A Passion Redeemed (28 page)

Mitch pounded his fist on the table. "Yes. Are you happy?"

Mima's jaw of rock matched his. "No, I'm not happy. I've got a precious great-granddaughter lying upstairs, beat to a bloody pulp because you're too blasted thick to know a good thing when you see it."

"It's not that easy, Mima." Mitch stood to his feet, hands clenched.

"Do you love her or not?"

"Blast it, I told you I did."

"Then marry her."

He groaned and groped his fingers through his hair. "I can't."

"Why? Are you a coward?"

He glared. "It's more complicated than that."

"So is life, but we manage." She wilted against the table, leaning on it for support. "Do you know what I think? I think you've never forgiven her for taking Faith away from you. But Faith was only yours for a season. I think you're missing the whole point, along with the woman that God may actually have for you." She turned. "Bridget, this young man has worn me out. Can you see me back to bed, please?"

Mitch stepped forward. "Mima-"

"Thank you for coming. I'm sorry I lost my temper. Goodbye."

Bridget helped Mima to her feet, casting a contrite look in Mitch's direction. "Come along, Mother. We're all under a lot of stress right now. Mitch, stay where you are. We need to talk." She glanced at Emma who sat quietly at the table, her eyes saucers of shock. "Emma, would you mind brewing another pot of coffee, please? I think we'll need it."

Bridget ushered Mima from the room, and Mitch strode to the coffee pot, wrenching it from the warming plate. "I'll make it, Emma."

She was by his side in a heartbeat, gently wresting the pot from his hands. "No, please, sit. I've had time to get used to all this. You haven't."

He released the pot, his energy suddenly ebbing away. He nodded and dropped in his chair, staring at the uneaten muffin next to his cup. He took a bite.

Bridget breezed back in the room and sat down next to him. "Good, you're eating. You probably go to work every day with nothing in your stomach, don't you?"

He continued chewing, ignoring her comment.

She laid her hand on his arm. "Mitch, Mima loves you. We all do. And we're all pretty upset, so don't take her temper to heart. We've got bigger problems to solve."

He swallowed the muffin. "Okay. What do you need me to do?"

She shifted in the chair and glanced up to smile at Emma, who quietly joined them at the table. She returned her focus to Mitch. "Charity needs to go back to Boston. Immediately."

Mitch sat up, his eyes locked on hers. "I couldn't agree more."

"But she's too weak to travel alone, and I can't leave Mima."

"And she needs someone strong. Someone who can assist, carry her around, or I would go," Emma whispered.

Mitch glanced her way, then back at Bridget. "You want me to take her?"

They nodded in unison.

He scowled and jumped up from the table to pluck the boiling coffee off the stove. "Is this some diabolical plan to get the two of us together?"

Emma and Bridget traded looks. Bridget fidgeted with her fingers while Mitch poured her fresh coffee. "Not entirely, Mitch. There is another reason. A more important one."

He put the pot back on the stove and returned to the table, stretching his legs out while he sipped the steaming brew. He eyed her over the rim of his cup. "And what might that be?"

Bridget drew in a deep breath. "She says she won't go. That we can't make her."

He grunted. "Oh, we'll make her all right."

"That's just it. We can't, but you can. She'd have no recourse if you just swept her up in your arms and carried her off to that ship. How can she fight you with a broken arm and leg?"

"And a sprained wrist," Emma said.

Bridget's eyes were hopeful. "She would have no choice."

He sipped his coffee slowly, studying the muffin crumbs on the table as he listened. "Why doesn't she want to leave? Because of me?"

"Partly, I'm sure, but not all ..."

He looked up, sensing the hesitation in her tone. "What else?"

Bridget chewed on her lip, flexing her clasped hands on the table. Her voice was so low he had to lean in to hear it. "I have a suspicion that Rigan may have threatened her."

"What?"

Her worried gaze flicked to his face. "When I told her I was sending her home, she panicked, saying she couldn't leave, ever."

He leaned his arms on the table, his gaze glued to hers. "Maybe she meant because she didn't want to leave ... because of you, Mima, and Emma."

