He tapped a finger to her chin. “Because you need me, Galetti.”
Her eyes softened, and she traced a hand along his jaw, her tone suddenly serious. “I do need you, Luke, I won’t lie. I’m scared to death to go to Philly by myself, to face Aunt Ruth and to . . .” A lump shifted in her throat as she skimmed a hand across the burgeoning mound of her abdomen. “To bring new life into the world.” She shivered, and he bundled her in his arms, stroking her hair. “I . . . I don’t think I could do this alone . . . ,” she whispered.
“Well, you won’t have to. I’ll be there every step of the way.”
She twined her arms around his waist and squeezed hard, her fingers clenched to his back. “Oh, Luke, I love you so much, and I need you, I do.” She pulled away to look him dead in the eye, her smile as tight and firm as her grip. “But only as a friend, understood? No marriage. Aunt Ruth will put you up while you see me and the baby through. But when it’s over, McGee, I’ll have Aunt Ruth kick you out on your ear so fast, you’re gonna think you went through labor.” The edge of her mouth curled up. “And then you can hightail it home to Katie . . . that is, if she’ll still have you.”
He threaded his fingers through her auburn hair to cup the back of her head, his smile tempered by her refusal to marry him. “We’ll see, Galetti,” he whispered. “Your baby needs a father, and unless you can pull one out of your hat between now and his birthday, you’re going to be Mrs. Luke McGee whether you like it or not.” His jaw stiffened, underscoring the seriousness of his tone. “I came into this world as an outcast, Bets – I’ll be bound and gagged before your baby will.”
She quirked a brow. “Bound and gagged? Don’t think it can’t be arranged.”
He bullied her toward the door, brows lifted in challenge. “You threatening me, Galetti?”
“Nope, just letting you know how it’s going to be, McGee. You get me through these next six months, and then you’re back on a train to Boston. Ya got it? That’s the deal.”
He opened the door, lips crooking into a wry smile. “Like I said – we’ll see. Now I suggest you get yourself to bed, young lady, because we’ve got a busy couple of days ahead.” He gave her a soft peck on the cheek. “G’night, Bets – sleep well.”
“Good night, Luke,” she whispered, then cocked her head with a squint of her eyes. “I won’t marry you, you know.”
He cupped her face in his hands to kiss her nose before he butted her out of the door. His lips parted in a cocky grin.
“Wanna bet?”
“Good night, sweet Jesus, the one I love best. I have finished my work, and now I must rest. You have blessed me this day, now bless me this night, and keep me from danger till morning is light. Amen.” Abby’s cherub face puckered into a sweet, little yawn. “When is Daddy coming home?”
Faith glanced at her watch and worried her lip. She bent to plant a kiss on the tip of her youngest daughter’s nose. “Soon, Abby, although you girls may be in Dreamland by then.”
“But I don’t want to go to Dreamland. I want to wait up for Daddy,” Abby insisted. She shoved her tiny thumb into her rosebud mouth, her scowl looking so much like Collin when he was mad that Faith chuckled.
“Well, hopefully Daddy will be home soon,” Faith said with a grin, tucking the little tyke in bed. “And when he is, I’ll send him up for kisses straightaway, okay?”
Abby’s gray eyes, so like her father’s, sparkled with unshed tears. “No, it’s not okay – I miss him.”
Faith sighed and pressed a final kiss to her daughter’s brow. After months of extreme patience with Collin over his long hours, she was starting to feel a lot like Abby. More and more, it was becoming less and less “okay” all the time.
“I miss him too, Mama,” Laney echoed from across the room.
“Why does he have to work so much?” Bella asked, her voice sluggish with sleep.
“Daddy has a lot to do right now, girls, so we just have to be patient. But it won’t always be this way.” I hope. The smile stiffened on her lips as she made her way to the door. She blew each girl a kiss. “Good night, Bella, Laney, and Abby . . . and good night, angels.”
Her daughters giggled and snuggled down in their beds while Faith turned out the light and made her way down the hall. She yawned and glanced at her watch again, and her stomach tightened. Nine-thirty. Surely inventory couldn’t take this long, could it?
