A Passion Redeemed (62 page)

"This is it, Lord, I'm ready to move on. Who knows, maybe Brady is the one. I'm praying that you will show me if he is, and soon. But first, please set me free from the pain of losing Mitch, and bless him and Kathleen with a rich, full life. Amen."

She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it, tears pricking her eyes. Yes, she still loved Mitch. Probably always would. But along with it, God had deposited something newglimmers of hope and peace and joy. A single tear trailed down her cheek to settle in the crook of her mouth, salty on her tongue. She smiled. The taste of it released a surge of joy like an adrenaline rush. How had she gone a lifetime without knowing God's love? Feeling it to the depth of her soul, like now? With it, everything in life-her family's love, her friendships, her dreams-felt so much deeper, more intensified, as if everything were three-dimensional. She swiped at a tear and chuckled. It was, she supposed. Just like she hoped her marriage would be someday, God willing. A three-dimensional romance: the woman, the man, and the God who brings them together.

She bowed her head. "Lord, thank you for being so patient with me, for loving me despite the sin in my life, and for saving me. Help me to be the woman you want me to be-the daughter, the sister, the friend, and eventually, I hope, the wife. I know there's still a lot of work to be done-my temper, my strong will-but I have faith you can do it. I trust you and I love you with all of my heart. Amen."

She opened her eyes and sighed, feeling much lighter. With a sparkle in her eye, she slipped on the blouse and skirt, pleased with the way it accentuated her figure. Mr. Dillon WhateverHis-Name would have trouble keeping the conversation on journalism tonight, if she had anything to say about it. And if he left her as cold as the last six men that had darkened her door, well then, she would just march right over to Mr. John Morrison Brady's apartment and give him an eyeful, whether he was "ready" for it or not. She chuckled. If he was fighting falling in love with her now, just wait until she put her mind to it! She grinned at the ceiling. "Just give me the word, God, that's all I need."

She unpinned her hair and grabbed the hairbrush, bending over to stroke until her scalp tingled. She flipped her hair back over her head and watched it tumble over her shoulders like pale gold. With a hand to her hip and a lift to her brow, she gave the mirror a come-hither smile.

John Morrison Brady, you don't have a prayer.

Emma knocked and peeked in the door. Her eyes went wide. "Lord have mercy, Charity, you look amazing."

Charity giggled. "Thank you, Emma. I have to admit, it feels good to take an interest again. I think I may be turning a corner."

Emma grinned. "Me too. I just got a look at Mr. Dillon C. Harris of New York. He's almost as pretty as you."

Charity scrunched her nose. "Doesn't matter. I'm thinking of setting my cap for Brady."

Emma laughed. "After all this time? I thought you two were just friends."

Charity spun in the mirror, taking one last look. "We are, but that may be about to change. I'm praying about it." She wriggled into her pumps and gave Emma a nervous twirl. "So, do I really look okay?"

"Gorgeous, my friend. And I'm sure Mr. Harris of New York will be spellbound. See you downstairs. He's in the parlor with your father."

Charity put a hand to her chest and glanced at the clock. "Already? It's not even six."

Emma giggled. "I think he may be the eager type. Wait till he gets a load of you, my friend. He hasn't experienced 'eager' until tonight." She turned to go, then whirled around. "Oh, almost forgot. Your mother asked me to have you bring her silver candlesticks down when you come. She said you knew where they were."

Charity shook her head and followed Emma out the door. "As much as she uses them, you'd think she'd keep them downstairs. But she has this notion that someone might steal them, so she buries them at the back of her closet."

Emma turned on the stairs. "No!"

Charity grinned. "Yes! My trusting mother."

Emma laughed and continued down. "A healthy distrust, probably developed after the birth of her third daughter."

"Very funny. You're starting to fit right in, which is not necessarily a good thing."

Charity hummed on her way to her parents' room and dug the box of candlesticks out of her mother's closet, lugging them against her chest. She cocked her head to the side so she could see where she was going and took one step at a time, then set the box on the foyer table. She drew in a deep breath, pushed her shoulders back, and strode into the parlor.

A tall, dark-haired man with penetrating gray eyes stood to his feet. A dimple appeared on either side of his smile, reminding her of Collin.

"Charity, you made it down, I see. This is Collin's cousin from New York, Mr. Dillon C. Harris. Dillon, this is my daughter, Charity O'Connor."

