A Passion Most Pure (37 page)

Once during dessert, he'd taken her hand to softly kiss it. "That's just to let you know," he whispered, "that I find spending time with you far more delectable than any dessert on Duffy's menu." Heat surged, causing her to quickly slip her hand from his. She wondered if he knew the effect he had on her, and suspected he did from the dangerous look in his eyes.

"Mitch," she whispered, "there's something we need to discuss."

He spooned a bite of dessert, then laid his utensil down, taking her hands in his. "Yes?"

She'd found it difficult finding the right words, but he waited patiently, fully attentive as he absently stroked the inside of her palms. The heat of his touch alarmed her, and she jerked her hands free to bury them in her lap. "Mitch, I ... I enjoy your company, I do. And I hope we can go on ... enjoying each other's company. But I have, well, convictions." Her hand flitted to the side of her plate, where her finger slowly traced its edge. She dropped her gaze to her half-eaten pie. "I hope you understand what I'm saying," she continued, cheeks stinging. "I'd very much like to keep our relationship ... well, you know ... friendly."

"Friendly," he repeated. She nodded. He reached for her hand and stared with lidded eyes while he brushed her fingers with his lips. A hot blush broiled her cheeks. She snatched them away.

"Yes, friendly! Which means, Mr. Dennehy, I refuse to get into this ..."

"Into what?" he asked calmly.

Her chin jerked up. "You know exactly what, Mitch Dennehy."

"No, I don't," he said. "By this do you mean a relationship with your supervisor, or dinner with a friend ... or enjoying the favors of a man you're attracted to?"

The heat he ignited converged to her cheeks. "The last one," she snapped, "although the first is coming in a close second."

A brittle laugh escaped his lips as he hunkered back in the booth and folded his arms. "Okay, Faith, I do know what you're talking about. So, what are you telling me? We can see each other, but hands off? I can't touch you or kiss you? What?"

She hesitated before answering, his sudden mood giving her pause. "Mitch, please understand, my faith means the world to me. I have every intention of saving my ... well, my affections ... for the man I marry. I want to see you, I do. But I can't indulge in 'favors,' as you put it, because they're wrong. That means if you and I are going to have a relationship, I need you to know I mean what I say. We can occasionally kiss, Mitch, but when I say no, the kissing is over. And if it isn't, the relationship is."

He stared as if she had just flicked food in his face, and she could only imagine the thoughts whirling in his head. Here she was, barely a woman at twenty years of age, dictating what he could and could not do. Without a word, he pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and poured another glass of wine with the other. He downed a third of it before answering. His lips hardened to rock.

"Pretty presumptuous, aren't ya, Faith? I mean, you're assuming I want a relationship with you." He let that sink in, seeming satisfied when she sucked in a breath. He continued, glass twirling in hand as he relaxed against the booth. "But I don't think it would be too long before you broke your own rules. It only took one kiss to see the attraction between us. You know what I think? I think you'd relent, not me."

She flinched at the sting of his words. "You couldn't be more wrong. The man I love made that mistake. Do you really think you could get away with it?"

His smile cracked. "The man ... you love? You're in love with someone else?"

"Yes," she said, her voice a hiss as she seized her purse in her fist. "I don't even know why I'm discussing this with you. You obviously don't take me seriously. I want to go home." She started to rise, but he reached to pull her back down. His blue eyes congealed to gray.

"You're not leaving, Faith, we need to talk." He pinned her arm to the table and leaned forward. "Who the blazes are you in love with?" he demanded, suddenly in one of his stormy moods.

"It's none of your business," she whispered, her eyes flitting to the other patrons in the room. "The only reason I mentioned it at all is because I want you to know I mean what I say. The choice is yours, Mitch." A nerve twittered in her cheek as she elevated her chin in defiance. She was sick of this, first with Collin, now with him. Somewhere there had to be a man who cared enough to respect her wishes. If Mitch Dennehy wasn't it, then good riddance.

For several seconds, he remained silent, his face livid as he stared her down. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked away. His tone was sharp. "Okay, Faith, you win." He faced her, his lips pressed into a mulish bent. "I want to see you, it's as simple as that. But there's a part of me so mad I want to tell you to take a flying leap. And maybe I will after we see each other a while. But for now, I guess, it's on your terms."

On the drive home, he'd been considerably subdued, but Faith felt as if a great burden had been lifted. "Mitch," she whispered at the door, "it's been a wonderful evening. Thank you so much." She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. "See you Monday, Mr. Dennehy."

He nodded, a half-smile shading his lips as she closed the door. She caught her breath as his hand wedged in to block it. "O'Connor, you owe me an explanation. Not tonight, but soon."

"About what?" she asked.

"This character you're in love with."

"I will, Mitch, soon."

"And one more thing. If we start seeing each other-it better be me."

Marcy sat in the kitchen with Patrick's letter spread on the table before her, reading it for the sixth time. It was too early to be up, what with it being Saturday, but she couldn't sleep, at least not well, a symptom that coincided with the arrival of his letter earlier that week.

He sounded good, even though she could read the loneliness between the lines, and she detected a note of pride in his comments at how the army had shaped him up. He was stronger and leaner than when they had met, he claimed. The thought brought a rush of warmth to her cheeks and a desperate longing to her soul.

His days consisted of nothing but training, a fact most comforting to her. He'd made a number of good friends with whom he spent what free time they were allowed. But he missed her terribly, he wrote, insisting he was only a shell of his former self, going through the motions until he could return to her once again.

