Mitch grinned, stood, and pushed in his chair. “Debase away. I’m married to your daughter. I have no pride left whatsoever.”
Patrick winked at Charity and headed to the parlor with restrained vengeance flowing in his veins. “Then let the carnage begin,” he muttered, allowing Mitch to lead the way.
Patrick’s laughter, which echoed from the foyer, sounded almost predatory. Brady elbowed Collin as he rose to his feet. “Close call. I’m not up to a beating tonight. All I want to do is sink into the sofa and bury myself in the newspaper.” He glanced at Marcy. “Mrs. O’Connor, dinner was wonderful. I wouldn’t know what a home-cooked meal was if I didn’t come here.”
Marcy’s smile seemed tired. “You’re more than welcome, Brady. We love having you, you know that. And you can come every night of the week, if you like. Not just when Collin’s here, you know.”
He returned her smile, then sensed that Beth was watching him. Heat stung the back of his neck. “Thank you, Mrs. O’Connor, but I work late a lot. I never know when your son-in-law is gonna overload us. You may not know this, but he has a problem saying no.”
“Hmmm, I’ll vouch for that.” Faith grinned and stacked dishes on the table.
Collin arched a brow. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
She gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Nothing, my love, except you could do with a little restraint from time to time. You don’t have to be so driven in everything you do.”
He pulled her close and nestled his lips at the crook of her neck, causing her to giggle. “I’m not driven in everything I do, Little Bit. Just work and—” His tease faded off into a kiss that lasted several seconds.
Brady nudged his shoulder. “Let the woman breathe, will ya, Collin? I’m going to the parlor.” He ambled into the next room and snatched the newspaper from the sofa before settling into his favorite spot on the far edge of the worn paisley couch.
“By the way, did Mrs. Tabor get a hold of you last week?” Collin strolled in behind him. He wrestled a section of the paper from Brady’s lap before he plopped on the other side. “Said she wanted to thank you for designing the program for her ladies’ auxiliary. Hate to tell ya, ol’ buddy, but I think she’s gunning for ya. Says you have a real . . . let’s see, what did she call it? ‘A real flair for design.’ ” He grinned. “I’m guessing she’s got a flair for design herself—involving you and her unmarried daughter.”
Brady chuckled and adjusted the newspaper in his lap, refusing to give Collin the satisfaction of a glance. He rattled the page and scanned the headlines. “She did. And she does. Invited me to dinner next week.”
“I swear, you could eat out every night of the week if you had a mind to. You going?”
Brady grunted and turned the page. “Nope. Can’t afford the indigestion.”
“Gotta be better than loneliness.”
Brady shot him a one-sided smile. “That was your problem, Collin, not mine. I don’t need a woman to make me happy.” Collin laughed. “No, I guess not. I gotta give it to you, though. You’re a stronger man than me, that’s for sure. Before Faith, I couldn’t say no to save my soul. And here you are, a flesh-and-blood male with enough females batting their eyes to cause a stiff breeze, and temptation is not even a word in your vocabulary. I’d like to know how you do it. I’d market it and make a small fortune.”
Brady grinned and snapped his paper back up. “It’s called willpower, ol’ buddy, something you knew almost nothing about before Faith. While I, on the other hand, have perfected it to a fine art, steeled by the grace of God and the power of prayer.”
“Brady, can we talk?”
He glanced up, and the taste of his words soured in his mouth. His hands began to sweat, adhering to the newspaper. Beth stared down at him with violet-hued eyes fringed with sooty lashes that seemed longer from this angle. He glanced at Collin out of the corner of his eye, then shoved the paper aside. He rose to his feet and swallowed the dread that cleaved to his throat. “Sure, Beth, where?”
She nodded toward the porch, then clutched her arms around her waist in that little-girl way she had when she was nervous. Only this time, the motion produced a slight swell of her breasts, revealing a hint of a cleft at the low-scooped dress. “It’s pretty out. Can we sit on the swing?”
