A Hope Undaunted (39 page)

His friend. Pain seared through his chest, and he closed his eyes. Could he? Lay down his life – the “life” he had hoped to have? The woman he wanted . . . as his wife, by his side, in his bed? Love her enough to be her friend and nothing more? He sucked in a harsh breath and opened his eyes.
God help
me, can I really love her that much?

He saw her then, in his mind’s eye, a stubborn sprig of a girl, feisty and funny and so full of dreams, it made his heart ache. And that’s when the truth struck – a realization as brutal and sharp as the pain in his throat.

Katie O’Connor would be his friend till the end of his days.

And somebody else’s wife.

She hated to admit it, but Katie was grateful Father insisted she stay home tonight. The sound of katydids and crickets buzzed outside the dining room window while a pleasant mid-September breeze infused the room with the earthy scent of grass and mulch recently dampened by rain. Despite the Indian summer, she could smell the hint of fall in the air, and she expelled a silent sigh as she took another sip of lemonade. How she wished summer could go on forever! Or at least this night, she thought with a glance around the table. Who would have thought a game of Pinochle could be so much fun? And yet, here she was, her stomach aching from laughter and her heart warmed by the presence of people she loved.

Maybe it was seeing Gabe so happy, giggling and huddling close to Luke’s chair on a stool of her own. Or the gloat on Luke’s face, rivaled only by Sean’s, who tallied their points as Betty and Parker looked on. Katie took another sip of her drink, warmed by the crooked grin on her brother’s handsome face. It was a rare occasion, indeed, to spend time with Sean since he’d moved out of the house four years ago, and she suddenly realized just how much she had missed him. As the eldest O’Connor, he had always provided a buffer between her and Steven, his ready humor and easy manner the perfect foil to Steven’s brooding and her own demanding ways.

And, she thought with a secretive smile, he apparently did wonders for Luke as well. She watched as the two shook hands and noted that Luke’s hardened mood over their coerced friendship last week was nowhere in sight. He was the old Luke once again with teasing quips and unwavering self-assurance, and Katie was greatly relieved. There were glimmers of the boy he used to be in the twinkle of his blue eyes, and she marveled that she was finally friends with this pain from her past, a boy she had vowed to hate.

“You know, McGee, we’d like you a whole lot better if you didn’t gloat quite so much,” Betty said with a roll of her eyes.

Luke’s grin was positively annoying . . . and classic Cluny McGee. “Come on, Bets, this isn’t gloating, it’s sheer joy and celebration of my mental triumph over Parker.”

Her hazel eyes narrowed. “So we all suffer because Parker beats you at chess?”

“Yes,” Parker said with a veer of his lips. “The man’s ego is attached to every game he plays, which is why he always challenges me to basketball after I annihilate him at chess.”

Sean glanced up as he shuffled the cards. “Chess, huh? Have you played my father?”

Parker’s grin was sheepish and definitely more humble than Luke’s. “Afraid so, which explains why I’ve been banned to the dining room for Pinochle.”

Sean chuckled. “Good to know – I’ll put off asking him for that loan I had in mind.” The blue of his eyes sparkled with humor as he offered Katie the cut of the deck. “Patrick O’Connor doesn’t lose well, you know – a trait he passed on to this one over here.”

Katie gulped her lemonade and jutted her chin. “Hey, Mr. I-Don’t-Care-If-the-Sky-Is-Falling – can I help it if I like to win?” She parted the deck with focused precision and gave him a superior smile. “Besides, I’ve only won one game, but you don’t hear me whining, do you?”

He picked up the cards and gave her a quick squeeze at the back of her neck. “That’s because you’re not concentrating, Sweet Pea. Your head’s in the clouds, probably over Jack.” He shuffled the cards a final time, then began to deal. “By the way, where is Jack tonight?”

Katie’s gaze flitted to Luke, then back to her brother. “Out with the gang. Poker’s his game, not Pinochle.”

“His loss,” Betty said. She folded her arms on the table and gave Sean a curious look. “So, what do you do for a living, Sean?”

An easy smile curved the corners of his mouth as he divvied out the cards. “I manage the second Kelly’s Hardware store on Lancaster Street. Not as glamorous as these two legal minds here, I’ll grant you, but if you’re looking for the right pliers to fix a leaky toilet, I’m your man.”

A gleam lit Betty’s hazel eyes as she took a sip of her lemonade. “Mmm . . . do you make house calls?”

Sean’s eyes rallied with a twinkle of his own as he studied her, his smile as easy as his manner. “Well, I can’t say that I do, but I guess there’s always a first time.”

Katie rose to her feet with a grin. “Mmm . . . maybe before we start another game, we ought to cool off with more lemonade.” She pinched Sean’s shoulder and headed for the kitchen.

Plucking several lemons from a basket on the counter, Katie reached for a knife from the drawer and commenced to cutting. She grinned, thinking of Betty’s flirtation with Sean. At thirty-three years of age, her brother could certainly use a woman in his life, although Katie knew that was the last thing he wanted. Still, Betty was a beautiful girl, and Sean was a man, after all. Humming softly to herself, she cut the last lemon clean through.

“Katie?”

She whirled around with a tiny squeak, fingers gripped tight on the knife in her hand.

Luke grinned, and his steady gaze sent a familiar rush of heat to her cheeks. “Uh, with that knife in your hand, I’d like to remind you we agreed to be friends.”

She sagged against the counter, palm to her chest, and gave him a wobbly smile. “You scared the daylights out of me, Luke McGee, friend or no.” She wagged the knife in a tease. “I suggest you keep your distance.”