Dillon C. Harris grinned and extended a hand, which Charity shook, noting the firm hold. "It's a real pleasure to finally meet you, Charity. Your father has told me a lot about you. Unfortunately, none of it prepared me for this."

She smiled and tilted her head, enjoying the flirtation. "What's that, Mr. Harris?"

His gaze was bold, and his lips formed a smile that told her he was a man of experience. "Call me Dillon, please. Why, the depth of your beauty, of course."

A blush heated her cheeks and she looked away, feeling off her game for the first time in her life. Being with Brady had required none of this, and she feared she was woefully out of practice. "Why, thank you, Dillon. You're very kind."

"I'm afraid kindness has nothing to do with it whatsoever, Miss O'Connor."

She blushed again and glanced at her father. "I'd better get Mother's candlesticks to her or we may starve. See you in a bit."

She whirled around and made a beeline for the box on the foyer table, then released a shaky breath. Dear Lord, she certainly hoped Mr. Dillon C. Harris didn't throw a wrench into her plans. Maybe he was a bore. She smiled and picked up the box, thrusting it to her chest. With a bounce in her stride, she hefted it high against the kitchen door and pushed through, cocking her head sideways to watch her step. "Well, he did it, Mother. Brought another prospect home for his pitiful daughter."

"Two," he said, his tone casual as he rose from the table. His tall frame unfolded to fill the kitchen, obliterating anything in her vision but him. "He brought two."

The door swung closed behind her in a swish of cool air. The box in her hands crashed to the floor. Everything stopped-her breathing, her heart, her brain-until she finally blinked. Then her hand flew to her mouth with a faint cry.

"Excuse me, Mitch," Marcy said with a giddy whisper, "but I think Emma and I will see to our other guest." They hurried from the room, retrieving the candlesticks, but leaving the box scattered on the floor.

A faint smile hovered on his lips as he took a step forward, as if waiting for her reaction. "You don't do well with the element of surprise, do you, Charity?"

She backed up against the counter, stumbling over the empty box. "What are you doing here?" she breathed. Her pulse was skyrocketing.

He took another step. "Applying for a job. Assistant editor for the Boston Herald. Ever hear of it?"

She rubbed her skirt to wipe the sweat from her hands. Her voice was a mere rasp. "B-but I ... thought Dillon. . ." She waved a trembling hand toward the door.

He cocked a brow and kept moving, closing the distance between them. The clean line of his jaw was firm-a man on a mission, barely six feet away. "Nah. I think I may have the edge. I'm going to marry the editor's daughter."

The blood drained from her face and she braced a hand to the counter. "But I thought ... six months ago ... you ... Kathleen. Where is she?" With a nervous thrust, she rammed her thumb to her mouth and bit hard on the nail.

He glanced at his watch, his towering frame a mere five feet away. "Well, right about now, I'd say she's tucking her little girl into bed."

She blinked. Her chest heaved as he took another step. "What?"

The blue eyes locked on hers with all the precision of a man who knew what he wanted. "She broke the engagement. A day before the wedding. Said I should marry the woman I love."

She chewed on another nail. Somewhere inside a little bubble of joy floated to her throat, pushing a shaky grin to her lips. "She has a little girl?"

'Yep.-

Four feet away.

"Ended up marrying a pressman at the Times whose wife died of the Spanish flu three years ago. Seems he's had a crush on Kathleen for a while, but was too shy to act on it. After she broke our engagement, he didn't waste any time. His fouryear-old is crazy about her."

Three feet.

Charity started to hyperventilate, her breathing as ragged as her nails. She butted hard against the counter, gouging her spine. "That's wonderful."

Two feet.

"No," Mitch whispered, caging her in, "this is wonderful." With a heated look, he held her face in his hands and took his time with slow, deliberate kisses. Her forehead. Her cheek. The curve of her chin.

The breath in her throat refused to comply, dispelling in hoarse, jagged breaths.

"I love you, Charity," he whispered. "I was a fool."

She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of his lips on her lids. They moved to the soft lobe of her ear, and heat shivered through her. A faint moan escaped her, and he captured it with his mouth, caressing her lips with his own until the heat began to build.

