A Light in the Window (11 page)

“Now
that
I would like to see,” Bridget said with a wry smile. “Only with someone else’s daughter rather than mine, thank you very much. Half the mothers in the Southie neighborhood would owe a debt over that, you can be sure, including Mrs. O’Rourke.”

Draining her tea, Marcy rose to bestow a kiss to her mother’s head, suddenly exhausted as she carried her cup to the sink. “Me too,” she said with a yawn. She washed her cup and dried it, sending a tired smile over her shoulder. “Sam could use a touch of God in his life. Mrs. O’Rourke and her children are very devout, but Sam seems to be a bit of a black sheep, taking after his father at the same age, I think.”

Bridget chuckled. “Wolf in sheep’s clothing, you mean, black or otherwise.” She joined Marcy at the sink, rinsing her cup as well.

Marcy laughed. “Honestly, Mother, Sam’s not all that bad. Did you know he and Patrick volunteered on their own to help at the center
and
with the play?”

“Now why does that worry me?” Bridget’s lips took a wry twist.

“Because you’re a mother?” Marcy asked, hooking her mother’s waist to press a kiss to her cheek.

“A mother with a nose for trouble when it comes to her beautiful daughter,” she emphasized with a lift of her brows. She dried her cup and put it away, slipping Marcy a narrow gaze out of the corner of her eye. “And from where I’m sitting, neither of those boys smell all that good and a wee bit like a skunk.” Pulling the kettle from the boil, she turned to follow her daughter to the door. “And that’s a stink you’ll be wanting to avoid, Marceline.”

A weak laugh bubbled from Marcy’s lips, as tired and slap-happy as she. “Well, seeing I’m neither too fond of either skunks or rogues, I think it’s safe to say I plan to steer clear of both.”

Bridget doused the light and gave her daughter a warning squeeze. “Well, just see that you do, darlin’ girl,” she said with a crook of her mouth, “just see that you do.”

 
“Come again?” Sam stared at Patrick with eyes as wide as the gape of his mouth.

Patrick exhaled a weary sigh. It wasn’t even midnight, and Brannigan’s was in rare form, crawling with thirsty men—and in the realm of love—even thirstier women, flirting to their heart’s content. Particularly muggy for late summer, sweat gleamed on smiling faces as men coaxed and ladies teased, dancing, chatting or crooning to the tunes of
Tommy Thomkins while he caressed the keys of his battered piano. Patrick wrinkled his nose, the scent of stale whiskey and cheap perfume more potent than normal and surprisingly void of its usual thrill.

“Patrick!”
Sam shook Patrick’s arm, bringing him back to the crowded bar where a haze of smoke hung as thick as the fog in his mind.
He looped an arm over his best friend’s shoulders and bent to peer in his face, tone urgent. “Are you crazy? Colleen’s uncle is gone for the weekend, and Jenny is spending the night. And
you’re
going home?”

Crazy?
Apparently.
Patrick expelled another noisy breath, in total agreement with Sam that he had, indeed, lost his mind.
Or my heart.
He glanced at the privy door at the back of the bar where Colleen and Jenny had gone to “freshen up” before heading to Colleen’s uncle’s flat, then exhaled again. He was reluctant to admit to his best friend that for some strange reason, intimacies shared with Jenny no longer held any appeal.

Some strange reason?
Patrick grunted and tossed the rest of his beer to the back of his throat. Some strange girl, more likely, a holier-than-thou angel who had ruined his taste for other women. Pushing his mug away, he scrubbed his face with his hands, wanting nothing more at the moment than to just go home to bed—
alone
. He tossed payment for his tab on the bar and lumbered to his feet, slapping Sam on the back with an apology in his eyes. “Sorry, buddy, but I’m spent and so is my money.”

Sam cinched his arm, gaze flicking to where Colleen and Jenny were inching through the sea of patrons, heading their way. He turned back, dark eyes pleading. “Look, Patrick, we don’t get this opportunity all that often, and the girls are more than willing, so what’s your problem? I thought you liked Jenny?”

“I do,” Patrick said. He glanced her way, noting the blatant stares of other men as Jenny passed by. She sent a smile in Patrick’s direction and he returned it, scanning from her shapely shirtwaist to the soft curve of her hips as they swayed beneath a skirt that skimmed her body like every man longed to do. Except for him. His smile went flat. At least lately. He shook his head. “But not tonight, Sam—just not in the mood.”