“Well . . . that’s why I’m here, as a matter of fact,” he said slowly, the smile vanishing from his lips. He took a step forward, eyes intent. “Katie, I . . .” He paused, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling again while his fingers chafed the back of his neck. “I . . . I owe you an apology for not keeping my distance at the BCAS. It was unprofessional, uncalled for, and totally unfair to both you and me. I regret it more than I can say.”

She blinked, the air suddenly thick in her throat.

Averting his gaze to the floor, he buried his hands in his pockets and continued. “I regret the attraction, I really do, as well as the damage it did to our friendship. And I want you to know . . .” He looked up then, his eyes as earnest as she’d ever seen. “It will never happen again. I want you to feel at ease with me, Katie, not on edge because of anything . . . stupid . . . that I’ve done.”

A lump bobbed in her throat.

“So please know that I’m praying for you and Jack, that God will bless you with the marriage you need, and I’m praying for myself too. That you and I can become good friends. You know, like Betty and me?” A smile finally tilted the far edges of his mouth and his voice took on that little-boy drawl from his past. She smiled when one blond brow edged up, just shifting toward cocky. “Friendship with women seems to be something I’m good at, I guess. Like Pinochle.”

Her smile faded to soft. “That’s because you’re the best there is, Luke McGee, bar none. I never want to lose your friendship.”

He smiled, then reached for the empty pitcher and strolled to the icebox to fill it with ice. The annoying grin was back in play as he shot a glance over his shoulder. “You won’t lose my friendship, Katie Rose,” he said with a smirk, “but you
will
lose at Pinochle.” He gave her a half-lidded smile that assured her she was in trouble, then winked. “And that, my good friend, is a money-back guarantee.”

Marcy dabbed perfume behind each ear and then to the hollow of her throat. She stared into the bathroom mirror with a tremulous smile. Adjusting the thin straps of her new satin nightgown, she drew in a deep breath, feeling every bit a young girl on a first date. A hint of rose crept into her cheeks as she thought of Patrick lying spread-eagle on their bed, eyes closed and muscled arms relaxed at his sides. And probably half asleep.

But not for long.

She smiled again and turned out the light, hurrying down the hall to their room. She eased the door closed and glanced at their bed, adrenaline skittering through her. Patrick O’Connor was a handsome man, but never more so to Marcy than now. Suddenly, in the last few weeks, she’d felt so alive and so young, her energies rekindled like the strike of a match. Since Gabe had come, it was as if her life was finally back on track once again. She had children that needed her, a husband that wanted her, and a houseful of laughter one floor below. Her sigh was pure contentment as she slipped into bed, on top of the sheets next to Patrick.

“Are you asleep?” she whispered, one arm tucked to his waist.

“Mmm,” he muttered and rolled on his side. “Good night, Marcy.”

She stared at his back, surprise parting her lips. Scooting close, she trailed her nails down the muscled curve of his arm. “Are you tired?” she asked, punctuating her words with soft kisses to his shoulder blade.

No answer.

“Patrick?”

“Go to sleep, Marcy.”

The hiss of his tone was like a slap to her face. She jolted up in bed, anger sharpening her mood. “I don’t want to go to sleep, I want to talk.”

“I said go to bed, I’m in no mood to talk.”

She gripped his shoulder and jerked him flat on his back. Fear tightened her stomach. “Oh, no – you’re not doing this again, shutting me out with your coldness.” A shade of hysteria crept in. “You swore, Patrick, after that time that Sam came to call – you promised you’d never hurt me like that again.”

She stared at his face in the moonlight, and saw the hardest of rock, chiseled in anger. A nerve pulsed along the stiff line of his jaw, and his chest expanded as he sucked in a calming breath. “I’m sorry if you think I’ve been cold, but don’t pretend you don’t know why.”

“I . . . don’t know why,” she whispered, and the half-truth weighted uneasy on her tongue.

He pushed up on one arm, bicep bulging from the effort. His voice was cool. “We all make ‘promises’ we don’t keep, darlin’, like the one you made to me regarding Gabe.”

She swallowed hard to clear the guilt from her throat. “What do you mean?”

One brow jagged high. “Where is she right now?”

Marcy avoided his eyes. “Downstairs.”

Patrick lashed around to snatch the alarm clock from the nightstand. He held it up, lips in a tight line. “And what time is it?”

Marcy peeked up at the clock. “Almost midnight.”

“That’s right, an hour beyond when that girl should be in bed.”

“But, Patrick, it’s Friday night, and Luke is here with all her friends.”

He reached for his pillow and stabbed it with a few hard jabs. “Which is why I allowed her to stay up past nine. But, Marcy, you knew I wanted her upstairs with us, in bed by eleven, but apparently what I want doesn’t matter a whit to you anymore.”

“That’s not true – ”

“No?” He shoved the pillow hard against the headboard. “Since that girl has arrived in this house, you’ve defied me at every turn, spoiling her like you’ve spoiled Katie and Steven.”

Her breath caught in her throat, colliding with anger. “I do
not
spoil Katie and Steven, or Gabe! You’re far too stubborn a man to let me have the final say in this house, and you know it.”

“Only because I refuse to see our children ruined. But in the process, I am the ogre, the monster who doesn’t love them quite as much as their mother.”

“You’re being ridiculous! Why don’t you go down there right now and yank her upstairs if your authority is so abused?”

“Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you, now? Then I would be the villain once again, and you sail through unscathed.” He leveled a stiff finger in her direction. “Mark my words, Marcy, things are going to change or you will have a villain as a husband as well as a father.”

The breath seized in her lungs. “Don’t you dare threaten me – ”