“Did you meet any young men, my dear?” Bridget asked in an innocent tone.
Charity gave her a teasing smile. “A few, Grandmother, but I already told you, I’m taken. Or, at least, ‘almost taken.’ And, after reading Collin’s last letter, I’d say it’s more likely I’m completely unavailable.”
“Mmm. We’ll call you ‘unavailable’ when there’s a ring on your finger, my dear,” Bridget remarked dryly. “Till then, you’re too pretty to waste on ‘almost taken.’”
Charity laughed, seemingly unaffected by her grandmother’s remark. “As a matter of fact, I did see a few young men who turned my head, and I theirs. I have to admit, Grandmother, it did feel good to have young men notice me again.”
“They never stopped noticing,” Marcy said. “Once Collin came into the picture, it was you who stopped noticing them.”
“I know,” she whispered, her thoughts obviously on Collin. She swooped up her spoon and smiled brightly. “Well, I suppose a little competition might do him good. He is rather sure of himself, isn’t he?”
“Cocky sounds like a better word to me,” Bridget said.
Marcy eyed her mother, raising her brows in warning. “Mother, please! I know what I’ve told you in the past, but Collin’s nearly a member of our family. We all love him a great deal.” Marcy winced as she noticed a rush of rose in Faith’s cheeks. She clamped her lips closed.
“Mmmm … sounds a bit too much of a rogue to suit me, if you know what I mean.” Bridget pursed her lips.
“Mother!” Marcy’s eyes widened in shock. “Really, you forget that the right woman can tame the rogue in any man. Look at Patrick; you swore he would break my heart, and he’s the love of my life.”
Bridget smiled. “Yes, he is. And there’s no doubt in my mind I was completely wrong about him,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Either that, or the boatload of prayers I said took full effect.”
Marcy’s mouth dropped open before she closed it with a smile. She shook her head and laughed, reaching for a piece of bread. She ignored Bridget and turned to Faith. “And you, Faith, how did your day go?”
“I think it went well, for the most part.”
“What do you mean ‘for the most part’? What part didn’t go well?” Marcy asked, buttering her bread.
“Well, I love the main editor, Michael Reardon—he’s Father’s friend from the Herald, you know. He’s very kind and protective, and I really like that. Most of the people seem nice enough, I suppose. Although I don’t think this older woman liked me at first.” Faith stopped talking to swallow a mouthful of stew. “But then she seemed to warm up after our morning meeting, and I think I’m really going to like her. She’s the one training me this week.”
“What’s her name?” Marcy asked.
“Bridie … O’Halloran, I believe. She’s a widow who went to work at the Times a number of years back, not long after her husband passed away. I think he worked there too, and that’s how Michael knew her. She has several older children, at least in high school. She’s such a character, Mother. She made me laugh the entire day.”
“Any young men catch your eye?” Bridget ventured, relentless in her pursuit of romance for her granddaughters.
Faith laughed. “Well, maybe. There’s a young man named Jamie who happens to be our department editor’s right-hand man. He’s in charge of editorials and book reviews. He’s kind of cute in a bookish sort of way.”
“Anybody else?” Apparently Bridget had no time for subtleties.
“Not really, although there is this kind of rough-looking man named Jack who stared a hole through me. I suppose you could say he was handsome in a dark sort of way. He gave me the chills the whole time he looked at me, though.”
“Was that the part that didn’t go well?” Marcy inquired.
Faith scrunched her nose. “No, that wasn’t it. I hate to say this, but I think I got off on the wrong foot with my immediate supervisor.”
Marcy felt her heart catch. “What do you mean?”
Faith sighed. “Well, he came in forty-five minutes late for a meeting he was supposed to be running, only Michael had to fill in because Mitch wasn’t there.”
“Mitch?”
“Mitch Dennehy, my supervisor. Then, after Michael introduced me, Mitch started picking at me, asking what I’d done before. Honestly, Mother, the man was downright rude.”
Marcy’s spoon drifted to her plate as her eyes went wide. “Oh no, Faith, tell me you didn’t mouth off to him. Please tell me you were respectful.”
