A Passion Redeemed (22 page)

He blew out one final breath and closed his eyes. Sleep wasn't far behind.

The clock in the parlor chimed eleven. Charity had been home for almost an hour, yet she still sat in the kitchen with her coat on and her head on the table in the dark. The embers from the waning hearth fire occasionally popped, disrupting the silence that surrounded her. She lifted her head and pushed the hair from her eyes, blowing her nose on a handkerchief that now resembled a soggy dishrag. A halting whimper escaped her lips. He didn't care.

Why had she thought he had? Because he wanted her? She shivered. A bitter lesson to learn. "Wanting" wasn't "loving," apparently. Yes, she could arouse his body with no problem. But not his heart. She slouched over the table, elbow cocked and head in hand.

She groaned and jolted up, suddenly noticing the clean counter where stacks of dishes should have been waiting. Guilt slithered within. Not only had she made a fool of herself with Mitch, but she had disappointed her grandmother and Mima. Flitted off to do her own bidding, completely flaunting their wishes. And after Grandmother had slaved for hours to make a special Thanksgiving dinner just for her. Charity choked back a sob. She was a miserable creature. An ungrateful granddaughter and a selfish human being. She didn't deserve Mitch's love. Why would God even consider it?

She sniffed and dabbed the cold, wet handkerchief to her nose. Standing to her feet, she put a hand to her head and forced herself to think. Maybe she could turn over a new leaf. Perhaps make it up to her grandmother and Mima in the remaining three weeks. She could prepare all the meals, do all the dishes, let them know how very much she loved them. She stopped. In one halting breath, the reality of leaving Ireland struck hard, forcing fresh tears to her eyes. The sodden handkerchief flew to her mouth at a shocking realization: all her hopes had been pinned on marrying Mitch. On staying. Another broken sob issued forth as she collapsed into the chair, sick at the thought of leaving those she loved-Grandmother, Mima, Emma.

Mitch.

"Why, God? Why do you hate me?"

"You're the apple of his eye. "

She shivered. Did she believe it? Mitch did, and certainly Faith, and no doubt everyone else in her family. But did she? She looked up at the ceiling. "I want to believe it, I do. But I don't know if I can." She thought of returning home ... to a sister she'd betrayed, engaged to the man who'd jilted her, and a father who'd probably spurn her more than ever before. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Please, if you're real, help me. Make me know it ... that you love me, that I'm special ... like Faith. Whatever it takes."

She sniffed and opened her eyes. A strange calm settled inside. She cocked her head and looked up. "I know I haven't exactly followed your rules, but ... on the chance that you're real and I am the apple of your eye like Mitch says, can youwould you-make him fall in love with me? And if not" -she took a deep breath- "please help it not to hurt so much."

She stood and yawned, exhaustion taking its toll. She took off her coat and hooked it on the rack by the door. Three more weeks. How she wished she could return to Ireland after Christmas. But she knew Father would never allow it. Not unless ...

Rigan.

The thought jarred her awake. She'd lied to Mitch in the heat of her anger, telling him she was marrying Rigan. But what if she did? He had proposed, after all. And maybe, just maybe, it would make Mitch crazy like Rigan said, perhaps even driving him into her arms.

Charity started breathing hard, and adrenaline surged through her body. She paced the kitchen, her thoughts pumping faster than her pulse. What's the worst that could happen? She would be Mrs. Rigan Gallagher, wife of one of the wealthiest men in Dublin. She could buy Shaw's Emporium outright, expand it, grow it. She could stay in Dublin, take care of Grandmother and Mima and Emma. And in the end, Mitch would see what a success she'd become. He would regret ever turning her away.

She clapped her hands together, a throaty giggle gurgling in her chest.

Rigan.

The giggle died as quickly as it had come.

He loved her. If she married him, she would be his wife. In his bed. Surprisingly, the thought wasn't altogether objectionable. She knew for a fact that if Mitch hadn't been in the picture, she would have ended up there anyway. He was charming, fascinating, witty, and his kisses offered a pleasant diversion, almost a tingle, when he didn't try to force more. And, she could stay in Ireland!

She closed her eyes and lifted her head, hands clasped to her chest. Yes! A completely workable solution. A situation where she could win, no matter the outcome. She hugged herself tightly in the sanctuary of her grandmother's kitchen, not even feeling the chill of the room from embers long since faded. No, she had a plan to keep her warm. A plan to stay in Ireland. A plan to be married. And at the moment, it didn't really matter to whom.

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, THANKSGIVING, 1919

"Collin Timothy McGuire, you're cheating!" Faith arched her brows in a stern manner and tried not to laugh as she wrestled the wishbone from her fiance.

Fiance. The word sounded magical to her ears, even after a year to the day. Soon, at the ripe old age of twenty-two, she would be Collin's wife, a thought that never failed to bring a sense of wonder to her soul. The wishbone snapped, leaving nothing but a splintered fragment in her hand. She wrinkled her nose and wagged the pitiful sliver in his handsome face. "Unfair! Your hand's twice the size of mine and took up most of the bone. And you're stronger."

He grinned and brandished his piece for all the family to see. "Yes, I am." He placed it in the center of the table with great ceremony and leaned back in his chair, sporting a devilish gleam in his eye. "And don't ever forget it, Little Bit. Especially when you're my wife."

"There's still time to change my mind, you know." She pushed her chair in and flashed a smile around the table. "Who wants dessert?"

In the midst of the clamor for pie, Collin stood and pulled her close, his eyes smoldering. "But you're not going to change your mind, now are you?" he whispered.

Faith stared into the eyes of the man she'd loved since she was a child. The usual rush of warmth seeped through her body, shooting straight to her cheeks.