She lunged away, her breathing erratic. "Six months? You think you can just waltz in here, Mitch Dennehy, and I'll swoon in your arms? Is that it? The last time I saw you, you were dead-set on marrying another woman." She shoved him hard with both hands, fury rising within. You spurned me, you called me a whore!" She darted away, moving across the room to distance herself. Her insides quivered as she backed against the sink, hands gripped white on the counter. The heat in her eyes collided with the heat in her body, filling her with confusion. Dear God, she wanted to pop him ... as much as she wanted to kiss him! How dare he presume he could have her back, scot-free?

He turned. The smile faded on his face. "Charity, I'm sorry. At the time, it was the only thing I could do to keep you away. I was committed to Kathleen." He swallowed hard. "I hurt her before. I vowed I wouldn't hurt her again."

His words barbed her, chasing all reason from her mind. "So you chose to wound me instead, cutting me to the core?"

The muscles in his throat shifted. "I didn't mean it. I love you."

Her brows jutted high. "You love me? And I'm supposed to believe that? You wouldn't even be here now if Kathleen hadn't thrown you over."

Ruddiness bled up the back of his neck. "No, I wouldn't. But God intervened." His lips pressed white as he took a step forward. "Let me make it up to you, please. I want to take care of you, protect you. Always. You were right, Charity. We belong together."

The nerve of him! Putting her off for years, when she'd known they were meant for each other all along. Oh, she wanted to throttle him! Her hand shot up in the air. "Hold it right there, buster. I have a full life without you. I have my family, an endless stream of suitors hand-picked by my father, and an amazing friend named Brady, with whom," she emphasized with steel in her tone, "I just may fall in love."

Mitch's jaw shifted, and the color drained from his face. He strode toward her with fire in his eyes. "You're not falling in love with anybody. You're already in love with me."

"Don't you dare come any closer!" Her hand flailed behind for something to throw. She gripped the edge of a small bowl and hurled it. He grunted in shock as it ricocheted off his chest and crashed to his feet. She stared in horror. So did he-down at his crisp, white shirt where a trail of Marcy's cranberry sauce oozed and plopped to the floor.

His gaze slowly rose. The muscles in his face were sculpted tight. "Feel better?"

The door flew open. "What in sweet saints is going on?" Marcy stood on the threshold, hand plastered against the door. Her eyes went wide. "Dear Lord, what happened?"

Mitch's searing stare never left Charity's face. "Mrs. O'Connor, your daughter is a spoiled brat who needs a strong hand."

Charity slammed her hands on her hips and glared. "Oh, and I suppose you think you're just the man for the job?"

He gave her a look that burned. "I might be. In fact, you can count on it."

Marcy grabbed the dishrag. "Oh, stop it, you two! You're acting like children, and I'll not have you ruin dinner." She marched over to Mitch and slapped the soggy rag against his shirt, brushing away pieces of cranberry pulp. She shoved him toward the door. "Now you get into that parlor, Mitch Dennehy, and herd everyone into the dining room, do you hear? And tell Emma and Beth I need them both-now! We all could do with a bit of food in our stomachs."

Mitch mumbled something under his breath and stalked from the room. The door whooshed hard behind him.

Marcy whirled around. "Charity Katherine O'Connor! Have you lost your mind? What has gotten into you?"

Charity put a hand to her mouth and sagged against the sink. The knot of anger in her stomach slowly dissolved into fear. "I don't know, Mother."

"You've been pining over that man for well over a year, and worrying your father and I sick in the process. For pity's sake, I thought you were in love!"

"I am," she whispered.

Marcy folded her arms. "You're in for a lifetime of heartache, young lady, if this is how you intend to show it."

Charity closed her eyes. A sick feeling bubbled in her stomach. "Heaven help me, Mother, I didn't even know I had any anger toward the man. It must have been buried deep. All that grief and loss and missing he put me through." Her eyes flickered open. "And then suddenly here he is, and I'm supposed to collapse into his arms? Well, it's not that easy."

Marcy moved to Charity's side. "Charity, you have to forgive him. As stubborn as both of you are, if you two are going to make a life together, mercy will have to be a key staple in your pantry."

Charity rested her head on her mother's shoulder and sighed. "I know. And I will. He just took me by surprise, that's all. All that pain and hurt just came welling up." She pulled away to retrieve the broom. Her lips twisted as she swept the sticky glass and goo into a pile. "But the man has no tact whatsoever. He actually admitted he's only here now because Kathleen threw him over."