A Hope Undaunted

  She drew in a deep breath and released it again, shocked at how much calmer she actually felt. She turned and squinted up at him. “Yeah, I do. How did you do that?”

  He laughed and massaged the nape of her neck, lulling her eyes closed once again. “I didn’t, Katie, you did. It’s called prayer, and when you mix it with faith and a clean heart – you can move mountains.”

  “Katie, will you take me to the bathroom?”

  She looked up to see Gabe squirming before her, a pained expression on her face.

  “Sure, honey.” Katie stood and grabbed Gabe’s hand, sparing Luke a half smile. “You – ” she said with a pointed finger to his chest, “don’t move.”

  She steered Gabe out the double doors to the bathroom, past Steven and Sean who were sitting butted against a wide window ledge overlooking the parking lot. Steven’s look was caustic, and with a press of her jaw, Katie escorted Gabe to the restroom down the hall, then doubled back to where her brothers sat.

  “Steven?” She stood several feet away, hands clasped and heart pounding.

  His head, slumped forward, suddenly jerked up.

  She sucked in a fortifying breath. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, you know, not anybody’s, really. Although,” she said slowly, her gaze avoiding his, “I bear a fair share of the blame for driving Father crazy.” She looked up then, her eyes entreating his. “We’re blood, Steven, and now more than ever, we need that connection, that closeness . . . to get through this.”

  She paused, arms clasped to her waist while tears sprang to her eyes. “W-when that happened to Father tonight, nothing else mattered – not Jack, not law school, not even my lofty dreams to make a difference in this world. I suddenly realized our time with Mother and Father is short. You’ll be graduating next year, and I’ll be planning a wedding to Jack.” Her voice wavered and she lifted her chin to ward off a sob. She looked at Sean then, unable to fight the quiver in her lips. “And when I saw Father go limp in your arms, it crushed me to think that . . . every time we see him – see them – it could be the last time.”

  Her sob broke free, and Sean stood to pull her into his arms. She squeezed him tightly, grateful for the strength of his support. With a nasal sniff, she turned to look at Steven, her eyes beseeching his. “Steven, we need to love them – and each other – like every moment is our last. Because it could be . . . and it will be . . . someday. And I don’t want any regrets. Do you?”

  Steven stared, moisture softening the hardness in his eyes. He looked away, not trusting the grief that ached in his throat. “No,” he said with a painful swallow. “I don’t.”

  With a broken heave, she launched herself into his arms, and for one paralyzing moment he was struck numb with the realization of how everything had shifted with a single beat of their father’s heart. He closed his eyes and stood, crushing her so tightly that tears escaped despite his determination to remain removed. He wasn’t removed, he suddenly realized, no matter how far he had strayed from his father’s love. He was Patrick O’Connor’s son, and for the first time in a very long time, that awareness brought him a sense of pride along with more than a little guilt. He had battled his father at every turn, abandoned his father’s values for those of his own, which in the face of this tragedy, suddenly had no value at all.

  Katie pulled back and smiled, wiping her eyes. Gabe approached, and she tucked an arm around the little girl’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to her head. “Come on, Gabe, let’s go annoy Luke.”

  Steven watched as they disappeared through the double doors and exhaled slowly. He sat on the edge of the sill and leaned back, head against the window and eyes closed. He was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice sounded as far away as his thoughts. “I don’t know when it all happened, Sean . . . the exact moment when Father and I parted ways.”

  His brother’s husky chuckle broke his melancholy. “I’m going to take a shot here and say it was the moment you ruined his best tie for a magic trick with invisible ink.”

  Steven actually smiled. He shot a sideways glance at his brother. “To this day, I still don’t know what went wrong. Father threw out that magic book so fast, I didn’t have a chance to figure it out.” His smile faded. “No, I think the rift happened much later . . . when I met Maggie.”

  Sean sighed and rested a hip on the sill. “I think you may be right. It’s no secret to any of us that she hasn’t exactly been a great influence on you.”