She lumbered down the stairs and into the kitchen to put the kettle on to boil, wondering what Brady and Collin could possibly be inventorying at this late hour. Collin had mentioned it would be a long night and not to wait up, but that did little to calm her nerves now. With a shiver, she reached for her sweater on the hook by the door, then tossed another log into the beloved pot-bellied stove Collin had given her for Valentine’s Day. “To keep the home fires burning,” he had said with a hungry kiss to her neck, and she had giggled in his arms, quite certain they would never need a stove to accomplish that. But the fire after dinner had long since waned, and Faith found herself jostling the embers with a flicker of frustration. Ivory tongues of fire licked at the log, its crackling and spitting as agitated as Faith’s mood was proving to be.
The jangle of the phone startled her, and she rushed to answer it, her voice breathless. “Collin?”
“No, Mrs. McGuire, this is Mrs. Toomey . . . the editor for the church bulletin at St. Stephen’s?”
Disappointment soured her stomach. “Yes, Mrs. Toomey, of course. How are you?”
The voice hesitated. “Fine, Mrs. McGuire, thank you. Is . . . Mr. McGuire home?”
“No, I’m sorry, he had to work late tonight. Is there anything I might help you with?”
“No . . . but perhaps I may be able to help you.”
Her cautious tone set Faith on edge. The teapot whistled, and she jumped. “Mrs. Toomey, may I ask you to hold for a moment, please?” She set the phone down and whisked the teapot from the stove, then poured some and steeped her tea. Cup trembling in hand, she pulled a chair to the phone and sat down, allowing the comfort of a warm sip before returning to the conversation. “I’m back. Forgive me, but my tea was on the boil. Now, you were saying?” She blew on the tea and took another taste.
“Yes, Mrs. McGuire, well, let me say right off that this phone call is not easy for me.”
The tea pooled in Faith’s mouth, burning her tongue.
“You see, I live next door to Evelyn Raeburn . . . do you know her?”
Faith started to cough as the hot liquid obstructed her air.
“Are you all right, Mrs. McGuire?”
“Yes, fine, thank you.” Her voice was hoarse. “Yes, Mrs. Toomey, I’m familiar with Mrs. Raeburn. She is my husband’s employee, you know.”
“Yes, so I’ve heard. But are you aware, Mrs. McGuire, that your husband visits Mrs. Raeburn at her home quite frequently?”
Her temper suddenly steamed, hot as the blasted tea. “Yes, Mrs. Toomey,” she said in a voice as cool as her tea was hot. “I am well aware of my husband’s visits to Mrs. Raeburn’s home. On Fridays, he enjoys playing chess with her son who is ill.”
“Usually on Fridays, yes.” The languid voice paused as if savoring its power. “Although lately, he has taken to coming more frequently. Shall we say . . . every day?”
The teacup quivered in Faith’s hand. She lowered it to the floor where it clattered and spilled across the tiles. “Every day?” she whispered, her fury at this woman cooling as quickly as the tea spilled at her feet. Her mind raced through the last few weeks, when Collin had worked late almost every night, coming home spent and deprived of his usual appetite – both for food and for her. She closed her eyes, shock and anger surging through her body like poison.
“Yes, I thought perhaps you might not be aware of that,” the smug tone confirmed. “Which is why I felt it my duty to call when Mr. McGuire arrived again tonight. Why, it’s almost ten o’clock, and the boy would obviously be in bed.”
Tonight? Faith struggled to draw air, al
l words wedged in her throat.
“Now, I live on a respectable street, Mrs. McGuire, and not only do I not wish to see your reputation sullied, but – ”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Toomey, but I really must go – ” Faith hung up the phone too quickly, fingers trembling and fear ramming against her ribs. No! The woman had to be wrong – Collin was working with Brady tonight, he’d told her so. Panic heaved in her chest as she fumbled to dial the shop’s number, her strangled breathing raspy in her ears. She closed her eyes, each unanswered ring of the phone an eternity in her mind. Pick up the blasted phone, Collin!
No answer.
With a violent slam of the receiver, she dialed Lizzie’s number, tears welling in her eyes.
“Hello?”
Relief flooded at the sound of her sister’s voice. “Lizzie, is Brady home?”
“Faith? Yes, of course. Are you all right?”
