Emma finished pouring six small tumblers of lemonade, and Faith placed them on her tray, hoisted the drinks with two hands, and headed for the door. “No, we’re helping Mother sew costumes for the Fourth of July parade.” She paused, her hip butted against the screen door. “Hey, why aren’t you at the store? I thought you worked on Saturdays.”
Sean’s lips tightened almost imperceptibly, diminishing the wide smile on his handsome face. “I do, but I had to get out of there today.” And then, as quickly as it had faded, the warm smile returned, complemented by a wink. “Just one of the many fringe benefits of being manager of my own store, you know.”
Faith grinned. “Impressive. Well, the kids will be thrilled to see Uncle Sean, I’m sure, but I’d suggest changing out of those good clothes into some of Steven’s or Father’s old ones before you come out – we have a bit of mud going on out here.” Her gaze shifted to Emma with a grateful smile. “Thanks again for the lemonade, Emma, and for the prayer.”
“You’re welcome, Faith,” Emma called over her shoulder while she poured a glass for Sean. “It will all work out, you’ll see.”
“What will?” Sean asked as the screen door slammed behind his sister. He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms with a quizzical look, long legs crossed at the ankles.
Emma nibbled on the side of her lip, reluctant to divulge the private matter between Faith and Collin. But then a thought struck. She handed him his glass as she assessed him with curious eyes. From the moment she’d met Sean O’Connor almost nine years ago, she knew him to be a sensitive man. Warm, unassuming, and always a quip on his lips and a twinkle in his eye. The first time he had laid eyes on her, the compassion in his face had touched her, his shock evident when he’d learned the husband she’d fled in Dublin had scarred her features with hot grease. Although Sean had never spoken of the incident since, Emma knew that it had jolted him. A kind and gentle man to all he met, Sean was particularly so with her, and the gift of his friendship was a treasure for which she was truly grateful. She cocked her head with a hint of a smile, watching as he all but drained the glass in his hand.
He was not Collin McGuire with his moody good looks nor Mitch Dennehy with his gruff, handsome appeal, or even John Brady with his quiet depth of passion for God and family. But Emma had sensed from the start that Sean O’Connor held his own charm for women who frequently sought him out, although she knew few ever met with success. Charity had mentioned once that the horror of WWI seemed to change him somehow, almost as if it had soured him on women. Not that he’d dated all that much before he’d been drafted, she said, but once he’d come home again, he seemed to steer clear of any of his sister’s attempts at matchmaking. And Charity couldn’t help but worry, quite certain that some French girl had obviously broken his heart. But Sean would only laugh and sidestep her queries with a grin, apparently determined to ignore her incessant badgering on the subject.
A confirmed bachelor in the truest sense of the word, Charity’s brother seemed more than content with his life, too busy with work, friends, and sports to devote time to a woman. At the age of thirty-three, he was a tall, strapping man, lean and muscled from an endless array of sports. Be it basketball, football, or baseball, the “love of his life” was clearly the game, and Sean O’Connor played it better than most. Whether butting heads on the field or court, or coaching boys on St. Stephen’s team, Sean had learned to master the perfect defense against the game of romance.
He drained the rest of the lemonade and grinned, rubbing his nose with the side of his hand. “What? Do I have pulp on my face? You’re staring at me like you’re up to something, Mrs. Malloy.” He cocked a brow. “Maybe deciding if I’m worth a second glass of lemonade?”
She laughed and tugged the empty glass from his hand. “Well, I think you’re worth it, make no mistake about that. But I would like a payment of sorts.” She poured more lemonade and handed it back, her head cocked in shy question. “Your opinion, actually . . . as a man.”
Surprise lighted in his blue eyes for the briefest of seconds before the generous smile stretched across his face. He relaxed and cocked a hip against the counter, eyes playful. “My opinion, huh? If you weren’t already married, Emma Malloy, I’d think you were sweet on somebody and looking for a man’s view as to how to make him notice.”
She caught her breath, well aware that her cheeks were flaming. The memory of the abusive husband she’d left back in Ireland pricked at her conscience. She lowered her gaze and swallowed, desperate to fight the embarrassment of Sean’s comment. As if she could turn the head of any man with scars on her face. She whirled around to clean up the counter. “No, of course not. It’s a question that pertains to men and women working together.”