  The muscles in Steven’s stomach tightened, but not like they would have if it had been his father speaking. He studied his older brother through wary eyes, knowing full well that he would listen to what Sean had to say. Eleven years his senior, Sean had always been the anchor in Steven’s world of sisters, a man he could look up to, along with his father. His calm, easy manner, and fun-loving personality always worked wonders in drawing Steven out of his shy and pensive ways, often warding off confrontations between Katie and him.

  Steven blew out a blast of air, frustrated that as a man who wanted to live his own life, he was forced to agree that his brother was right. Maggie Kennedy had been anything but good for him over the last two years. She was a rebel of a girl who fit into the wild lifestyle of the twenties as snugly as a hand in a kidskin glove, and yet she drew him like no other woman ever had. Or at least her body drew him, he thought with a wry bent of his lips. Although he knew his moral decline had begun long before Maggie, she had been the one to actually steal his heart – along with his body – making it nearly impossible to turn her away. And there were times when he wanted to – badly – to alleviate the guilt that was eating him raw. The same guilt that flared out of control every time he looked into his father’s face.

  “I know,” Steven began, his voice defensive, “but it’s a different world now, Sean, you know that. Women today throw themselves at men, and to be honest, it’s pretty hard to resist.”

  Sean folded his arms and leaned back on the sill, long legs crossed and head rested against the glass. “Can’t argue with you there.”

  “And let’s face it – there’s no way Father can understand what we’re up against today.”

  “He understands more than you think. He wasn’t always married to Mother, you know.”

  Steven glanced up. “Oh, yeah, I’ll bet he was a real live wire.”

  With a hint of a smile, Sean scratched the back of his head and closed his eyes. “As a matter of fact, Collin told me once that the only reason Father agreed to let him come courting in the first place was because of Mother. Apparently she convinced him that at one time, he’d been just like Collin.”

  A smirk lifted Steven’s brow. “You mean lousy at sports?”

  Sean grinned. “Nope. An affinity for loose women.”

  “No kidding?”

  “No kidding. According to Collin, Father’s wild ways caused many a row with his parents.” Sean opened his eyes to look at Steven point blank. “Especially his father.”

  Steven stared and then broke into a grin. “What goes around comes around, eh?”

  “Apparently. Which I suppose is why Father rides you so hard. I think he’s scared silly you won’t end up as lucky as he did in finding a woman like Mother.”

  Steven let that sink in and knew that Sean was right. He needed to break it off with Maggie, something he’d known for a while now. Too bad it took a fight with his father to drive it home. A fight that could have taken his father’s life. The reality stung so hard and so fast that Steven jerked to his feet.

  He drew in a shaky breath and looked at his brother. “Thanks, Sean, for talking this through with me. I’m going to check if there’s anything new. You coming?”

  Sean smiled, hoping the worry churning in his gut didn’t show on his face. “In a minute. I think I might stay here and say a few.” He watched his brother leave and then sagged forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He pinched his eyes tight to fight off the fear, but it was no use – water streamed his face and his hands a
s he heaved with his grief.

  “Please, God, let him live – please! I can’t imagine my life without him.” His voice broke on another rasp of pain, and he wept for the first time since he was a boy. His heart bleeding now like his nose had bled then, hit in the face with a baseball. His father had been there as always, lifting him to his feet, then carrying him home, drying his tears and nursing his wounds. Restoring him with the healing balm of a father’s pride. He was grateful for the release, the emptying of his emotions before he faced his family again. They needed strength and calm, not fear and foreboding. And he needed this time alone.

  All at once his body froze at the touch of a hand, and he shot to his feet, quickly fumbling for his handkerchief. “Emma!”

  “Sean . . .”

  He stared at Charity’s friend who had become like a sister to them all and suddenly had no inclination to bury his true feelings. If it had been anyone else, he would have met them with a warm smile and a ready quip, blinking away his grief as easily as he shooed away a fly. But something in the gray depths of this gentle woman’s eyes released him to be who he was at the moment – a man laden with sorrow and riddled with fear.