“Sure, but you’ll need something warm, little buddy. It’s chilly.” He averted his gaze, determined to ignore both the heat crawling up his neck and Collin’s annoying grin. He licked his dry lips and strode straight for the coat rack, plucking his jacket off with way too much force. He searched for Beth’s warm coat, but found only her thin wrap.
He held it while she slipped it on. She smiled over her shoulder. “Thanks, Brady.”
He opened the front door and waited patiently, pretending his heart wasn’t hammering triple time in his chest. Fine. We need to talk anyway. The sooner, the better.
The porch was dark except for a soft wash of moonlight that cast distorted shadows as he leaned against the railing. He crossed his arms and waited while she settled on the swing with a soft swish of her skirt. She patted the seat beside her. “Why don’t you sit here? This could take awhile, and I want you to be comfortable.”
Comfortable? With her scent as clean as lilacs in rain and her burgeoning body obscuring the little girl he once knew? He sucked in a full breath and stood up straight, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. Exhaling, he positioned himself on the far right of the swing, determined to ignore the wood of the beveled handle as it sliced into his waist. He shifted to face her and draped an arm along the back of the swing. “So, what’s on your mind, little buddy?”
She bit her lip and scooted close enough that he could feel her body shivering. “Do you mind if we snuggle? It’s colder than I thought.”
He stared straight ahead, lips clamped tight as the heat of her body singed his. It set his nerves on edge, but she seemed nervous too—from the tug of her teeth against her lower lip to the clutch of her hands as they fidgeted in her lap. His arm—which had been resting comfortably on the back of the swing—suddenly felt like hardwood lumber. With almost painful motion, it hovered over her shoulder for eternal seconds before finally drawing her close. For pity’s sake, this is Beth and she’s cold. Settle down, Brady, and just get through this.
“What’s on your mind, Beth?”
She sighed and burrowed into his arms, causing the scent of her hair to invade his senses. It triggered an unwelcome warmth, despite the coolness of the night. But at least she was warm, he reasoned, noting her shivers had stopped. He closed his eyes and ground his jaw. While mine are just beginning.
Her voice was soft and low. “I’m sorry for losing my temper the other day, but I . . . well, I guess I’ve been struggling with my feelings for you.”
Tension stiffened his hold. “Beth, these feelings you’re having, they’ve got to stop.”
“I know, Brady,” she whispered. “I finally understand.”
He drew in a breath and glanced down at her. “You do?”
She looked up with a soulful expression. “Yes, I do. It doesn’t change the attraction I have for you or the love I feel inside.” She blinked several times, as if to clear the gloss of wetness from her eyes. His gut twisted. “But I finally realize I need to move on . . . I don’t want to lose your friendship.”
The tightness in his chest suddenly released like an audible sigh. Thank you, God, we can still be friends! He exhaled the weight of the world from his shoulders and scooped her into an overwhelming hug of relief. “Oh, Beth, I’m so grateful you understand. I love you too, and I’ll always be there for you, the best friend you’ve ever had.”
She returned a tremulous hug. The sound of her words rumbled against his chest. “That’s good, Brady, because I could use the advice of a friend.”
“Anything, little buddy!” He leaned back against the swing and tucked her safely under his arm. She was his sweet little Beth once again, flooding his soul with joy. “What kin
d of advice do you need?”
“About men. Actually, one in particular.”
His joy fizzled faster than warm foam on week-old root beer.
She glanced up with wide, innocent eyes, a stark contrast to the jealous surprise churning in his gut. “There’s this boy—his name is Tom Weston—and he’s asked me out, on and off, for over two years now. And lately, well, . . . it seems he won’t take no for an answer.”
He blinked. Men have been asking her out? For two years? His Beth?
He sat up, desperate to convey a composure he didn’t feel. “Well, Elizabeth, you’re almost eighteen, I suppose it’s time . . . time to find the man that God has for you. Do you . . . like him?”
She sighed. “Well, he’s certainly attractive and hardworking. He’s worked two jobs as long as I’ve known him and plans to go to law school after he graduates college next spring.”
The jealousy rose in his throat like bile. “So, you’re . . . attracted to him, then?”