“I need to speak to him, Lizzie – now, please.” Her voice cracked with strain.
There was a nervous lull. “Sure, Faith, just wait and I’ll get him.”
Faith sucked in a deep breath, desperate to force some semblance of calm into her body. “God, give me peace, please,” she prayed under her breath, squeezing the receiver so tightly, her palm ached.
“Faith, what’s wrong?”
Her fingers relaxed at the sound of Brady’s steady voice. “Brady, you and Collin had inventory tonight, right?”
“Of course. Why – isn’t he home yet?”
“No, no he’s not, and I was just wondering . . . when did you leave?”
He hesitated. “Around seven, I think. But Collin said he had a few things to wrap up before heading home. Did you call the shop?”
She squeezed her forehead with her fingers. “Yes, of course, but there’s no answer.”
“Well, maybe he’s on his way home.”
She bit her lip, tears welling once again. “Maybe.” She put a hand to her eyes. “Could he be . . . could he be at Evelyn’s?”
Dead silence.
“Brady? Could he?”
Her brother-in-law cleared his throat. “It’s possible, Faith, but I think he would have let you know. Are you sure he didn’t say something this morning?”
“No, just that he had inventory with you and not to wait dinner.” She chewed hard on her lip, suddenly tasting the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. “Do you have Evelyn’s number?”
His heavy release of air carried over the phone. “She doesn’t have one. Collin says she saves every dime for Tommy’s medical expenses.” He paused. “But I’m sure he’s okay.”
“Are you, Brady?” Hysteria rose in her tone and her mind was frantic, roaming the possibilities. This was a dire economy where crime was on the rise – wasn’t the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre proof of that? And Collin could find himself in danger through any number of threats – desperate people on the loose, gangsters, street gangs . . . Faith swallowed hard. Another woman’s arms.
“Evelyn doesn’t live far. I’ll be there in twenty minutes, and he’ll be home in forty.”
“No! Please, no.” She put a hand to her chest, willing herself to be calm. “I’ve obviously had a little too much tea tonight – I suppose my nerves are on edge. Please don’t bother. I think I will simply say a prayer and go take a bath and relax. But, thanks, Brady, for the offer.”
“Faith?”
She closed her eyes, her breathing heavy. “Yes?”
“Everything will be okay. The man is desperately in love with you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she nodded, spilling them down her face. “Thanks, Brady. Tell Lizzie I’ll call tomorrow. Good night.”
“Good night, Faith.”
She hung the receiver up and sagged against the wall, suddenly feeling more than a little foolish. A quick glance at the clock told her it was ten-thirty, and she drew in a deep swallow of air. She stooped to pick up her cup and pushed the chair back into the table. Releasing a weary breath, she put the cup in the sink and wiped up the spill on the floor before dousing the lights on her way to a much-needed bath.
She soaked and prayed until eleven, her body as limp as her mood when she finally stepped from the tub. Drying herself off, she got ready for bed, trying to keep her mind focused on prayer. With tight-lipped determination, she dove into her Bible. When the grandfather clock in the foyer struck midnight, she turned out the lights and closed her eyes.
And then the evil began. A painful barrage of thoughts – Evelyn’s son and mother long gone to bed while she and Collin chatted on the couch. A comforting arm, an accidental kiss, a young love rekindled till the flame was hot.
No! Faith jolted up in bed, eyes wide, and yet the vision remained. She saw Collin’s eyes, sensual and moody and heated with desire, muscled arms drawing her close, wayward lips with a mind of their own. No, God, please! Her heart rate escalated as moisture beaded her brow. With ragged breaths, she seized her Bible from the nightstand and clutched it tightly to her chest. “For God hath not given me the spirit of fear; but of power and love and a sound mind.” Her whisper was harsh in the dark as she repeated it over and over until that holy quiet finally entered her soul, sealing God’s Word deep in her heart. Power . . . love . . . a sound mind . . .
She fell back on the pillow, her body exhausted and slumber weighting her eyes while Scripture still moved on her lips, lulling her into a weary peace . . .
The clock chimed three when she jolted awake, all sleep suddenly gone from her eyes. She sat up in the dark, the Bible still open in her lap. And then she heard him – his key in the door, the click of the lock, the groan of the steps as he made his way up. She vaulted from the bed, and the Bible crashed to the floor.
