A Passion Denied (6 page)

Lizzie nodded, her heart thumping in her chest.

“Good. So I’ve given my expertise, now Faith can give you hers. Ready?”

Faith grinned. “Finally—a battleground I feel comfortable with!” She closed her eyes. “Lord God, we thank you for our husbands . . . and potential husband in Brady. Help us to be the wives you want us to be. Give Mitch an overwhelming attraction for Charity, especially now when she needs it most. Give Charity wisdom in this situation, and please turn it around. And as far as Collin goes, Lord, I think he wants a baby really badly. We both do. So I’m putting that in your hands too. Psalm 113:9 says that you ‘make the barren woman abide in the house as a joyful mother of children.’ That’s what I’m asking, Lord. For me, Charity, and Lizzie. And speaking of Lizzie, we only want what you want. So if Brady’s not right for her, please heal her heart and bring the right man into her life. But if Brady is being stiff-necked and blind to the woman you have for him in Lizzie, we’re asking that you open his eyes. And if there are other barriers in the way, knock ’em down, Lord, like a tunnel of dominoes. Give Lizzie wisdom and patience in the process . . . and Brady a swift kick in the behind. Amen.”

Faith opened her eyes and grinned. “Get ready to say goodbye to Big Brother Brady, Lizzie. Something deep down inside tells me that man is history.”

“Lizzie O’Connor, it’s about time! God knows I’ve done everything I can to drag you into the modern era.” Millie sighed. “Including changing that goody-goody name of yours into something more hotsy-totsy. You’re lucky to have sisters like Faith and Charity. Meg wouldn’t do that for me.”

Lizzie grinned at her best friend, then turned to fiddle with the display of bestsellers in the window of the Bookends bookstore. She stood back to assess with a critical eye. “That’s because you don’t need any help, Millie. Frank already thinks of you as a woman.”

Millie’s throaty giggle brought a hint of warmth to Lizzie’s cheeks, confirming Lizzie’s statement, and then some. Millie tossed her head back in a saucy display of modern womanism and patted her boyish bob. Her square cut and short bangs were as scandalous as her scarlet lips and pencil-thin brows. She fluttered mascara-smudged lashes in a provocative way. “I’ll say he does, Lizzie, and if you’d just follow my advice, Brady would think the same of you.”

Lizzie gave her a lopsided smile. “I’m afraid Brady would think I’d lost my mind. He’s more of an old-fashioned type of man, Millie, and I don’t mind. To a point. But like my sisters say, Brady needs a jolt, and I fully intend to give it to him.”

“Attagirl, you’ll have that man carrying a torch for you in no time. Why, half the men who come in this shop have a crush on you. Brady must be half blind or way more religious than you say. What did your sisters say to do?”

Lizzie grinned and carried a hefty stack of bestsellers to a nearby table. She shot a quick glance at the front desk where Mr. Harvey was assisting a customer. Millie trotted behind, sporting a considerably smaller pile of books in her arms. Lizzie peeked up at her friend beneath sweeping lashes bereft of mascara. She blushed. “They said I have to get him to kiss me.”

Millie whooped, and Mr. Harvey looked up with a frown. It was Millie’s turn to blush, rare color flooding her powdered cheeks. Her demeanor sobered considerably as she quickly helped Lizzie arrange the books into an attractive display. “That had to be Charity’s idea. That woman is a regular Mata Hari.”

Lizzie lowered her eyes, aware of Mr. Harvey’s intense scrutiny. She bit back a smile and focused hard on the task at hand. “Yes, it’s always been a talent of hers, it seems. So between Faith’s prayers and Charity’s skill with men, I hope I can turn Brady’s head.” She sighed and straightened the price placard in front of the books. “But I don’t know if I can do it. Just the thought of kissing that man leaves me weak in the knees.”

Millie chuckled and put the finishing touches on the display by fanning out several books in front of the exhibit. “You can do it. Just pretend it’s a scene in a play like you did last year in drama class. You were wonderful, as I recall. A real live wire.” She grinned. “Unlike the way you actually live your life.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Millie chanced a peek at Mr. Harvey to make sure he was still occupied with a customer. “But I have high hopes for you, Lizzie O’Connor. On the outside you’re this shy, demure little thing, but on the inside there’s all this passion and drama just itching to get out. Just like story time with the kids—you fairly sizzle with excitement and stimulation. Unfortunately, when it comes to men, you’re a real sad case.” She wiggled her brows and grinned. “Almost eighteen and never been kissed.”