He set his glass down with a chuckle. “Okay, shoot.”
Her lashes lifted slowly, eyes tentative as she met his. “If you were a happily married man, do you think working with an attractive young woman would pose a problem . . .” She looked away, lashes lowering to shield her discomfort. “You know, possibly incite . . .”
“Temptation?”
She nodded, her gaze meeting his once again. “Yes. Do you?”
He frowned. “Depends.”
“On what?”
The ridge of his brow wrinkled in thought. “Well, whether there were a lot of other people around, I suppose, or whether this man and woman worked closely together alone.” A frown suddenly shadowed his features and he blew out a breath that seemed to hold a tinge of frustration. “Or whether the woman had designs on the man.”
“What if he was involved with her a long time ago?”
The blue eyes narrowed as they studied her face. “I wouldn’t think that would be a good thing, would you?”
Emma drew in a shaky breath and shook her head. “No, no I wouldn’t.”
He hesitated, his voice protective. “Emma, I don’t want to pry . . . but what’s this all about? Is . . . everything all right?” She smiled. “Yes, everything’s fine. And thank you for answering my question. It’s just something I was curious about, but also something private that relates to a friend.”
Sean heaved a sigh and leaned back against the counter, muscled arms folded across his chest. His tone deepened to a more serious level. “Well, speaking of temptation,” he began with a slight catch in his throat, “perhaps you could give me the benefit of your opinion as well.” The tight press of his mouth indicated a subject matter not to his liking. His lips quirked into a faint smile as his eyes met hers. “As a woman, that is.”
“Of course.”
He paused and exhaled loudly, as if the subject matter had robbed him of his good mood. “That’s why I’m home early today . . . because of a situation at work that I’m not really sure how to handle.” He peered at Emma, his look painfully serious, completely devoid of the gentle humor that usually resided there. “I wouldn’t trouble you with this, Emma, but I’m not sure who else to ask. I don’t want to ask my mother or sisters, because heaven help me if they ever caught wind of this.” He swabbed a calloused palm across his face with a faint groan. “Sweet saints, they’re so desperate to see me married that they would probably pester me to death.” He released a huff of frustration and looked up, his gaze pinned to hers. “I’m happy with my life, Emma. I don’t need anything to complicate that, which is why I’m not looking to get involved with a woman. But there’s a young lady at the store – ” his lips slanted into a wry smile, “and I use the term loosely, given today’s flapper mentality – who has, well, made it pretty clear she’d like to be on ‘friendlier’ terms.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “A customer?”
“No, not a customer . . . ,” Sean began.
“Oh my goodness, not an employee, is it? You’re the manager, Sean – I certainly would put this young woman in her place, gently but firmly.”
Sean grimaced and scratched the back of his neck. “Well, she doesn’t exactly work for me, either.” He blinked at her, clearly perplexed. “Y
ou see, she’s the owner’s daughter.”
Emma’s lips circled into a soft “oh” before the words even left her mouth. “Oh, my.”
“So you see, it’s a rather awkward position.”
“Oh my, yes,” Emma whispered. She listed against the counter and propped a palm to her mouth. She took a deep breath. “Well then, you’ll just have to do your best to avoid her.”
The corner of his lips swagged into an off-center smile as his eyelids lowered enough to indicate skepticism. “Yeah, well, that’s hard to do when one is cornered in the supply room.”
A soft gasp popped from Emma’s lips as heat skimmed into her cheeks. “No!”
“Afraid so. Turned around with a clipboard in my hand, and the woman had me in a lip-lock so fast, I forgot which one of us was taking inventory.”
Emma bit her lip, attempting to ward off a smile. “Oh, Sean, I’m so sorry.”
“Me too. I knew she was interested – I’d be deaf, dumb, and blind not to notice her visits and obvious flirting – but I had no idea she’d be so brazen. What’s with women today, anyway?”
Emma shook her head, a hand to her mouth to hide a smile.
