, she couldn’t breathe. She started to shake, but forced her chin up in cold defiance. “No,” she whispered, her voice as steely as his. “That would be the next twenty-six.” She rose and turned her back then—on him and their marriage—moving to the door like someone he couldn’t possibly know. A stranger with head high and back stiff, hardened by the very bitterness she’d fought so hard to avoid. With cold deliberation, she mounted the steps, making her way to the room they no longer shared. In an effort to purge herself of him altogether, she collapsed on her bed, seeking solace in tears. She slammed her fist to his pillow.