Faith’s chin lifted. “As respectful as he deserved, Mother. He’s arrogant and a complete bully. Everyone in the department is afraid to even open their mouths. Well, I’m not. He’s nothing but an egotistical womanizer who just happens to have the good fortune of being a great journalist.”
“No, he just happens to be your manager, young lady, and I think you need to adjust your attitude accordingly.”
“A womanizer? How do you know that? What does he look like?” Charity was suddenly breathless with curiosity.
Faith shot her a scathing look. “You would be interested, wouldn’t you? Well, he thinks he’s God’s gift to the women of Ireland—and probably the world.”
“Is he tall, dark, what? Come on, Faith, what does he look like? Is he good-looking?”
“Yes, he’s good-looking, all right? Very good-looking, if you must know—very tall, very muscular, and very blue eyes. But I’m telling you, his obnoxious personality ruins any attraction. All I want to do is punch the clock, do my job, and stay out of his way.”
“Promise you’ll be a good girl, Faith, please?” Marcy began, her tone pleading. “Promise you’ll be nice to him? I know your temper can get the best of you sometimes.”
Faith sighed and squeezed her mother’s hand. “I promise, Mother. I’ll do my very best to be civil to him, honestly I will.”
“Sounds like a pretty tall order to me,” Charity said with a grin as she buttered a piece of bread. “So … any chance we’ll get to meet this man of the world?”
“In your dreams,” Faith mumbled.
Charity laughed out loud. “Or your nightmares,” she countered, and promptly helped herself to another plate of stew.
“Come on, Brady, you could use a night off from that Bible of yours. Don’t you ever get tired of reading that thing?”
Collin looked at Brady, who was stretched out on his bunk with the Bible in his lap, and decided he’d never met anyone so absorbed in God. Except for Faith, of course. He wondered if that was the reason Brady fascinated him so. He had the same intensity and passion in his eyes when he spoke about God—which he did a lot—as Collin had seen in Faith over the many months he’d battled with her. Normally Collin wouldn’t have chosen someone like Brady as a friend. But they’d been assigned to the same billet and the same trench, and in no time at all, Collin found himself drawn to this man, despite his obvious obsession with morality. In fact, he was closer to Brady than to any of his drinking buddies; sometimes the two of them would talk for hours on end about anything at all.
Occasionally, Brady broached the subject of God, and Collin would feel his defenses going up, prompting a grin from Brady. “Can’t run away from it forever, Collin. Eventually you’ll have to make your peace with God. Sooner or later, everyone does. I just hope it’s sooner. Later would be a real shame.”
And then Collin would get mad and storm out, opting for an evening spent at the nearest place he could buy the most drink for his money. There were times when Collin would return to their barracks so drunk that Brady would hoist him up on his bunk rather than let him pass out on the dirt floor. Collin supposed it was during one of those moments of drunken rambling when Brady found out about Faith. The first time Brady mentioned her name, a cold chill slid through Collin like a slow-motion avalanche. He wondered how the man could even know about Faith when he hadn’t mentioned her to anyone.
“So, this girl named Faith—pretty devoted to God?” Brady casua
lly asked during one of their many training exercises.
Collin positioned his weapon, pretending not to hear.
“Who is she?” Brady asked again, causing a twinge in Collin’s gut.
“Nobody,” Collin snapped, his jaw tight as he peered through the sight of his gun.
“Yeah, nobody you just happen to talk about till you pass out in one of your drunken stupors. Come on, Collin, who is she?” Brady adjusted his own weapon, then looked up, his face pinched with impatience.
Collin sighed. “I would have never let them put me in a trench with you had I known you’d be so nosy. She’s nobody—just the sister of my fiancée, or my ex-fiancée, I guess.”
“You’re engaged?” Brady’s jaw sagged in shock. “And you’re out every chance you get, looking for women?”
Collin grinned. “Why not? I’m a red-blooded American male, and I already told you, I’m not engaged anymore. At least, not till after the war.”