“Well, now I’m forced to deal with it, and I don’t know what to do. I have to discourage her, not only because I don’t want a woman in my life, but because her father wants her to marry some high-profile New York dandy she’s been seeing. And to make matters worse, Rose – that’s her name – has ‘Daddy’ wrapped around her little finger. I’ve worked eleven long years at Kelly’s Hardware to get where I am now, and Rose is just the type of woman who could steal it all away.” He sighed and reached for the pitcher to pour himself another glass. “Unfortunately, she tends to hold a grudge.” He held the pitcher out, brow raised. “Want some?”
“No, thank you.”
He set it down and leaned back against the counter, glass in hand. “If I don’t handle this just right, it could jeopardize my whole future.” He took a deep swig of lemonade and then made a sour face. “But that’s not the worst part,” he said with a quiet sigh.
Emma cocked her head, brows knit in question. “What is?”
He glanced up, his blue eyes candid and more than a little nervous. “I liked it. And I can’t afford to. Feelings like that only weaken a man, line him up in some woman’s sights so she can go in for the kill.” He shuddered. “No, thank you. So you see, I need some sound advice.”
“Yes, I would say you do,” Emma said in a breathy tone. She looked up, squinting her eyes. “Maybe you could tell her you’re interested in someone else. Of course, you can’t lie, so is there any other woman who appeals to you more? You know, if you were looking to date?”
Sean’s brow jagged up in humor. “You mean more than Rose? After that kiss?” He inhaled deeply and gave her a quirk of a smile. “Not without it being a bald-faced lie.”
“Oh.” Emma nibbled on the edge of her lip.
“There must be something I can do,” Sean said slowly, his face screwed in thought. Suddenly a boyish smile broke through. “I know, I can tell her I’m seeing someone.”
A crease puckered between Emma’s brows. “But that would be a lie because you’re not.”
He grinned and buffed the sides of her arms like a big brother. “Don’t be so modest, Mrs. Malloy. Of course I am. I’m ‘seeing’ you right now, aren’t I? That cute, little face crinkled in confusion and that glint of moral determination in those serious gray eyes? And I’ll see you next week too, and the week after that, depending on what family function we’ve got going, right?”
“Well, I don’t know – ”
He laughed and twirled her high in the air. “No, don’t say another word – this is perfect, and you know it. Next time Rose Kelly gets too close, I’ll just tell her I’m sorry but I’m ‘seeing someone.’” He set her down again, steadying her with a firm grip when she wobbled back on her feet. He gave her nose a playful tap. “I just don’t have to tell her it’s a very good friend.”
With a glance at his watch, he shot her a grin, then gave her a wink over his shoulder as he strode to the door. “Thanks, Emma – you’re one in a million. Gotta go change.”
The door swished closed, leaving Emma gaping as it squealed on its hinges. She shook her head, unable to fight the smile that tugged at her lips. “Yes, you go change, Sean O’Connor,” she whispered to herself with a soft chuckle, “but not too much, you hear? Some lucky woman is going to want you just the way you are.”
8
Done! Katie jerked a sheet from her typewriter cylinder and released a silent groan, placing the last page from Parker’s board-meeting notes on a neat pile. Who would have thought twelve men could be so chatty? Twelve women at a tea party, maybe, but not men discussing the progress of the BCAS in the last six months.
Betty glanced over her shoulder with a sympathetic smile. “All finished?”
“Yes,” Katie said with a noisy exhale. She checked it off her to-do list and sagged back in her chair. “Who knew that sweet, quiet Parker could be so painstakingly verbose? Would you believe I’ve typed twenty-four pages?”
“What?” Bobbie Sue huffed and reeled more paper into her platen. “Girl, get on your knees and thank the good Lord above. I still ain’t finished with Prissy Boy’s notes yet, and I’m nigh near forty-five.”
“Pages?” Katie shrieked. “He gave you more than forty-five pages of notes to type?”
Bobbie Sue rolled the back of her neck, emitting a low groan as she stretched. “Yes, ma’am, he did, and that’s in addition to our Miss Betty here typing up the minutes. But do you think our boys could use her neatly typed notes that go to the board members? No, siree, Bob. They gotta have their own private notes just the way they want, with every q and p laid out just so.” She glanced over her shoulder at Katie with a sideways smirk. “Especially our Mr. Priss.”