Bridget gnawed on her lip. "Maybe, but I don't think so. When I told her she could just go for the holidays and return later, she seemed frantic, saying she couldn't risk it."

Mitch grabbed his coffee. "She could mean risking her father not letting her return."

Bridget swiveled in the chair to face him. "No, something inside tells me it's more than that. I have this sick feeling that Rigan may have threatened harming Mima or Emma or me if Charity left." She shivered, as if warding off a cold chill. "All I know is that he pushed the ring in my hand that night and told me in no uncertain terms that he and Charity would be married."

Mitch slapped his cup on the table and hissed something under his breath. "Over my dead body," he said. "And his."

Bridget touched his hand. "So you see, Mitch, you're the only one I can ask to see her safely home. Will you do it?"

He stared hard at the cup in his hands several seconds before answering. He finally put it down. "Yes."

Emma jumped up from her chair and threw her arms around his shoulders from behind. "Oh, Mitch, I was so frightened you wouldn't do it. Thank you so much!"

He grunted. "I'm not the ogre Charity's convinced you I am."

Emma giggled and sat back down. "Ogre? No, I think thickheaded' was the word she used, wasn't it, Bridge?"

Bridget smiled and patted his hand. "Several times, as I recall." Her smile faded. "Tell me, Mitch, will it be a problem to get away from the paper with all that's going on in Dublin?"

"It will be for my editor, but he'll get by."

Bridget's brows wedged up in concern. "But I don't want you losing your job."

Mitch gulped the rest of his coffee and shoved the cup away. He slanted back in his chair and sighed, closing his eyes to massage his temples. Several seconds passed before he opened them again. When he did, he flashed them a devious smile. "I wouldn't worry if I were you, Bridget. When I'm done with Rigan Gallagher, I won't have a job to lose."

Michael Reardon jerked his desk drawer open and groped for the aspirin. He hurled four to the back of his throat and washed them down with cold coffee.

Mitch gave him a wry smile. "You know, that can't be good for you, all that aspirin."

Beads of sweat started to gleam on Michael's bald spot. "Neither are you, but I keep you around. What the devil do you mean you've got bad news?"

Mitch sailed a piece of paper at him and plopped in a chair. He leaned back, hands hanging limp off the armrests.

"What's this?" Michael snapped the paper up and began to read. His bushy brows bunched up thick and dark, like a threatening thundercloud. "What the devil are you doing? Have you lost your mind?"

"Nope. But I'm about to lose my job, so I figured I'd save you the trouble."

Michael wadded the paper and chucked it in the waste can. "You're an idiot. Consider it denied."

"You can't deny a resignation, Michael. I quit. You have no say in it whatsoever. This is merely a courtesy."

Michael shot up from his chair. He shoved his shirtsleeves up and leveled beefy palms on his desk. Mitch could feel the blast of his ire. "Courtesy? My best editor sashays through that door to quit in the throes of one of the bloodiest times we've seen, and you call it courtesy? I call it courtesy that I don't lunge across this desk and rip the hairs off your chest."

Mitch couldn't help it. He grinned. "Ouch! Come on, Michael, 'sashays'? You can accuse me of a lot of things, but I don't sashay."

A swear word sizzled the air as Michael snatched the pencil tucked behind his ear and hurled it at him.

With a quick duck, Mitch released a low whistle. "You're taking this better than I thought."

"You think this is funny? How about when I drop over from a heart attack? Will that be funny too?"

"I'm sorry, Michael. And, no, I don't think this is funny. It's just that if I don't retain some humor, I'm gonna blow like you've never seen before."

Dropping into his chair, Michael cuffed the back of his firered neck with his stubby hand and grunted. "What the devil is going on?"

Mitch blew out his constrained tension in one long, heavy breath and propped his elbows on Michael's desk. He scrubbed his face with his hands. "I'm quitting so you won't have to fire me."

Michael leaned forward and gritted his teeth. "And why would I do that?"