Brady slumped against the trench as if Collin had shoved him there. He shook his head. “So help me, McGuire, I had no idea you were so mixed up. I thought you were just strutting your stuff till you met the right woman and settled down. But you—you met the right woman, and you’re still on the hunt? When are you going to grow up, anyway?”
Collin laughed and slapped him on the back. “Never, I hope. I’m having way too much fun. And you could too, if you just cut loose every once in a while.”
Brady stooped to pick up his gear. He glanced up at Collin, his eyes dark. “Is that why Faith wouldn’t have you? Because you cut loose every once in a while?”
The smile on Collin’s face slashed into a scowl. His eyes itched with fury. “You’re a moron, you know that, Brady? What do you know about anything? She’s nothing but a fanatic, just like you. You people make me sick, shoving your religion down everyone’s throat. Well, I’ve had enough. Stay away from me, you got that?”
Collin hadn’t lost his temper like that in months, not since he’d lost it with her. Figures, he thought as he climbed from the trench. What is it with these people anyway that make me lose control like this? Whatever it was, he was fed up with it.
He ignored Brady after that, as best he could, at least until the next drunk, when Brady would take care of him once again. After that, they slowly eased back into the same close relationship, except this time, Brady seemed a bit more selective about his choice of subjects.
Collin blinked back to the present and stood in the doorway, eyeing his friend. A grin pulled at his lips as he strolled to where Brady sat reading on the bunk. Leaning against the wooden bed frame, Collin used the toe of his boot to flip the Bible closed in Brady’s lap. “I’m not taking no for an answer. You need a night out. You haven’t taken one of the leaves they’ve given us. Besides, you can help keep me honest for my ex-fiancée.”
Brady cocked his head. “Okay, you’re on. Where we going?”
Collin laughed. “To heaven, Brady, to heaven.” He slapped his arm around Brady’s shoulder before his friend could change his mind and almost dragged him to the door. “Hey, lookie here, boys—we got ourselves a guardian angel,” he called to a group of soldiers waiting on him. They started whooping and yelling.
Brady smiled and shook his head as he climbed into the mule-drawn wagon next to Collin. “Something tells me you guys need more than a guardian angel.”
Collin grinned. “You got that right. But don’t worry, old buddy. Where we’re going there’ll be plenty of angels, I promise.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Brady replied wryly, appearing to settle back to enjoy the ride.
Mitch hadn’t been late for almost two months now. He didn’t dare. The last thing he wanted was to encounter a smug smile on that pretty face of hers. Not that she seemed prone to that. On the contrary, since her first day, she’d been the model employee—always smiling, always working hard, always on time. Oh, occasionally he took pleasure in picking at her in the Monday meetings, just to see the sparks fly, but for the most part, she’d managed to keep that temper under wraps. It was enough to make him crazy. She had the knack of being as polite and courteous as he was gruff, but deep in his gut, he sensed she didn’t approve of him. And that was a reaction he didn’t get from many people, and even fewer women.
He had never had a woman stand up to him before, unless you counted Bridie, which he didn’t. Bridie and he went way back. Her husband had been his best friend, a fact that allowed Bridie to think she could take more liberties with him than others did. Sometimes he let her, sometimes he didn’t, depending upon his mood. Either way, Bridie was not the threat that Faith O’Connor seemed to be.
She actually could write, he discovered, and it surprised him how quickly she adapted to the pace and deadlines of the Times. She did, indeed, appear to have ink in her veins, as Michael liked to say, obviously inherited from her editor-father who, according to Michael, was one of the best in the business.
Despite the rocky start, she fit in well with his group. A little too well with Jamie, to suit his tastes. The two of them were almost inseparable. And he noticed Jack seemed to spend less time with the presses and more time sitting on her desk these days. It was natural, he supposed, that a pretty face would do that to the men in his department, but it galled him nonetheless. She was here to work, not to provide them with a social life, and he’d be hung up to dry if she thought she was going to hook a husband on his time.
