And deadly.
“So, have you?” Glory persisted, slapping Annie’s hand away from her leg.
He could feel Glory’s questioning gaze and it edged his mouth into a smile. “Nope.”
“Good, I’m glad.” Glory smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt with the utmost care.
Turning a corner, he gave her an off-center smile. “Me too,” he said with a wink.
A few moments later, he felt a gentle tug on his leg and looked down at the upturned face of an angel. “Would you mind if we came over again sometime, Steven?”
His eyes flicked from Glory’s soulful stare up to Annie’s cautious look, and he sighed, leveling his gaze on the street ahead. “Sure, why not?”
“I’m glad. Faith said we could come over again after story time next week.”
Good to know. Steven took a corner with a slice of the wheel. I’ll make sure I’m gone.
“We’ll see, Glory.” Annie’s tone was nervous.
“Okie-dokie,” she said with a big yawn. Snuggling close, she surprised him when she laid her head on his lap, hand curled over his knee. “Thanks for the piggyback ride, Steven.”
“You’re welcome, Glory,” he said quietly, palm resting on her hair while his thumb grazed her neck. Within seconds her soft snores made him smile.
“Steven?”
He glanced over, and Annie’s tentative eyes met his. “I really had no idea you were Faith’s brother, and I’m sorry for barging into your life like that. I wouldn’t have come had I known.”
He exhaled, gaze back on the road. “It’s okay, Annie, really.”
“No . . . no it’s not,” she said, shifting to stare straight ahead. Her voice lowered to a near whisper. “I threw myself at you once, Steven, and it was wrong. You tried to warn me, protect me, but I was too stupid and too angry to understand.”
He chanced a glimpse, heart stuttering at the moisture in her eyes. “Angry about what?”
She buffed her arms as if she were cold despite the steamy summer night, and when she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. “At God for taking my parents away, for abandoning Glory and me to an aunt who neither wanted nor approved of us.” She paused, head bowed, and he sensed the weight of guilt in the slump of her shoulders. “I was the good girl in the family, you know, the devout one my father counted on, his spiritual pride and joy. But when he . . .” Her voice cracked and without thinking, Steven lifted his palm from Glory’s head to Annie’s shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. She averted her gaze and quickly swiped at her eyes. “When Daddy died, I . . . wanted no part of God anymore, so when I came to Boston, I made up my mind that since Daddy’s love was gone, I’d find love on my own . . .”
Steven expended a quiet sigh. “With any guy who came along . . .”
“Yes,” she whispered, eyes fixed on her fingers. “I know Peggy and her sister aren’t the type of friends my father would have liked me to have, but I was too angry to care and so I . . .”
He downshifted and slid her a sideways glance. “Threw caution to the wind?”
She swallowed hard and peeked up. “Yes.”
“Happens to the best of us, kid,” he said, remembering all too well when it’d changed for him, that dark transformation from good to evil, forever staining both his memory and his soul.
“Yes, it does unfortunately . . . only you saved me from the worst.” Her chest expanded with a heavy breath as she looked away, eyes lagging into a glossy stare over the dash. “So, I owe you an apology and my thanks because I honestly don’t know what might have happened if you hadn’t taken such a hard stance with me, warned me . . . protected me.” She turned, eyes awash with gratitude. “You see, Steven, God used you to safeguard me until I could come back . . .”
He coasted to a stop at the light, eyes in a squint. “Come back? What do you mean?”
She paused to take in another deep breath. “Back to him. I’m doing things God’s way now, seeking the right kind of love with him in the center, not the wrong kind like you warned me about. And you started it, Steven, but it was God who finished it.” She smiled, the effect somehow soft and strong at the same time. “You see, he brought Faith into my life to show me what true faith in God can be.” Her throat shifted in profile. “And the type of true love that’s only available through him.” Her chin notched up the slightest bit, almost giving her an air of invincibility. “So trust me when I say it’s the only love I’ll ever settle for again.”
The light changed and he gunned the engine hard as if to escape this uneasy feeling in his gut, like God had him in his sights, ready to pick him off. “That’s why you’ve avoided the Pier?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from a subject he neither understood nor liked.
