Cara O'Shea's Return (4 page)

“Nice.” His quiet murmur made her bristle.

She gave him a tight smile and turned away, pretending interest in Erin’s ongoing discussion of her wedding centerpieces.

When Cara eventually joined Mary and Shan at the table, her father still hadn’t appeared. She began to relax as the meal was served, laughing along with everyone else at the barbed jibes and teasing toasts for the engaged couple, until a flash of tension dimmed her mother’s eyes. Knowing what she would find, she followed Mary’s gaze.

Tom O’Shea spoke quietly to Ryan’s father at the far edge of the patio. Erin joined them, greeting Tom with a tight hug. Cara laid her hand over Mary’s. Across the table, Shan smiled tightly and shrugged her shoulders. She followed her boys as they raced off to greet grandpa.

Cara remained where she was.

Unfortunately, all too soon, Ryan’s mother called for the members of the wedding party to line up for a quick rehearsal. Cara stood and sent Mary a forced smile. Shan stepped to Cara’s side and linked their arms, crossing the lawn to where the others gathered.

“She’s okay.”

Cara tossed a glance over her shoulder at Mary. “She doesn’t look okay.”

Shan sighed. “It’s just the wedding atmosphere stirring up memories. She and Daddy worked things out a long time ago.”

In her head, Cara knew what Shan said was true, but her heart didn’t understand. Mary, Erin, and Shan had all forgiven Tom for what he’d done and had pressed her to do the same over the years. It was an old argument, one bound to come up with increased frequency now that she was back in town. She knew they all considered today a first step toward healing the rift between her and her father, but she just wanted to get the uncomfortable meeting over with.

Shan squeezed her arm as they approached the gathered members of the wedding party. Erin waited with Tom at her side. While her sister’s smile was pleading, Tom’s was hopeful.

“Hello, Daddy.” Cara’s reluctant greeting came out stilted.

“Cara mine.”

Seemingly unfazed by the coolness of her greeting, he gathered her to his broad chest, holding her tight even when she didn’t return his embrace. She turned her head, her arms hanging limply at her sides, and met the intense gaze of Finn several feet away. She flushed with embarrassment and dropped her gaze. Tom pressed a kiss to the top of her head, releasing her only when she forced the issue by stepping back.

She could have kissed the Espizitto’s pastor when he cleared his throat and began instructing everyone on their responsibilities in the proceedings, beginning with Tom. She heaved a cleansing breath when he reluctantly turned away.

Unfortunately, her relief was short lived. The members of the party began to pair up according to their place in the procession. Finn appeared at her side. He offered her his arm and with her nerves stretched to the breaking point, she accepted, linking hers through his.

They spent the next twenty minutes running through the process twice. A round of applause and laughter went up when Ryan kissed his future bride. Cara waited until the party members began wandering off toward their tables to make her excuses to leave to a disappointed Erin and Ryan, then slipped back to her table to hug Mary, Shan and the boys. Avoiding Tom where he stood with several men under a towering oak, she made her way through the tables toward the side gate.

“Running away?” Finn’s deep, softly challenging voice brought her feet to a hesitant stop. She turned chilled eyes on him where he sat with a quiet, watchful Maive.

“Simply calling it a night.”

A single black brow arched in response. She lifted her chin, daring him to call her a liar.

“Leave the girl be, boy. She’s no coward. She’s just confused.”

Maive’s wise blue eyes held compassionate understanding. Cara longed to say something easy and carefree, and put a lie to Maive’s truth, but she couldn’t seem to make her mouth work. Instead, she swallowed convulsively on the sudden desire to weep.

Finn frowned and pushed back his chair as if to rise. Maive forestalled him with a gnarled hand on his forearm.

“Come by Monday morning, Cara O’Shea. We’ll sign those papers.”

Cara nodded, and did exactly what Michael Finnegan accused her of doing. She ran.

A ferocious thunderstorm blew through town an hour before the wedding service, leaving the day sweltering hot and steamy. The fan cooling system in the church was no match for the oppressive heat, and by the time the newlyweds signed the marriage certificate and the last pictures were taken, the men had removed their jackets and the woman were fanning themselves with whatever they could find. The coolness of the air conditioning was a welcome relief when the wedding party arrived at the reception hall.