  She said his name again, and the tide unleashed when she embraced him in her arms. His silent weeping shuddered her body as he clung, desperate for the comfort she offered. When his emotion was spent, he pulled away to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief.

  A faint smile shadowed his lips. “Did I get you wet?”

  Her misshapen lips tilted up, and never had he seen a more perfect smile. “It’ll dry,” she whispered, “as will your father heal. Just a feeling I have, Sean, born of a prayer.”

  Hope flooded his heart and he gripped her hand, bringing it to his lips. He closed his eyes and kissed her fingers, then released them with a grateful smile. “Thank you – you’re an angel of mercy, Mrs. Malloy.” He saw the rise of rose in her cheeks, and his eyes softened. She reminded him of a shy and gentle fawn, ready to bolt at the slightest attention drawn her way.

  “Sean, Emma – how is Patrick?”

  They turned at the rumble of Mitch’s voice, echoing down the hall as he hurried toward them with a box in his hands.

  “We haven’t heard anything yet,” Sean said, “but he regained consciousness in the car, and the nurse indicated that was a very good thing.”

  Mitch screeched to a stop with joy pumping in his chest. “He did? That’s wonderful! Either of you want a coffee? I brought six, half with cream, half without.”

  “No thanks, Mitch,” Emma said with a smile, “but you’ll have a lot of takers in there.”

  “My wife at the top of the list, I’m sure. See you inside.” He butted through the double doors and honed in on Charity, sitting next to Marcy on the far side of the room. Her back was to him, but her body looked tired, arm limp around her mother’s shoulders as her head rested against Marcy’s.

  His heart plunged. The moment she’d called, his anger over her push to work at the store suddenly fell away, his only thought for the well-being of Patrick. And his wife. He’d been a fool, he decided. Again. Charity was his life, his passion . . . at least until their bitter fight last week when she’d tried a new tactic – denying him her charms as a means of getting her way. Shame stabbed inside at how he’d lost his temper, berating her for manipulation and making her cry. In his acute frustration, he’d deserted her, choosing to sleep in his study until she came to her senses. He had wanted to punish her, hell bent that she would not force his hand. She’d pleaded and begged, explaining Emma needed help and she needed an outlet with the children in school, but he’d been too thick-headed to listen.

  His jaw hardened. Well, he was listening now – and wondering why it took a tragedy to realize how very stubborn he had been. He’d given her the cold shoulder ever since, although she’d been nothing but kind, and he knew as sure as the ache in his heart that he deserved every prick of guilt roiling in his gut.

  With a heavy heart, he rounded the bank of chairs to stand in front of his wife. “How is he?” he asked, lowering the box so she could distribute the coffee.

  She looked up with gratitude in her gaze, and his heart turned over. How had he missed the dark circles under her eyes?

  “A nurse told us just minutes ago that the danger is past and he’s resting comfortably. But they’re still observing him, so we’re waiting on the doctor.” Her eyes flitted to her mother as she handed her a coffee. “Anybody else?” She passed them out, then looked up with a nervous smile. “Thanks, Mitch. This’ll help because we have no idea how long we’ll be here.”

  He tossed the empty box on a chair and squatted beside her. “Charity, I’m so sorry.”

  Tears welled in her eyes and she nodded, quickly taking a sip of her coffee.

  He glanced at Marcy and reached to touch her hand. “He’s going to be fine, you know. I’m convinced the man has an iron heart with the pace he keeps at the Herald.”

  Her lips quivered into a smile. “That’s our hope, Mitch.”

  “Are you going to head on home to relieve Mrs. Dean?” Charity’s eyes were tentative over the rim of her cup. “I hate to impose, having her stay too late with the children.”