Lizzie propped her hands on her hips. “Have to! Must I remind you that Tom Weston cornered me on the back staircase at your party last year?”

Millie folded her arms and arched a brow. “Did you kiss him back?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then you haven’t been kissed. And for the love of Mike, I still don’t know how anyone could not kiss Tom Weston back. That man is the bee’s knees. Is he still calling?”

Lizzie wandered to the back of the store to set up for story hour, with Millie close on her heels. She sighed as thoughts of Tom Weston dampened her mood. “Every month, like clockwork. Charity calls him Plan C.”

“Sometimes I think you’re a bit balmy. If Tom Weston looked at me, I’d say, ‘Frank who?’ ” Millie stopped in her tracks, her eyes as wide as her gaping mouth. “What do you mean ‘Plan C’?”

Lizzie bent over to arrange a number of small, brightly colored chairs into a perfectly formed semicircle. “If Plan A doesn’t work.”

Millie nodded and plucked several books off a shelf. She held them up. “Which one? Fairy tale or adventure? Oh, I see. Plan A being the kiss? What’s Plan B?”

Lizzie puckered her brows and studied the books, then snatched the fairy tale. “Kissing him, instead. But I’m hoping and praying there won’t be a need for a Plan B
or
C.” The bell over the door jangled and she looked up, smiling at several children and mothers who entered the shop. She glanced at her watch. “Goodness, they’re coming in early today. Could be a crowd.”

Millie rolled her eyes. “Correction. Will be a crowd. Children and men—you have an uncanny knack for drawing them both, including Tom Weston. All, that is, except John Morrison Brady. I’d hold on to Plan C, Lizzie, if I were you. I think you’re going to need it.”

Lizzie scowled. “Maybe not.”

Millie chuckled and headed for the front of the store, shooting a wicked grin over her shoulder. “Fairy tales, my friend. You read them so well. And live them even better.”

3

Sweet saints in heaven, surely the scores of romantic novels she’d read should have prepared her for this! Lizzie made her way down the stairs with all the confidence of a woman with a wart on her nose. Instead of the happily-ever-after glow of a love-struck heroine, she was stuck with sweaty palms and a tiny belch bubbling in her chest—not attractive features for a woman who hoped to sweep a man off his feet. A man far more adept than she at giving love the brush.

The belch threatened, and she stifled it with a shaky hand to her mouth. Maybe she couldn’t do this. After all, she was merely Beth O’Connor, the shy and quiet bookworm of the family. Not Charity with her seductive charm or even Faith with her spitfire spunk that seemed to draw Collin like a moth to flame.

She stopped for a split second at the foot of the stairs and sucked in a deep breath, fully aware of Charity’s hand pressed firmly at the small of her back. No, she
could
do this! Charity was right. Sweet Beth was gone, and dangerous Lizzie was here to stay, hopefully to threaten John Brady’s emotional health considerably.

And thanks to Millie and Charity, she did
look
different, she supposed. And she was starting to feel different too. Apparently years of timid longing had finally erupted into flashing eyes and a backbone of steel. A smile flickered on her lips at the thought of Brady’s face when she had lost her temper at the shop. In all the years she’d known him, she’d barely ever raised her voice above a whisper. She’d been too in awe. But whether Brady knew it or not, he was no longer dealing with that same shy little girl. She was a modern woman now, in love and tired of waiting for him to notice. She hoisted her chin, determined to take on the challenge.

Lizzie forged through the kitchen door and stopped cold. Warmth braised her cheeks at her family’s response: Mitch gaped. Collin and her brother Sean whistled. Faith and her mother gasped. And Katie’s ecstatic shriek rounded out the reception.

“Lizzie, you’re gorgeous!” ten-year-old Katie gushed.

Charity prodded Lizzie from behind. “Thank you, Katie. She does clean up nicely, doesn’t she?”