"Because when I leave here today, I am going to hunt Rigan Gallagher down and beat him to a bloody pulp. Literally."

Michael shot up again. "Blast you, Mitch, why do you have to go looking for trouble?"

Mitch stood and stared Michael down. "Because right now, Faith's sister is lying half dead in a bed with a broken arm and leg, a sprained wrist, a possible concussion, and more black bruises than a crate of four-month-old bananas."

His editor blinked and slumped back in the chair. "Curse the swine, is she okay?"

"No, she's not okay. That cowardly lowlife terrorized her. He beat her silly and God knows what else." Mitch started pacing.

"Is she gonna press charges? Go after the scum?" Michael pawed his sweaty forehead.

Mitch stopped, one brow jerking up. "Press charges? Against a Gallagher? Oh, wouldn't that be rich. A poor shop girl against Gallagher's millions. Do you have any idea how they would crucify her?"

He nodded and reached into his back pocket for his handkerchief. "You're right. I wasn't thinking." He mopped the back of his neck. "But can't you just threaten him? Old man Gallagher likes you. If you just chew Rigan out, you might not lose your job."

"No, Michael. I should have done this a long time ago, but I didn't." Mitch sighed and stared past his editor. "I'm not going to make that mistake again."

"There must be another way. Talk to Mr. Gallagher, tell him what happened. Maybe he'll deal with Rigan on his own."

"No, this is my fight, and I'm going to finish it. Besides, Faith's grandmother asked me to take Charity back to Boston and I agreed. We leave in a few days. I'll be gone at least two weeks. Maybe more."

"Then make it a leave of absence. I'll talk to Mr. Gallagher, try to fix it with him." Michael leaned forward, his eyes pleading. "You're not gonna kill the lowlife, are ya?"

Mitch's lips twisted. -1 don't know, Michael. I have a lot of pent-up rage."

"No, you've got more brains than temper, although not by much." Michael exhaled and collapsed in his chair. "So, it's settled. You're on a leave of absence. Period. Make sure you see me the minute you get back in town. In the meantime, think Jamie's up to filling in?"

"Yeah, Jamie's your man." Mitch shifted uncomfortably, his hands propped on the back of the chair. He took a deep breath and pulled an envelope from his suitcoat. "I guess this is it, then. Mind breaking the news to Jamie and Bridie after I leave, and then the rest of my group? And will you give this letter to Kathleen?"

Michael nodded.

"Thanks." Mitch dropped the sealed envelope on the desk and headed toward the door, his stomach in knots. Facing Bridie, Jamie, and Kathleen right now was more than he could handle. He was about to do something rash, and he didn't want them trying to talk him out of it. As for Kathleen, he'd been unfair to her in the past. He wouldn't ask her to wait. The last thing he wanted was to string her along with false hope. But maybe just maybe-when he came back, they could start fresh.

"Mitch."

He paused and turned, his hand on the knob. "Yeah?"

"Don't let that maggot kick your butt, ya hear? I want to do it myself when ya get back."

He forced a grin. "In your dreams, old man." He closed Michael's door behind him and glanced across the newsroom. Jamie was lounging with his feet on his desk, probably laughing at one of Bridie's off-color remarks. Even from this distance, Mitch could see the blush on Kathleen's face. A spasm jerked in his cheek. This was going to be tough.

He strode by and flicked Jamie's feet off as he passed. "Jamie, there's a list on my desk a mile long of things I need you to do. I'm leaving early." He strode in his office and snatched his coat off the hook.

Bridie glanced at her watch. "But, it's only two. What about that budget for Michael?"

Mitch scooped a stack of papers off his desk and tossed them on Bridie's. "Done. All it needs is your fine-tuning, Mrs. O'Halloran." He wrestled his coat on. "Kathleen, Bridie, Jamie's going to need your help. I'm taking a few days off."

"But where are you going?" Bridie lunged to her feet.

He started for the door, glancing over his shoulder. "None of your business. Good night."

Her voice trailed him out the door. "Well, have fun, you tyrant. We'll be here pounding the keys and carrying your load."