She got on well with both Bridie, who took on the unlikely role of Mother Hen, and Kathleen, who thoroughly enjoyed jabbering with her. Although Mitch didn’t have the slightest idea how they could gab through an entire lunch hour and then some. Without question, she got along famously with everyone—everyone except him—and for some reason he couldn’t explain, it was driving him up the wall.
“O’Connor,” he yelled, “get in here!”
Faith’s head jerked up. She stared at Bridie with saucer eyes that strained wide with apprehension. She swallowed a lump in her throat. “It’s five o’clock,” she whispered. “What could he possibly want?”
Bridie grinned and hunched her shoulders. “Who knows, maybe he’s going to give you a raise. You’ve been doing great, you know.” She grabbed her coat and headed for the door.
“Bridie, wait! Are you sure?” Faith put a hand to her stomach and breathed in slowly.
“O’Connor, are ya deaf? Get in here!”
Bridie blew her a kiss. “Yes, Faith, I’m sure. See ya Monday—I hope.”
Faith managed a smirk and adjusted her starched white blouse and plaid woolen skirt before tentatively approaching his office door. The moment she stepped over the threshold, she could smell the musky scent of the soap he used, and her stomach fluttered. He leaned back in his chair facing the window, a newspaper in his hands. He was so absorbed in what he was reading, he didn’t look up, which was fine with her. For once, she could watch him unaware, something she seldom did, and in fact, took great pains to avoid.
Charity had been right. Mitch Dennehy was, by any definition, a “man of the world,” and Faith hated herself for being so intrigued. Of course, the fact he was considerably older than she, quite attractive, and very bright had something to do with it as well. Sometimes she found herself wishing she worked for someone more like Michael, someone fatherly and comfortable. Mitch Dennehy was thirty-four—only five years younger than her own father—but working for him was anything but comfortable. For pity’s sake, he was her supervisor! She didn’t like the feelings he provoked—flushes and palpitations every time he looked her way. It was maddening, and Faith made a mental note to subject these annoying feelings to some serious prayer.
“O’Connor! Where the—” he bellowed without even looking up, and she cleared her throat, catching those blue eyes by surprise as he spun around in the chair. His face broke into a grin, and her pulse took off. Probably because he scares me half to death, she reasoned before something clicked in her brain. The last time her heart had raced like this was with Collin.
Faith swallowed a gulp, realizing what that meant.
“Don’t just stand there, O’Connor, come in and sit down. You look like I’m gonna bite your head off.”
He grinned again, and Faith sat down, her nerves prickling under her skin like a foot fallen asleep. She perched on the edge of the chair, suspended between an adrenaline high and a bout of nausea. Her eyes focused hard on the wood grain of his desk. Her brain was whirling. Okay, just keep thinking: he’s almost as old as my father … He’s almost as old as my father …
Mitch studied her blanched face and was tempted to rile her, just to rouse a little fire in those green eyes. How she could go from this nervous, scared little thing to a spitfire in record time was beyond him. All he knew was when she did, he was so bloomin’ attracted to her he couldn’t think straight. He should have known this would happen. She was just the type that always managed to trap him. Thank goodness it was never for long.
He rose and ambled to the door to shut it, and the click of the lock drained all color from her cheeks. He restrained a grin as he returned to his chair to settle in. “O’Connor, I have to give it to you—you surprised me. Your writing is fresh and honest, and I like how you’ve managed to fit in.” He hesitated, squinting at her. “Jack’s not giving you problems, is he?”
She was just a desk away, and he could tell she was jumpy as she picked at her nails and straddled the edge of her seat. She usually managed to avoid being anywhere near him, except during the Monday meetings, which didn’t matter because the room was filled with people. But now, here she was, barely inches away and so close he could almost feel her breath on his face. He leaned forward, and she shivered. “Is he giving you problems, O’Connor, ’cause if he is …”
She glanced up with wide eyes. “No! I mean, of course not. Jack’s fine. At first, yes, he did scare me a bit, but now that I’ve gotten to know him, well, I think he’s just fine.”