"Mama, Daddy, make 'em stop," Katie moaned, rolling her blue eyes in disgust as only an eight-year-old can.

"I think it's romantic," Beth said shyly, her cheeks tingeing pink as soon as she uttered the words.

"That's because you're fifteen and all you think about is falling in looovvve. I don't want any of that stuff in my life." Katie wrinkled her freckled nose in distaste and puckered her lips in the air, making obnoxious kissing sounds. Beth's cheeks bloomed bright red.

Patrick eyed his youngest daughter. "That's quite enough, Katie. Stop tormenting your sisters-"

"But, Daddy-"

"Or there won't be dessert in your life,' either." Patrick shot a weary look at Faith and Collin. "Thank goodness you two have only a month till the wedding. You act like you're married already, with all your sparring and mooning." He leaned back in the chair and unbuttoned his vest, then winked at his wife. "Woman, bring on the pie."

Marcy O'Connor gaped at her husband. "Patrick, you can't be serious. After three helpings of Thanksgiving dinner, you're still ready for more? Don't you think you should wait?"

"I'm ready too, Mama," Katie said. She clutched a fork and spoon tightly in each hand, her tiny elbows propped on the table.

"Me too," ten-year-old Steven echoed, his elfin features scrunched in a smirk.

Patrick grinned at his wife. "It's Thanksgiving, Marcy; we have a lot to be grateful for. Not the least of which are those fresh-baked pies in the kitchen." He picked up his spoon and fork to mimic Katie, a stern look on his ruddy face. His gray eyes narrowed to half closed, issuing a threat that reminded Faith of an older version of Collin. "I suggest you serve up the pie, Marceline, and soon. My gratitude-and my appetiteknow no bounds."

"Better do what he says, Mother. I want him in a good mood after dinner when I beat him at chess," Sean said, the tease in his eyes identical to his father's.

Marcy shook her head and laughed while Katie, Steven, and Beth giggled. "We do have a lot to be grateful for." Her smile turned wistful. "I just wish Charity, Mother, and Mima were here. I miss them."

Patrick cleared his throat. His tone softened. "Charity will be here soon enough, Marcy, and our family will be intact once again."

Faith slipped out of Collin's grasp and began to collect dirty dishes. She avoided her father's eyes. "She's definitely coming, then?" She stacked Collin's dirty plate on top of her own, absently working her lip.

"Absolutely," Patrick boomed, reaching for his water. He swallowed a large gulp, then thumped the empty glass on Marcy's lace tablecloth. "I told her in no uncertain terms we wanted her home by Christmas, no ifs, ands, or buts. Christmas-and your wedding-are family affairs. And she's part of this family, whether she likes it or not."

"Pumpkin or apple or both?" Marcy asked, rising to fetch dessert. She glanced at Faith's older brother. "Sean, I assume you want pumpkin with double whipped cream, as usual? And, Beth, apple for you?"

"Perfect, Mother," Sean said while Beth nodded.

Faith reached for her mother's empty plate and piled it on top of the stack in her hands. "Mother, I'll get dessert. You sit. A piece of each for everyone else?"

"I'll help," Collin said, rounding the table to collect dirty utensils.

"Two big pieces of each, if you please," Katie announced with authority.

Patrick's brow angled. "She'll have a sliver of each and save herself a bellyache."

"But, Daddy ... ," Katie began, her blue eyes prepared to do battle. She slapped a strand of white-blond hair over her shoulder as if to ready her stance.

"Or none at all," Patrick threatened.

Katie's rosebud mouth flattened in a tight line. A noisy sigh made it evident what she thought of her father's intervention.

Collin laughed and tapped Katie on the head as he passed. "If you cat like a pig when you're young, Katie girl, you'll look like a pig when you're old."

Katie's eyes narrowed to slits. "One father is quite enough, thank you very much."

Collin's laughter followed them into the kitchen. Faith unloaded the dishes into the sinkwhile Collin did the same. Standing on tiptoe, she reached to retrieve dessert plates from the cupboard, only to feel his strong arms circling her waist. She whirled around, a shaky smile on her lips. "We're supposed to be getting dessert."

His eyes shone with a dangerous glint. He fixed his gaze on her mouth. "I am," he whispered, then gently pressed her shoulders against the cupboard door.

Her heart skipped a beat while the heat of his touch emanated through her like the warmth of a crackling fire. She swa flowed hard, her breathing erratic as he moved closer. "Collin, the wait is almost ov-"

He cut her off with a brush of his lips against hers, gentle at first and then urgent as he gathered her into his arms. A soft moan escaped her lips when he nuzzled her neck. She pushed him away, pasting herself hard against the cupboard. "Collin ... be good!"

The slow smile turned wayward. "I thought I was."

He leaned in again. She blocked him with knuckle-white palms to rock-hard chest. "We're talking dessert here, and they'll send a posse if they don't get it soon. Now, behave!"

"Waiting for dessert is nothing compared to the wait I've endured." He reached up to trace her lips with his finger, his eyes searing hers.

Heat scalded her cheeks. "Collin Timothy McGuire, hush! You have been so good for almost a year now. What's gotten into you this last month?"

He heaved a heavy sigh and released her, his tone a near growl. "Blast it anyway, Faith, why did we let your father talk us into waiting this long?"

She touched her hand to his cheek. "You wanted to court me properly, if you recall. And get the printing business up and running, remember? Besides, it just made sense to tie it in with the holidays when Charity would be home."

Collin scowled. "But that was before I knew it would be this hard." He folded her into his arms and squeezed her in a tight hug, his cheek against her hair. "I'm a twenty-five-year-old, red-blooded American male. I love you, Faith, and I want all of you. Now!"