Faith bounded up from the table to give Lizzie a squeeze. “Saints alive, Lizzie, look at you!” She pulled away and grinned at Charity. “You did it. Had my doubts that you could make her any prettier than she already is, but obviously I underestimated you.
Again!
”

Mitch leaned back against the counter and chuckled, ginger ale in hand. “A fatal error, I’ve learned.”

Charity arched a brow in his direction. “Took you long enough.”

He fixed her with a smoldering gaze while slowly sipping his drink, the passion in his eyes clearly undaunted by a year and a half of marriage. His eyes flicked back to Lizzie. “Katie’s right. You do look gorgeous.”

“Thanks. I just hope Brady thinks so.”

Charity sauntered over to Mitch’s side. He hooked her waist and kissed the top of her head. She grinned at Collin. “So, what’s the verdict? You think your partner will notice?”

Collin shook his head and sank back in his chair. The soft glow from the brass chandelier overhead accentuated the slow grin that traveled his lips. He slashed an X in the middle box of a game of Tic-Tac-Toe he was playing with Katie. “I think the poor guy will never know what hit him, Lizzie. You’re beautiful.”

Lizzie bit her lip and whirled around to diffuse the nervousness she felt, causing the handkerchief-style hem of her blue silk dress to flare just a touch. Charity had insisted that she wear the matching T-strap heels that Millie had talked her into buying. They lent at least two inches to her already long-legged height, making her feel a bit more “womanly” than she was used to. When she’d said as much to Charity, her sister had winked and told her if she wanted to convince Brady she was a woman, she would have to “think sultry.” Lizzie drew in a deep breath, careful not to press her sweaty palms to the stylish dropped-waist, which had easily glided over her slim hips. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced nervously at her mother, a bit self-conscious about the hint of cleavage afforded by the pretty scoop neck of her dress. “What do you think, Mother?”

Marcy O’Connor put a hand to her mouth, barely obscuring the smile on her lips. “I’d say you’re definitely grown up, and if Brady doesn’t realize that soon, he’s going to be too late.”

“It would serve him right,” Charity said, burrowing deeper into Mitch’s hold. “But we’re going to try and spare him that pain, aren’t we, Lizzie?”

“I just hope I can remember everything you taught me.”

Mitch pulled back to eye his wife. “And just exactly what are you teaching her?”

“How to win his heart.” Charity said with a secret smile.

He hiked a brow. “Like you won mine?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” She broke free and hurried to take the pot of steaming potatoes out of her mother’s hands.

Mitch stared her down. “Yeah, but I didn’t like it. Scheming is no way to win a man’s heart.”

“Oh really?” Charity grinned and rubbed her swollen belly.

“Well, suppose you tell that to your unborn child who wouldn’t be here without it.”

A hint of a smile played on his mouth. “Even so, you shouldn’t be involved. This is between Lizzie and Brady.”

Lizzie looked up from the icebox with a pitcher of milk in her hands. “But that’s just it, Mitch. Brady refuses to see me as anything but his little sister. And I love him. What am I supposed to do? Forget him? Even though I know deep down we were meant for each other?”

Charity turned at the sink and gave Mitch a pointed look. “Sound familiar?”

“I say forget him, Lizzie. Boys are saps.” Katie began tapping on the piece of paper, intent on beating Collin at a new game of Connect-the-Dots.

“Hey, who you calling ‘saps’?” Collin shot her a narrow look. “I don’t see any females playing word games with you. Besides, you’re only ten. What do you know?”

“Eleven in a few weeks. And enough to know I’ll never let some sap boy steal my heart like Lizzie has, even if it is Brady.”

“You’ll eat those words someday, Katie Rose,” Collin said, tweaking the long, blond pigtail trailing her shoulder.

Katie scrunched a freckled nose. “Everybody knows you can’t eat words.”

“Oh yes you can,” Charity said. “Ask Mitch.”

Faith chuckled. “Oooo, good one!” She grinned at her brother-in-law. “Tasted a little bitter, did they now, Mr. Dennehy?”

Mitch grinned as he seared Charity with a heated look. “Not as bitter as those my wife will be tasting after we get home.”