“Well, I wasn’t initially because I had hoped you and I . . .” Her voice faded. She took a deep breath. “But I think now . . . now that I know you and I can only be friends, well, I think maybe I could be attracted to him.”
“Does he go to church?”
Her soft chuckle floated in the air. “Well, if you mean is he as spiritual as you, no, he’s not. But he’s from a good family who go to church regularly, and I think in time—”
“Is he a gentleman?”
Lizzie felt herself blush to the tips of her shingled hair. She bit her lip and turned away, slipping her hand into the pocket of her jacket. With trembling fingers, she pinched the cracker she’d hidden there and swiped crumbs into both of her eyes.
“Beth?”
She didn’t answer. She was too busy blinking.
He reached for her chin and gently tugged her gaze to his. He was suddenly the consummate big brother, concern etched in his handsome face. “Answer me. Is he a gentleman?”
The crumbs were masterful as they welled in her eyes. “I’m . . . n-not sure.”
“What do you mean you’re not sure? Has he given you cause to think otherwise?”
“Well, he . . . he kissed me once.”
Disapproval darkened Brady’s features. “Did you encourage him?”
Her lips parted in shock. “No! I promise you I didn’t. He c-cornered me.”
“So, he’s not a gentleman?”
Her eyes went wide. “I don’t know . . . maybe . . . but probably not.”
She began to shake, not sure if it was her nerves or the drumming of Brady’s fingers hard on the wood. He eyed her through narrowed lids. “Well, he doesn’t sound like the type of young man you need. I suggest you forget about him and look elsewhere.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You wanted my advice as a friend, and I’m giving it. Forget him.”
A rare rush of indignation flared in her cheeks. “I wanted your advice on how to ward off his advances, Brady, not if I should date him. I’ve already decided on that.”
“You can’t date some clown with one thing on his mind.”
Crackers and fury forced hot tears from her eyes. He didn’t want her, but no one else could either? She rose to her feet. “How dare you, John Brady? I have no choice! My heart is breaking because of you, and if it takes Tom Weston to get over you, then so be it.”
He jumped up. “Beth, forgive me, please, and don’t cry. We can pray about this—”
Disbelief paralyzed her for a painful second. “No! You leave me be. I don’t want any more of your prayers—”
His hand gripped her. “Beth, please, sit with me? Can’t we just talk and work this out?”
She relented, allowing him to tug her back to the swing, where the feel of his powerful arms only enflamed the longing in her soul. He bundled her against his shoulder, and the clean, pure scent of musk soap taunted her senses.
“Beth, you’re so special to me,” he whispered. “I never want to hurt you.” He kissed the top of her head, and she could smell a trace of the peppermint he kept for children at the shop. A sharp ache pierced her heart. He was her Brady, good and strong and kind . . . but he would never really belong to her. Not the way she yearned in her heart—as a husband, a man, a lover. The thought all but crushed her, and she collapsed against his chest in painful weeping.
“Beth, don’t cry, please. I love you . . .”
She felt his lips in her hair, and her anguish surged. She jerked away. “No, don’t lie to me, Brady! You don’t love me—”
He groaned and embraced her. “I do love you, little buddy, more than anyone in this world.” With grief in his eyes, he searched her swollen face. He caressed her wet cheeks with gentle hands. “You mean everything to me,” he whispered. He bent to press a light kiss to her forehead.
Shallow breaths rose from her throat at the warmth of his lips against her skin. Her body stilled. “A kiss is the only thing that will haunt him until he admits he’s in love.”
She lifted her gaze, taking great care to impart a slow sweep of lashes.
“Beth, are we okay?” He ducked his head to search her eyes, then brushed her hair back from her face. A smile shadowed his lips. “Still friends?”
Friends. A deadly plague only a kiss could cure. Resolve stiffened her spine. “Sure, Brady . . . friends.”
He smiled and tucked a finger under her chin. “That’s my girl. Now what do you say we pray about some of these things?”