  Her look of trepidation – over her father, over him – pierced his heart. He took her hand in his and stroked her palm with his thumb. “No, Charity, I’m staying – my place is with you. Mrs. Dean will be fine.”

  “But, Mitch – ”

  He took the coffee from her hand and pulled her to her feet, his gaze welded to hers. “We need to talk,” he whispered. “Marcy, we’ll be right back.” Without another word, he took Charity’s hand and led her out into the hall, which was finally empty once again. He ushered her toward a bench at the far end, then sat down beside her. He handed her the coffee and exhaled, his eyes never leaving her face. “Charity, I’m a fool. There’s no other explanation.”

  She blinked, her beautiful features momentarily stunned.

  “You knew when you married me how thick-headed I was, and apparently I haven’t changed all that much.” He shifted to take her hand in his. “I miss you. Will you forgive me?” She swallowed hard, lips parted in shock, and he moved in close. “If you don’t say something soon, little girl, I’ll be forced to coercion.” His lips hovered over hers. “Say you forgive me.”

  With a pitiful cry, she lunged in his arms, almost spilling her coffee. “Oh, Mitch, of course I forgive you.” She pulled back, worrying her lip. “And you forgive me?”

  He set her coffee on the floor, then bundled her in his arms. “I won’t say you didn’t make me mad, Charity, because you did. I don’t think I’ve ever been angrier in my life, but in the face of something like this with your father, our squabble seems pretty insignificant.” He tucked a finger firmly beneath her chin. “But you’re my wife, little girl, and I love you. I want to express that as often as I can . . . without you using our marital love as a bargaining chip.”

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered, leaning in to sway her lips against his.

  He kissed her back with a hoarse groan, shaken by just how much he’d missed her. He pulled away and searched her eyes, his voice tender. “I realize now that for you to resort to such blatant manipulation, it must mean a lot to you to help Emma out at the store.” He leaned in and feathered the edge of her mouth with a gentle kiss. “You haven’t done that since before we were married, little girl,” he whispered, remembering all too well the woman she used to be. “It drove me to distraction then, and it drives me to distraction now, so if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not start it back up again.” He cupped her face in his hands and exhaled a weary sigh. “That said, if you want to work at the store, Charity, I’m not crazy about it, mind you, but you have my blessing.”

  She leapt into his arms with a squeal. “Oh, Mitch, I love you so much!”

  He held her at bay with a faint smile on his lips despite the clear warning in his tone. “But only two days a week to start, and you’re to be home when the kid
s leave for school and return. And no summers.”

  “Yes, yes, Mitch, anything you say.”

  He edged her chin up with the pad of his thumb, a dangerous smile hovering at the edges of his mouth. “And the first sign I see of you wearing down, or the kids suffering in any way, or . . . ,” his gaze settled on the fullness of her mouth, unleashing a familiar heat, “being too tired to tend to your bullheaded husband . . . then you’re fired from the store, understood?”

  She reached up on tiptoe and gave him a kiss that made him forget where he was. “You have my word, Mr. Dennehy,” she said with a tender smile, then pressed a soft palm to his jaw. Almond-shaped eyes fringed with heavy lashes blinked up, gleaming with both tears and tease. “And I will personally handle any and all complaints you may have, sir . . . day or night.”

  He grinned and gave her nose a gentle tap. “See that you do, Mrs. Dennehy. I would hate to go over your head . . .”

  “How is he?” Lizzie bounded toward them as quickly as pregnancy would allow, a waddle in her walk and her breathing labored. She absently pressed a palm to an ache in her stomach, only vaguely aware of the pain. All that mattered at the moment was her father.

  Brady locked a firm hand to her arm. “Lizzie, slow down or you’re going to have that baby right here and now.” He kissed the top of her head. “It may be the right place, but it’s the wrong time, sweetheart. You’ve got two weeks to go.”

  “Thank goodness you’re here.” Charity jumped up and gave her a tight hug, then pulled away to touch Lizzie’s cheek. “Good gracious, did you run all the way?”