“Yeah, that’s why I avoided the Pier.” She grinned and turned with a little bounce, exuding that innocence he found so attractive. “Because as much as I wanted to see you again,” she said, rifling through her purse, “I’m through being that kind of girl.” She popped a Life Saver into her mouth, then offered him one. “Peppermint?”
He shook his head, but her words triggered a warm glow in his chest. “I’m glad, Annie.”
“Me too,” she said with a contented sigh. “So, you see, if I had known I was coming to your house, I would have never set foot in the door.”
Signaling a turn, he eased onto her street, gliding the car up to the curb in front of Aunt Eleanor’s house. He coasted into park before he slipped her a slow grin, allowing the engine to rumble along with the chuckle in his throat. “You make me sound like an ogre, Miss Kennedy.”
“Nope, just a hard-nosed arm of the law whom I’m scared to cross.”
“Good,” he said, turning the engine off, “then my work here is done.” Fisting his door handle, he glanced down at the angel drooling on his leg and smiled. “Come on, you little piece of heaven,” he whispered. He slipped his hands beneath her fragile arms and draped her over his shoulder before easing out of the car. A smile nudged when her arms curled around his neck, and the scent of Ivory soap and bubble gum caused a sudden ache in his heart. He opened Annie’s door and helped her out, and in the flash of a moment, longing invaded his chest. The touch of her hand, the weight of Glory on his shoulder, and he almost felt whole again, as if he deserved the happiness of a good woman, one who would give him children to love . . .
“Thank you,” Annie whispered, reaching to take Glory.
“No,” he said, unable to resist burying his head in her sweet mass of curls. “I don’t mind.” Lump in his throat, he kissed Glory’s cheek and followed Annie up the steps.
“I can’t thank you enough for bringing us home,” Annie said, slipping her key in the door. She pushed it ajar, then turned and held her arms out for Glory, her smile warm. “You’re a very lucky man, Steven O’Connor, to have the kind of family you do.”
He paused, her statement taking him by surprise, as did the realization she was right, something he’d come to learn the hard way when his father almost died. He’d taken his family for granted before that . . . but never again.
Her smile tipped into a soft grin. “Or maybe ‘blessed’ would be a better word.”
It was his turn to smile. “That’s certainly what my sisters would say, especially Faith. Come on, munchkin,” he whispered in Glory’s ear, “time for bed.” Gently dislodging Glory’s fingers, he leaned forward to pass her to Annie.
“No . . . ,” she groaned, her sweet little voice groggy with sleep as her arms inched back to his neck. “I don’t want you to go . . .”
He paused, head tucked against hers as emotion thickened his throat.
Annie tugged at her sister. “Glory, Steven has to go home and we have to go to bed . . .”
“B-but will I see you a-again?” she said with a whimper.
He swallowed hard. “Sure, kiddo, anytime you want.” His gaze flicked to Annie and back, and suddenly his hopes for distance seemed to be fading.
“We’ll see,” Annie said, voice a
nd hold adamant as she tried to pull Glory away.
“Okie-dokie.” Glory loosened her grip, then patted a fat little palm to his cheek. “You’re itchy,” she said with a giggle, then deposited a sweet, tiny kiss on his mouth. “G’night, Steven.”
“G’night, Glory.” He kissed her nose before Annie managed to pry her away.
“Thanks again,” Annie said, inching through the door with Glory in her arms.
“Wait! Aren’t you going to kiss her too?” Glory spun around, eyes wide with the innocence of a little girl who had no earthly idea what she was asking him to do.
He blinked, noting the expanse of Annie’s eyes.
“Glory, no,” she whispered, turning ten kinds of pale.
“Please?” The little troublemaker stared at him with those wide eyes of an angel.
Heart thudding, he did the only thing he knew to do. He kissed Annie right on the tip of her nose. Clearing his throat, he stepped back. “Well, good night, ladies.”
“No, silly,” Glory said, “like this . . .” She demonstrated with a sweet little peck on her sister’s lips as if he were too stupid to understand, then tilted her head. “See? It’s easy.”