He leaned close with another quick kiss to her brow, and in a desperate beat of her heart, she lunged, uniting her mouth with his. She felt the shock of her action in the jolt of his body, and she gripped him close to deepen the kiss. Waves of warmth shuddered through her at the taste of him, and the essence of peppermint was sweet in her mouth.
“No!” He wrenched back from her hold with disbelief in his eyes.
Too late. She had never felt like this before. Years of seeking romance from flat parchment pages had not prepared her for this. This rush, this desire . . . her body suddenly alive, and every nerve pulsing with need. All shyness melted away in the heat of her longing, and she pounced again, merging her mouth with his. John Brady, I love you!
A fraction of a second became eons as she awaited his rejection. His body was stiff with shock, but no resistance came. And in a sharp catch of her breath, he drew her to him with such force that she gasped, the sound silenced by the weight of his mouth against hers. He groaned and cupped the back of her head as if to delve into her soul, a man possessed. His lips broke free to wander her throat, and shivers of heat coursed through her veins. In ragged harmony, their shallow breathing billowed into the night while his arms possessed her, molding her body to his.
“Oh, Brady, I’m so in love with you,” she whispered.
Her words severed his hold as neatly as the blade of a guillotine. He staggered to his feet, and icy cold replaced the warmth of his arms. She opened her eyes and saw pain in his. She grabbed his arm. “Brady, can’t you see? You love me too . . . not as a friend or a sister, but as a woman.”
“God help me, Beth, I can’t love you that way.” He stared like a zombie, chest heaving with jagged breaths that swirled into the cool night air, drifting away—just like her dreams.
She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away. She blinked. “You just did, John. Nothing can convince me otherwise. You love me . . . and you want me . . . just like I want you. Why can’t you admit it?”
His tone was rough with emotion. “Because it’s wrong, Elizabeth. You’re a little sister to me, nothing more.”
She rose, along with her ire. “I see. And that’s how you kiss a sister?”
Blood gorged his cheeks. His shoulders straightened as he stood stiff and tall. An uncommon show of anger glinted in his dark eyes. “I regret what happened tonight, and I apologize. Please give my thanks to your mother and my goodbyes to your family.” He moved toward the stairs.
“Brady, wait!” She latched onto his
arm while tears pooled in her eyes. “You can’t leave like this. Not now. I opened my heart to you . . . and you took it when you gave me that kiss.”
The anger in his eyes faded to pain. “I know, Beth. Forgive me. It won’t happen again.” His back was rigid as he strode down the steps.
She ran after him. “No! Don’t leave—please! Friends don’t leave when you need them the most.”
He stopped, hand poised on the gate, and the coolness of his manner was totally foreign. He turned with a look of agony she had never seen.
“No, Beth, they don’t.”
And without another word, he unlocked the gate and hurried away. Fading quickly—just like her hope—into the darkest of nights.
4
Lizzie shivered and wept on the swing until all that was left was a wet blotch on her face, swollen eyes, and a broken heart she hoped no one would see. She squared her shoulders and rose to head inside, determined to present a calm demeanor. She quietly opened the front door and carefully shut it again. With a lift of her chin, she hurried to the stairs, desperate to escape notice.
“Lizzie? Where’s Brady?” Charity stood on the bottom step, her swollen belly effectively blocking her way. She blinked in surprise, one hand on her stomach and the other bracing her back as she studied Lizzie with concern. “He didn’t leave already, did he?”
Lizzie nodded and blinked hard to ward off more tears. “Will you please tell everyone that he said goodbye and I said good night? I don’t feel well. I’m going to bed.”
Charity touched her arm. “Faith and I will be right up.”
She sniffed and nodded again, then continued up.
Charity watched her sister ascend the stairs and released a heavy sigh. She rubbed at the soreness in her back and peeked in the parlor where Mitch was playing chess with Patrick.
Faith looked up from unbraiding Katie’s hair while Marcy dozed in her chair by the hearth. “What’s wrong?” she mouthed, and Charity lightly shook her head before forcing a bright smile. “Brady said to give his goodbyes to everyone, and Beth said good night. She was tired, so she went on up to bed. Faith, why don’t you and I go tuck her in?”