“Not-in-the-mood?” Sam enunciated slowly, thick brows bunched in disbelief. He placed a palm to Patrick’s forehead, his shock evident in the rasp of his voice. “The chance of a lifetime and you’re
not
in the mood? That settles it, O’Connor—you’re sick, and I’m taking over even if I have to drag you all the way.”

Patrick laughed. “You would have to, Sam, because I’m exhausted. I worked three double shifts this week, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Sam said with grunt, “but that’s never stopped you before.”

“Ready?” Colleen appeared at Sam’s side and ruffled his dark curls, her brown eyes sparkling with tease. She tossed a loose strand of auburn hair over her shoulder with a pretty arch of brows, gaze flitting from Sam to Patrick.

Sam hooked Colleen close, making her giggle when he nibbled her ear. “I certainly am, but I’m afraid Patrick here is ‘not in the mood.’”

Patrick groaned. “Come on, Sam, I told you I’m just exhausted.”

“Not in the mood?” Jenny said with an innocent blink of blue eyes that was purely for show. She sidled up to Patrick and slipped her arms to his waist, lifting on tiptoe to graze his stubbled jaw with her lips. “Why, I take that as a personal challenge, Mr. O’Connor,” she whispered, the warm mold of her body racing his pulse. Hooking a hand to his neck, she pulled him down to weld her mouth with his, and Patrick groaned and finished the job with a kiss so deep, heat seared him head to toe. Blood pumping, he devoured her neck, sweeping away honey-hued curls to suckle her ear.

And then in one jagged breath, pale gold tendrils on an alabaster neck came to mind, and Patrick’s heart thudded to a cold stop. His lips stilled on Jenny’s ear, all desire suddenly as lukewarm as the dregs of beer at the bottom of his glass. Eyelids sinking closed, he stifled a groan before pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek. He pulled away, regret softening his gaze as he tenderly buffed her arms. “Jenny, as tempting as that kiss was, I have another double shift tomorrow and really need to head home.” He lifted her chin with his thumb. “Give me a rain check?”

“Come on, Patrick,” Sam said, “don’t leave the woman high and dry. One or two hours, and then you can head home for that sleep you so desperately need.”

“Sorry, Sam, but I guarantee after that last kiss, not only wouldn’t I be leaving in one or two hours, but I wouldn’t get any sleep.” He gave Jenny a wink, then cuffed Sam’s neck on his way to the door. “Good night, all,” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Fielding flirtations from various ladies on his way to the door, Patrick stepped outside and inhaled a deep draw of crisp air, glad to be free of the noise and smoke and temptation for which he suddenly had no stomach. Hands in his pockets, he vented his frustration with a noisy blast of air, head bowed as he absently made his way down the street.

“O’Connor!”

Patrick turned, a silent groan lodged in his throat when he saw Sam loping toward him, shadowed jaw as ominous as the dark glare of black eyes. He exhaled loudly, waiting for Sam to catch up while Brannigan’s music filtered down the near-empty street.

“What the devil is your problem tonight?” Sam snapped, chest huffing as he came to a stop, hands on his knees to catch his breath. “You not only ruined Jenny’s evening, you ruined mine.”

Slacking a hip, Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Come on, Sam, you’re a big boy. You don’t need me along to have a good time.”

“No, but we’re a team—it’s not the same without you.”

One side of Patrick’s smile crooked up. “Since when do you need me along to woo a woman, O’Rourke?” He slipped his hands in his pockets and started walking again, pinging a rock into a lamppost with his toe.

Sam fell in to step beside him with a scowl. “Since Colleen doesn’t cotton to Jenny being alone in the next room, listening to everything going on.” He kicked a stone of his own, sailing it half a block down the street until it ricocheted off a fire hydrant. “Thanks a lot for ruining a sure thing.”

“Just as well,” Patrick said with a squint at the sky, his thoughts melancholy as he studied the full moon. “Colleen and Jenny aren’t exactly the type of women we hope to marry someday.”

“Marry?” Sam’s voice almost cracked as it rose several octaves. “Bloomin’ saints, O’Connor, who’s talking about marriage? I’m talking about the needs of a red-blooded American male here, not ‘till death do us part.” He stared at Patrick’s profile. “What the devil’s gotten into you, anyway?”