Three o’clock? He chooses to waltz home at three in the morning? Anger seethed in her chest. How dare he! She heard his footfall on the landing and ran to the door, flipping the bedroom light as he entered the hall. His body froze, hair disheveled and clothes unkempt as if he’d spent the night doing who knows what. He stared, obviously blinded by the light, eyes worn and jaw dark with stubble. He took a faultering step forward, and she flew at him, rage rising as she pelted him with her fists. “How dare you do this to me!”
“Faith, please – ” he whispered, but she only struck harder, her vision too blurred to see anything but his sin.
He grabbed her then, hands anchored to her wrists as he held them to her sides. “Faith,” he said, his voice steeped in pain, “Tommy died tonight.”
Her body went stiff beneath his hold, and it was then that she finally saw the grief in his soul. Eyelids rimmed with red and face mottled by tears. The awful look of desolation in those tragic gray eyes. His chiseled jaw, so fine and so strong, now trembled with pain as pale lips formed his words. “Faith,” he whispered again, “I lost my son tonight.”
The air seized in her lungs as she stared, her body going numb with cold. With a violent heave of his chest, he clutched her close, the weight of his agony heavy against her frame.
Her body stilled to stone, shock stealing everything – her breath, her pulse, her love. God, no, please . . . his son? The realization seared through her with a pain more cruel than anything she’d ever felt. Another woman had given him the son he craved, not her. The man of her heart, tethered to a woman he’d loved by a child who bound them forever. The agony was too much to bear and she staggered back, unable to see his grief for the tears in her eyes.
“Faith,” he whispered, “forgive me, please . . .”
She stared, his face a distorted blur of the man she loved. With another step back, her breath suddenly caught in her throat. Maybe . . . maybe it wasn’t true . . . Maybe it was just a lie to win her husband’s affection . . .
She felt him shudder, even two feet away. He seemed little more than a lost soul, shoulders slumped and eyes wandering into a blank stare, glazed with mourning. His arms, so strong and so able, now hung limp at his sides while his voice broke with repentance. “I didn’t know, not until tonight. Ev
elyn called to say it was time, and I . . . I swear, as God is my witness, I never suspected.”
“How, Collin?” she whispered. “How could it be?”
He closed his eyes, fingers kneading his temple and face weary with regret. “Before the war, when I was engaged to Charity, Evelyn came to Brannigan’s periodically, but I always avoided her because I knew she wanted to get back together, and I wasn’t interested. And then one night, I drank too much and passed out, a rare occurrence for a man who could hold his liquor.” His eyes flickered open. “But it was that night Charity found me with you, and I was so devastated by the pain I caused, that I drowned my troubles in the drink. I swear I hadn’t touched the stuff in almost six months. But it got the best of me, I guess, and when I passed out at the bar, Lucas hauled me into his back room to sleep it off. I didn’t know, but he told Evelyn I was back on his cot, despondent over a broken engagement.” He swallowed hard and looked away. “I swear I don’t even remember her slipping into my bed . . .”
Her eyelids fluttered closed, and the hurt was so sharp, she swayed on her feet. He reached for her then, his voice hoarse as he pulled her into his arms, clinging like a man drowning in a sea of anguish. “Forgive me, Faith – I’m sorry for the pain I’m causing you, but I can’t be . . . I won’t be . . . sorry about Tommy. He was everything I’d ever hoped for in a son . . .” She felt his heave against her chest as he tried to stifle a sob. “A boy like I’ve always dreamed – so smart, so witty, so strong. A good boy, like I used to be before my own father died. A boy with a deep faith in God . . . just like you. And I swear, Faith, from the moment I met him, I wished he were mine.”
His words pierced her, finally dislodging the bitterness from her soul. A deep faith in God.
Just like me.
With a harsh draw of breath, she fought off a shiver, begging God for the strength to do what she needed to do . . . what would be impossible for mere flesh and blood to do. Help me, God, the thought came, and with it, she reached deep in her soul, clinging to that faith that would see her through. A faith that would carry her past this crisis with her husband . . . and then heal their souls when it was over and done.