Katie grinned and propped her chin in her hand. “Why do you call Luke ‘Mr. Priss’?”
One thick, silver brow jerked high as Bobbie Sue seared her with a look. “You ever type any of his letters, missy? The man is as smart as a whip, but sweet mother of pearl, he can’t spell to save his soul. But he’s a master at grammar and punctuation, sure enough, so he puts you through the paces there, with indentations and commas just so, and heaven help you if your margins aren’t pretty. You miss a comma or two with Mr. Parker or the words ain’t centered perfect, and life is still good. But Mr. Luke? Mercy . . . even the angels can’t help you.” She hitched a thumb in Betty’s direction. “Which is why I let this girl handle most of his work. I swear the woman’s got a gift with that boy.”
Betty hunched her shoulders and pulled her purse from the drawer. “What can I say, the ‘boy’ and I are close. I learned to handle him when he was no more than a thug on the streets.”
A twinge of jealousy prickled under Katie’s skin. She spied a stray page she’d forgotten to type and moaned, snatching it up from the floor. “No! I can’t believe I missed a page.”
Betty stood to her feet and stretched, and even her yawn looked graceful. “Do it Monday,” she said. “Parker doesn’t need it tonight – he’s tied up in another meeting with Carmichael that will probably last till six.” She tucked her clutch under her arm and strolled to the time clock to punch out. “Go home, Katie. You too, Bobbie Sue.”
Bobbie Sue was up like a shot, purse in hand. “Don’t have to tell me twice,” she muttered. “I got hungry kids to feed.” She winked at Katie. “And it’s bingo night at St. Raphael’s.”
Katie glanced at Betty. “But it’s only after four. Why are we leaving before five?”
Betty smiled. “I promised Luke I’d make dinner tonight if he let me go home early.” She knocked on Luke’s closed door, then popped her head in. “I’m heading out. Spaghetti or meat loaf?” she asked, then chuckled at his answer. She turned to wink at Bobbie Sue and Katie before glancing back in. “Mind if I send the girls home too? Parker’s in a meeting till late.”
She closed his doo
r with a smug smile. “See, I told you we were close. Have a good weekend.” She halted. “Ooops, sorry, Katie. You’re still under house arrest, aren’t you?” She scrunched her nose. “Do you really have to go the whole summer like this?”
Katie sighed. “I hope not. Luke gave Brady a good report to pass on to Father, so I’m hoping he’ll lighten up on the confinement.”
“Land sakes, girl, your daddy is a regular Simon Legree! Doesn’t he know young girls can’t be all cooped up?”
Katie’s lips zagged into a devious smile. “Apparently not, Mizzzz Dulay.” She wriggled her brows. “Would you care to enlighten him for me?”
“You did ask him about my birthday dinner next week, didn’t you?” Betty said.
“No, but I will – this weekend, I promise.”
She arched a brow. “Tell him your attendance is mandatory, a team meeting with food.”
Katie smiled. “Okay, now scoot. Mr. Priss will probably be a bear when he gets home after the stack of new files I saw Parker put on his desk.”
“Yeah, lucky me, huh? You coming, Bobbie Sue?”
“Comin’!” She hurried to clock out and then shot Katie a toothy grin. “Tootle-oo, sassy girl. And don’t you be stayin’ late, you hear?”
“I’m right behind you, I promise.” She waved them out the door and slumped back into her chair with a faint smile. Suddenly the office seemed like a morgue without them, and Katie sighed. Too quiet. And too lonely.
Her gaze darted to Luke’s closed door, and her heart felt a twinge. “Yeah, lucky Betty,” she muttered under her breath, wondering what it would be like to be that close with Luke McGee. Living with him, cooking for him. She blew out her frustration and started battering the keys, stopping occasionally to squint at Parker’s scrawl. When she finished the sheet, she jerked it free and placed it on the pile, then slashed a diagonal line through her list for the day. She suddenly frowned, devoid of the usual satisfaction of tasks checked off a list. Her eyes flicked up to Luke McGee’s closed door, and she scowled. It was a sad day, indeed, when completion of her beloved lists did not bring her joy. Her eyes narrowed. And all because of him.