Too easy, he thought with a trip of his pulse. Way, way too easy . . .
“Stop it, Glory, Steven doesn’t want to—”
“Sure I do,” he whispered, his words shocking him as much as Annie. Gaze holding hers, he slowly leaned in, close enough to see the long sweep of her lashes, the pale gold in eyes so green, he felt like he was in Oz, about to be granted a wish. He heard the soft hitch of her breath when she stopped breathing because it coincided with the halt of air in his own lungs. Cupping her face in his hand, his eyelids sheathed closed at the touch of her lips—soft, supple, and just a hint of peppermint from the candy she’d offered him in the car. It was meant to be no more than a peck like Glory had given him, but somehow his mouth wanted to linger and explore . . . He stepped in close, body grazing hers and Glory’s till they were one. A little-girl giggle broke the trance, and Annie’s lips curved beneath his.
“His whiskers are itchy, aren’t they, Annie?” Glory asked, patting his face once again. “Kinda makes you wiggly all over, doesn’t it?”
Annie’s eyes glowed as she caressed her own cheek. “Very wiggly,” she whispered.
“Well,” Steven said quickly with a clear of his throat. He chucked Glory beneath her dimpled chin. “I suppose that’s enough kisses for one night, wouldn’t you say?”
“No!” Glory giggled with a thrust of her chin.
He hiked a brow. “You know what? You are going to be trouble when you grow up, little girl.” Tapping a finger to Glory’s chin, he slid Annie a smile and winked. “Just like your sister.”
“I know.” She looped an arm around Annie with a pixie smile. “G’night, Steven.”
“G’night, Glory.” His eyes strayed to Annie and he nodded. “Annie.” Without another word, he loped to the car, his thoughts as warm as the summer night. He slipped into the front seat with a faint smile and turned the ignition before shifting into gear with a tentative sigh. His gaze lighted on the passenger seat where Annie had been, and something warm and deep and full of hope expanded in his chest till he thought he couldn’t breathe.
“You’re a very lucky man, Steven O’Connor,” she had said.
Fingers clenched tight on the stick, he downshifted hard, all warmth dissipating the farther he rumbled away from her street. Exhaling slowly, his lips inched into a sad smile.
Don’t I wish.
“You never get tired of it, do you?” Emma said, peeking up at her husband with a touch of tease in her tone, knowing full well Sean O’Connor never got tired of sports.
“Nope. But gosh, Emma, can’t you see why? Man alive, what a night!” Sean tucked an arm close to Emma’s waist as they strolled home from his game, the trill of tree frogs and locusts lending a buzz of excitement that rivaled that of her husband’s voice. A ragtag group of boys was playing kick ball in the street as they passed, soon disrupted by the honk of a horn before they scattered from the path of a Model T. The scent of fresh-mown grass and exhaust mingled with the telltale smell of a Snickers bar as Sean released a contented sigh. He pressed a kiss to her head that tugged a smile to her lips. “I think this may just be my best team yet, don’t you?”
Emma’s chuckle merged with the sounds of the summer night, Sean’s little-boy enthusiasm tickling her as much as the playful pinch of his fingers. “Well, given this is the first season I’ve attended your games,” she said with a hint of brogue usually reserved for a tease, “I may not be the perfect person to ask.” She nipped his waist right back, not surprised when her hand met hard muscle. “But yes, Coach O’Connor, I’d say you have a contender on your hands.”
At her words, he halted in the middle of the sidewalk and pulled her to him so fast, she let out a little squeak that was promptly swallowed up in a kiss. The heat of embarrassment over his display of affection quickly turned to heat of another kind, confirming that although Sean O’Connor had been a bachelor who avoided women most of his life, he was a natural athlete who excelled in all manners of sport. He finally pulled away, but massive hands still anchored at the small of her back, firmly pinning her to a chest as solid as the concrete beneath her feet. “Ah, but you are the perfect person, Mrs. O’Connor,” he said with that easy grin she loved. “Because there’s no one’s opinion—” he kissed the tip of her nose—“or kiss I’d rather have.”