Finn noticed Cara’s pallor the moment she exited the ladies’ room, and when Tom O’Shea’s new wife, Hannah, emerged a moment later, he knew the reason. His gaze followed as Cara made her way across the dance floor to find a seat at Mary O’Shea’s side. Though her tension was evident, he enjoyed the unconsciously sensual movement of Cara’s curvy body in the incredible, pale yellow bridesmaid’s dress she wore.

Even from a distance, the smile she gave her mother appeared strained. She tucked the youngest of Shan’s boys to her side, nuzzling his flushed cheeks. Brian laughed and tried to squirm from her hold, but the affection between aunt and nephew was evident.

Finn’s gaze swung to Tom, standing at the bar. The older man watched Cara as well. Focused on his middle daughter, a wistful sadness clouded his eyes.

While Finn wasn’t privy to the details surrounding the rift between Cara and Tom O’Shea, the reason for their estrangement was common knowledge around Palmerton. Erin and Shan seemed to have moved beyond Tom’s infidelity, coming to terms with their parents’ four-year-old divorce, and Tom’s second marriage. Obviously, Cara hadn’t.

The memory of the tears shimmering in her beautiful eyes before she’d fled the rehearsal dinner bothered him. He hardly knew the woman, but her distress stayed with him, long after the party wound down.

Of their own accord, his eyes sought her out once again. She was a puzzle he wanted to get his hands on, but since his own divorce, he had a self-imposed policy against becoming involved with anyone or anything even resembling long term. And despite her party girl looks and bunny-of-the-month body, Tom O’Shea’s daughter reeked of permanence.

Joining Cara when the band called for the wedding party’s first dance, he found himself searching for a temporary loophole in his policy.

****

Cara slid into Finn’s embrace, and he guided her about the dance floor with flawless ease. She should have known he’d be a graceful dancer. His fluid moves on the gridiron were legendary. She had watched them most of her life.

Eventually, the gentle sway of the music relaxed her, and she began to enjoy the dance, until he drew her closer to avoid bumping into the newlyweds. She immediately stiffened her shoulders, but if he noticed her reaction when her body brushed against his from breasts to thighs, he ignored it. He held her close and spun them away.

When he ducked his head to nuzzle her hairline, she decided he
had
noticed. He took full advantage by murmuring in her ear. “You smell great.”

She gritted her teeth. “Back off, Finnegan.”

Her attempt to put some distance between them, by pushing at his shoulder, gained no results. He held her tight.

“Lighten up, O’Shea. It was a compliment. I like your hair down.” He tilted his head to peer into her eyes as he rumbled his absurd comment. “The way you wore it last night.”

Mere inches separated her face from his and her lips tightened in annoyance. Did he actually expect her to respond to that? Stick to the plan, Cara. Ignore him. She stared blankly over his shoulder.

“All those wild curls beg a man to sink his fingers in to see if they’re as soft as they appear.”

Her mouth twitched with the need to respond. Okay, maybe someone who’d spent his life being slammed to the ground by three-hundred pound behemoths wasn’t capable of reading the subtleties of body language. He probably had his brain scrambled so often he needed verbal cues to understand not all women appreciated his brand of juvenile machismo.

“You know, Finnegan,” she spoke nonchalantly, staring straight ahead as though he didn’t bother her at all. “There are medications that can help lessen the mental complications of brain damage from repeated concussions. Someone in the front office of the NFL should be able to give you the name of a doctor who can prescribe them.”

He chuckled, and she made the mistake of shifting her eyes back to his. They twinkled with mirth above a bright, white smile. The riotous fluttering in her belly brought a slight rush of nausea. Dismayed to discover those damn butterflies weren’t dead after all, she looked away.
Was brain damage contagious?

“How much do you want for the bookstore?”

She blinked, jerking her gaze back to his at the sudden change in subject. “It’s not for sale.”

“Everything is for sale, if the price is right.”

“Not everything.”

“How did you convince Maive to sell to you?”

“I didn’t have to convince her. I told her I wanted it and she agreed.”

“I’ve been after her to sell me the bookstore for two years, but she wasn’t interested.”

Her smile brittle, she suggested, “Maybe she just doesn’t like you.”