Patrick delivered a sideways glance at his best friend, his gaze pensive. “You ever worry we won’t be able to find a decent girl to marry? You know, given our tainted reputations?”
 

Sam halted on the sidewalk. “
Tainted
reputations?” he said, tone incredulous. “Blue blistering blazes, we’re two of the most sought-after males in all of South Boston, hard workers both, slated to do well. You as a writer and then maybe editor at the
Herald
someday, and me as prosperous businessman.” He grunted and scooped up another pebble, lashing it down the cobblestone street. “Trust me, my friend, when the time comes, we’ll have our pick of decent girls and our ‘tainted’ reputations, as you call them, will have naught to say about it.”

A low chuckle parted from Patrick’s lips. “Trust
you?
” He slid his friend a crooked smile. “If all the Southie lasses and their mothers don’t, why should I?”

“Ah, but you’re the pretty-boy Lothario they really don’t trust. Me? I’m just your average side-partner along for the ride.” Sam’s teeth flashed in the glow of a flickering streetlamp. “But what a ride it’s been, old boy, at least until tonight.” He hooked an arm over Patrick’s shoulder. “Which leads me to my original question—what the blazes has gotten into you? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been paying too much heed to Father Fitz.”

No, not Father Fitz …
Patrick sighed, his smile fading along with his good mood. Waiting for a horse-drawn carriage to pass, he sprinted across the street along with Sam, sidestepping a pile of manure before resuming his slow pace on the other side. “I don’t know, sometimes I wonder if we’re being selfish, you know? Caring more about our own pleasure than the reputation of the women we meet.”

“What?” Sam stopped again, jaw dangling.

Patrick shot him a wry smile. “Don’t look so shocked, O’Rourke, you’re the one who threatens me within an inch of my life if I so much as glance your sister’s way. You go to great lengths to protect Julie from bums like us and yet neither of us bat an eye over taking advantage of other girls.”

Sam shook his head, hands loose on his hips. “It’s different with girls like Julie, and you know it. She’s a good girl who wouldn’t darken the door of a pub on a bet, but there are plenty of girls who do, and trust me—they’re there for the same reasons we are. Good grief, we’re men with needs and desires—it’s natural to crave the affections of women. Besides,” he said with an off-center grin. “Judging from our success, I’d say they like it as much as we do.”

“Not all of ‘em,” Patrick muttered. He jumped to swipe a hickory nut from an overhead limb and hurled the nut with so much force, it sounded like a gunshot against the wood gutter of a storefront.

“Well, that’s true—we’ve certainly dabbled with our share of prudes …” He paused, coming to a complete standstill as he gripped Patrick’s arm. “Wait a minute …” he said with a faint smile that slowly inched its way into a grin. “This is about Marcy, isn’t it?”

Patrick shook Sam off and kept walking, forcing his friend to follow with a low chuckle. “Well, what do you know?” There was a touch of awe in Sam’s voice. “The angel reforms the devil. I thought you said nothing happened when you walked her home.”

“I lied,” Patrick said, lips flat. “Something happened all right. She dislocated my jaw.”

Sam laughed outright. “No kidding?” He slapped Patrick on the back. “That could be the best news I’ve heard all night, old buddy. So, what happened?”

Patrick huffed out a sigh, hands back in his pockets. “I tried to charm her, but it didn’t work—she turned me down flat. Claims she wants a man with a deeper faith.”

Sam chuckled. “That would be three quarters of the sots at the soup kitchen.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly a choir boy, O’Rourke,” Patrick said with a tight edge to his tone. He sucked in a heavy dose of air, his spirits dampened considerably by the memory of Marcy’s rejection and his subsequent anger. “I lost my temper,” he said quietly, “and was stupid enough to force myself on her and she …” A muscle jerked in his throat. “Well, she hates me now.” He glanced over, giving Sam a listless smile. “Which means I struck out, O’Rourke, and you’re up to bat. There’s just one thing I ask.”

“And what’s that?” Sam studied Patrick with a cautious eye.

Patrick paused, pinning his best friend with a warning stare. “Treat her decently, Sam. She’s one of a kind, and I’ll not have you taking advantage of her.” The edge of his mouth crooked up. “Not that she’ll let you.”

Sam nodded, gaze dropping to the sidewalk. He hesitated for several moments before peering up, face somber. “I’m sorry, Patrick.”