Hooking her back to his side once again, he relinquished another heavy sigh, a hint of longing creeping into his tone as they made their way to their house on Dorchester Street. “I’ll tell you what, I hope our sons have half the ability of Bobby Dalton, because that kid can sure sail a ball over the fence when you need him to.”
Emma lowered her gaze, eyes fixed on the cracks in the sidewalk as the smile faded from her lips. Sean continued to chatter while he ushered her up the steps of their traditional clapboard row house with its pretty bay window flanked by azaleas and hostas. Lightning bugs blinked as the glow of dusk gave way to the dark of night. The heavy scent of Emma’s fragrant cottage roses on the sunny side of the house filled the air like a rare perfume. But none of the sights and sounds that usually thrilled her could do so tonight, not at the reminder that her husband longed for sons she could probably never give. But I can still be a mother to our children, she thought, a glimmer of hope flitting in her heart like the fireflies in the dark.
Adoption.
Turning the key in the door, he glanced up, an edge of concern in his voice. “You’ve gotten awfully quiet, Emma.” He stroked a hand to her cheek. “You feeling okay?”
“Of course,” she said, forcing a light tone. She followed him into their cozy foyer where they’d left a small Tiffany lamp lit and waited while he bolted the door. “I think I’m just worn out from a full day with your mother, sisters, and the cousins, that’s all.”
His chuckle rumbled as they climbed the staircase to the second story. “That’d do it. Charity and Henry alone would wear me out, so I can certainly understand why you’re tired.” He bent to skim a soft kiss to her lips. “But not too, I hope,” he whispered, and Emma’s stomach dipped, well aware his Saturday night games usually heightened his yearning for a son.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” he said with a squeeze of her waist, whistling while he ambled down the hall on the way to the bathroom. The door closed with a click and Emma put a shaky hand to her eyes. “Oh, Lord, it will crush him not to have children,” she whispered, fighting a sting of tears. She inhaled as if drawing in sustenance, then squared her shoulders and entered their bedroom, reminding herself how God had given her the love of a good man despite a past that didn’t deserve it. For mercy’s sake, he had set her free from loneliness, shame, and guilt—he could certainly set her husband free from pain over not having a son of his own blood.
Or heal me so he could?
The thought gave her pause, making her wonder
how long she should wait before she told Sean the truth, that she had miscarried his babies. How long before she knew with a certainty she would never give him children of his own? She blinked, and her two cats, Lancelot and Guinevere, came into focus on the bed. Her lips curved at Lancelot hogging both pillows, sprawled like a fox collar of orange and cream stripes while Guinevere presided over the middle of the coverlet in a ball of white fluff. Slitted eyes barely lifting, Lancelot seemed to glare, obviously not happy Sean was home to take over the bed. Guinevere emitted a cute, little yawn that sounded like a growl before choosing to ignore the inevitable ousting of the felines, at least until Sean fell asleep.
Kicking off her shoes, Emma spanned across the covers on her tummy, kneading Lancelot’s paw while she stroked Guinevere’s head, her mind straying to how much her life had changed since Sean had made her his wife. In him she had everything she’d ever hoped for in a marriage. Except for his children, she reminded herself, and the thought prompted her to close her eyes and pray until she heard the bathroom door open. The bed vibrated with the purrs of her former bedmates, bringing a giggle to her lips. “So, how was your evening, your highness and your majesty?” she said with a soft scrub of their fur. “I know you’re not pleased my husband steals your snuggle time, but remember, once he closes his eyes, he’s gone for the night, so just bide your time . . .”
“Are you conspiring with those cats again, Emma O’Connor?” Sean assessed her with a shuttered gaze, arms folded and hip cocked in the doorway. Sculpted chest bare, he ambled into the room in boxers, blond hair damp from his shower. A slow grin of warning stretched across wide lips as he eased onto the bed to lie beside her. Elbow cocked and head in hand, he massaged Guinevere’s rib cage, warming Emma with a dangerous smile. Leaning close, he grazed her lips, then pulled away, the blue eyes tripping her pulse. “You’re next,” he whispered, and Emma was certain he could unleash a purr from her throat as easily as Guin’s.