He threw back his head and laughed. She stared at the strong cords of his throat, annoyed at the shimmer of heat coursing through her.

“She loves me.” His boast was thick with utter confidence.

“Obviously not enough to sell you the bookstore.”

He dipped his head to meet her eyes. “I would have charmed her into it eventually. You beat me to the punch.”

She rolled her eyes at his arrogance, and he grinned, his crooked smile producing killer dimples. No doubt, he would have gotten his way with Maive in time.

“It always amazes me how men like you can walk upright, carrying around such a big head.”

The grin remained on his face. “Men like me?”

She smirked. “Good looking jocks with more brawn than brain.”

He ignored the insult to his intelligence, his grin widening. “You think I’m good looking, huh? Why don’t we slip out of here and go somewhere private where you can tell me more?”

Well, she walked right into that one, hadn’t she? She lowered her eyes, turning her head to stare blindly at the other dancers. “You’ve just made my point.”

He released her hand to grasp her chin between his index finger and thumb, turning her until she was facing him again.

“I was kidding, Cara.” She didn’t return his smile. “Okay, maybe not completely,” he admitted in a teasing tone.

She made her stare blank.

“Jesus, you’re skittish.” The song ended and she scowled at him when he didn’t immediately let her go. “I’m attracted to you, O’Shea.”

If it wouldn’t have drawn attention to the heat flushing up her chest and into her face, she would have slapped her hands over her cheeks. She miscalculated, believing ignoring him would dissuade him from pursuing the interest she read in his eyes. But how could she dissuade him if he refused to be ignored and swallowed her insults with a smile?

The uninterested bitch tactic always worked for her in the past. Well, mostly. But no cutesy insults would do the trick this time. Bold truth was called for.

“I’m not interested.”

His gaze on hers remained steady. His big hand on the small of her back and his grasp on her chin kept her from making a cutting exit. Her eyes darted about the room searching for an escape route. When she didn’t find one, she finally glanced back at him. His eyes held a touch of wry humor.

“We’ll see about that.”

She attempted to jerk back from the mouth descending toward hers, but he held her chin firm. His lips barely brushed hers in a chaste kiss, before he straightened.

“Thanks for the dance, O’Shea.” He dropped his hand from her chin and walked away, leaving her staring after him from the middle of the dance floor.

With Meggy’s assistance, she managed to avoid him the rest of the evening, until he stopped to say goodbye to the newlyweds. Standing at the bar with her sisters and Meggy, Cara remained silent as he explained he needed to catch the last shuttle out of Logan Airport, to tape a guest interview in the morning on the Sport’s Network. She refused to blush when he shot her a grinning wink before leaving, and then did her best to ignore Meggy’s raised brows.

Without his disturbing presence, she was able to relax and enjoy the rest of the reception, with the exception of the few minutes guided around the dance floor in her father’s arms. Erin proved her skills at manipulating a situation to achieve her goals, by asking Cara to dance with Ryan, while she moved about the floor with Tom.

After working her way close, Erin spun out of Tom’s arms, and without a word, was swept into Ryan’s. The newlyweds abandoned Cara and her father standing in the middle of the crowd of dancers. Cara glared at Erin over Tom’s shoulder, to no avail. Her sneaky sister shrugged her shoulders, smiled pleadingly, and danced away in the arms of her new husband.

Uncomfortably aware of the curious eyes watching them, Cara had no choice but to take the hand Tom held out to her.

“I hear you bought the old bookstore.” He spoke quietly as they moved about the wooden floor. “Congratulations. You were always too much like me to be happy for long in the big city. Palmerton is more your style.”

“I don’t consider being like you a ringing endorsement.”

Under her hand, the telltale stiffening of his shoulder muscles made her belly clench in self-reproach. She flushed, cursing the temper fueling her nasty tongue. Erin’s wedding was neither the time, nor the place, for a skirmish in their decade old, cold war. She sucked in a bracing breath.

“Thanks to Evan Malone’s invaluable guidance, my work is selling well. I no longer have reason to stay in Manhattan when I can work right here.” She couldn’t help adding a dig. “Besides, Ma needs me.”

He didn’t react to her barb the way she expected. He only nodded.