Marcy sighed and looked out the window, barely seeing the beauty of Bridget's winter garden, now bathed in the first shimmer of dawn. She managed to maintain a degree of contentment here in Ireland, one that, at times, bordered on happiness as she grew close to both her mother and Mima, whose health actually seemed to be improving. Their Christmas, though hauntingly lonely without Patrick, Sean, and Collin, was pleasant enough, she supposed. The children seemed to understand nothing was the same these days, not even Christmas, and she was grateful they took it all in stride. All but Katie, of course, whose appetite for Christmas was second to none. "Why aren't Daddy and Sean and Collin here, Mama?" she asked, quite put off that Santa had refused her primary request.

"They can't, chicken. They're far away and wouldn't have the time to get here. But, we'll have Christmas together next year, I hope." Marcy had been relieved when Katie suddenly turned her attention to annoying Steven instead.

But the arrival of Patrick's letter only served to unearth the true depth of sadness she felt at his absence, and the malaise it inflicted was heavy, indeed. Marcy wiped the wetness from her eyes as she rested her head on the pages he'd written. A new year had begun, and for the first time in over twenty-two years, it had begun without him. "Oh Lord, I can't bear to think how long it might be before I see him again. Patrick's only been gone not quite three months, and already I miss him so. Please strengthen me, Lord, and strengthen him."

Marcy was weeping quietly when Faith entered the room and knelt beside her to wrap her arms around her mother. At her touch, Marcy looked up, trying to smile as she wiped the tears from her face. "Oh, Faith! It's so early. What are you doing up?"

"I think a better question is why are you crying, Mother?" Faith glanced at the letter on the table, and for a moment, a look of panic flickered in her eyes. "Is something wrong with Father or Sean?"

Marcy laughed and wiped her face with her apron. "No, Faith, there's nothing wrong. This is just the letter your father sent a few days ago. I like reading it, that's all."

Faith lowered herself into the chair and gently touched her mother's arm. "You miss him terribly, don't you?"

Marcy nodded, and fresh tears sprang to her eyes.

"Me too, Mother. But the time is coming, I know it, when we'll all be together again."

Marcy patted her hand. "I know, dear. Just this morning I read in my missal that 'God keeps in perfect peace those whose mind are stayed on him, because they trust in him."' Marcy sighed. "I do trust him, Faith, but sometimes I'm afraid the peace seems anything but perfect."

Faith's smile twisted. "I think the 'perfect' part belongs to him, Mother, not us."

"I suppose." Marcy's tone was reflective as she stared at Patrick's letter. Suddenly, she looked up and grabbed her daughter's hand. "My goodness, I never even asked how last night went! Tell me, did you have fun?"

Before Faith even uttered a word, Marcy saw the glow in her eyes. She laughed and squeezed Faith's hand. "I just knew it! You like him, don't you?"

"I'm afraid I do. I never expected this, honestly I didn't."

"Where did you go?"

"He took me to this wonderful little pub called Duffy's, just around the corner from the Times, and we ate and talked, about anything and everything. He's Catholic, of course, and would you believe he actually has a spiritual side? He's so smart and funny and-"

"Handsome?"

Faith rolled her eyes, and Marcy chuckled. "Oh, Mother, you can't believe how much. It's been absolute murder trying to concentrate at work with him around. But, of course, I never let on. And, apparently, he's been feeling pretty much the same way. So here we are."

"And, where is that, exactly?"

"Well, seeing each other, of course." A hint of a frown shadowed Faith's face.

Marcy's brow shot up. "What?"

"Well, the down side, I suppose, is the fact that Mitch is my supervisor and that could certainly be awkward at work. And then, of course, there's the age thing ..."

It was Marcy's turn to frown. "The age thing? Exactly how much 'age thing' is there?"

Faith jumped up to pour herself a cup of coffee. "Would you like a refill?"

"No, thank you, dear. How old is he, Faith?"

Faith stood at the counter, her back to Marcy as she stirred the cream in her coffee. "Thirty-four," she whispered.

"Thirty-four?" Marcy stammered, struggling with this new information.

Faith rushed to the table and knelt beside her mother. "Mother, I know he's older than me-"

"Older? Saints alive, Faith, he's only five years younger than your own father!"

Faith sat down and reached for her mother's hand. "I know, don't you think I haven't thought about that? I never dreamed something like this might happen. But I care about him, I do. Being with him last night was the first time I could finally believe I would be free from Collin. Mitch touches a chord in me, Mother, a chord I thought only Collin could."

Marcy glanced up, uneasiness gnawing her stomach. "With an older man like that, it's not the 'chord' that worries me."

Faith blushed. "I already set the ground rules, Mother, trust me."

Marcy wasn't convinced. "I do, Faith. But a man with as much experience with women as I'm sure he has, it just concerns me, that's all."

"He seems different, Mother, older, wiser than most men I've met. Oh, he was pretty put off when I told him that any kind of ... well, overt affection ... was out of the question."

"You told him that?"

Faith seemed hurt. "Of course I did. You know how I feel about that. And he didn't like it one bit, I can tell you that. But he came around."

"You think he means it?"

Faith looked up, considering the question carefully before answering. "I do. Mrs. Gerson told me she had a feeling something good was going to happen for me in Ireland. I think this might be it."

Marcy hugged her, her eyes misting up once again. "Oh, Faith, wouldn't that be something now? So, when do we get to meet Mr. Wonderful?"

Faith laughed. "Soon enough. But first, I have to get used to it myself. This has taken me by surprise, you know."

"You! I just found out my daughter's interested in a man almost twice her age!"

Faith grinned. "Yes, almost twice as old, but who knows? Maybe he'll make me twice as happy."

"I just wish your father were here," Marcy lamented. "He'd have something to say about it, I'm sure." A shiver skipped down Marcy's spine at what Patrick might have to say about such a development. "Of course, I'm not all that certain you'd want to hear what your father would have to say. I think perhaps in this situation, God knew what he was doing."

Faith nodded, then smiled. "Yes, I think so. Just hope I do."