A Heart Revealed (33 page)

“Wait . . . Collin was bragging too?” Faith said.

Lizzie hung the dustpan on the pantry door and blew a strand of dark hair from her eyes. “Yes, but my saintly status has been jeopardized, while yours, apparently, is still very much intact.”

Charity rolled her tongue in her cheek. “But not for long, eh, sis? When Collin finds out you’re to be published in
Lady’s Companion
magazine when he had
no
clue you were even writing again
,
I’m going to look like the good sister,” she said with a thump of her chest.

Emma returned to her seat with a low chuckle. “Oh, I’m pretty sure there’s no danger of that.”

With a playful pinch of Emma’s waist, Charity honed in on Lizzie. “I don’t suppose Mitch did any bragging, did he?” She released a heavy sigh and tossed the dishrag into the sink. “Oh, well, the man’s on pride overload as it is.”

Faith chuckled, giving Charity a wink. “See how perfect you are for him?” Faith said with a flutter of lashes. “The sweet thorn in his side that keeps him humble.”

“Thorn?” Emma said, eyes wide and hand splayed to her chest, enjoying the ribbing of her best friend, who could certainly dish it out too. She winked. “We’re talking a rose trellis rivaling those in the James P. Kelleher Rose Garden, I suspect.”

“Gee, thanks, Emma, I feel so loved.”

Lizzie grinned. “Well, anyway, I had to laugh, Mother, when Brady said I should be more like you.” Her eyes twinkled. “An open book who
never
keeps anything from her husband.”

“An open book, am I? Mmm . . . that’s very true, Lizzie.” Despite the sudden flush in her cheeks, Marcy smiled on her way out of the kitchen, hand pressed to the swinging door. “Just remember, it’s best to bide your time in turning the page.” Shooting a grin over her shoulder, she looked a lot like a little girl with trouble up her sleeve. She inclined her head toward the parlor. “Like now, when your father is at his fullest and happiest, surrounded by men he can demoralize in chess?” Her lips twitched. “What better time to divulge that his foster daughter has blackened the eye of the class bully?” She sighed. “Heaven help Jeffrey Kincaid.”

“Brian Kincaid’s little brother?” Lizzie said with a gape of her mouth. “Sweet saints, is everyone in that family a bully?”

Faith drained the dishwater. “Probably. Have you seen Mr. Kincaid? A perpetual scowl worse than Mitch’s when Charity pulls one of her stunts.”

“Due to the fact his wife keeps secrets, no doubt,” Charity said with a grunt.

“You’re right—Stanley Kincaid’s a bully too,” Marcy said. “Obviously the entire family could do with some chastening.”

“Or more time with Gabriella Dawn Smith,” Katie said in a droll tone.

“Ahem . . . hopefully Gabriella Dawn O’Connor in the not-too-distant future.” Marcy sucked in a deep breath and forged through the door. “Say a prayer.”

Faith tossed her apron on the counter. “Wouldn’t it be nice to be
totally
forthright with our husbands
all
of the time? But honestly, sometimes reticence is for their own good.”

“And ours,” Charity said with a wiggle of brows, rising when the whistle of the kettle pierced the air. “Anybody feel like another cup of Earl Gray?”

“Oooo, me, me!” Lizzie slid into a kitchen chair with a moan. “I just need a few more quiet moments while Brady is in charge of the kids.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Emma said, treasuring every moment she spent with these women she loved
.
She closed her eyes and breathed in the wonder of family with its hint of cinnamon from the pie or the citrus scent of Earl Gray, all laced with easy banter and good-natured teasing. How she relished this time with dear friends!
No
, she thought with a contented sigh,
sisters, really, much more than friends
.

“Yeah, I could use more downtime with Earl right about now too.” Faith blew out another sigh and slumped into a chair. “A man who can calm my nerves instead of frazzle them. I mean, let’s face it—you remember how Collin always pouted when I worked for the
Herald
? You would have thought that my job and my writing were a personal assault on his manhood.”

“Tell me about it,” Charity said. “Up till two years ago, Mitch was the same about me working at my own store, no matter how much Emma needed the help.” Her smile slanted while she poured more tea for each of them. “Just the mere mention of it would put the man’s nose so far out of joint, he looked like a blind prizefighter.” She plopped the kettle back on to boil and slid into her seat, steeping her tea with a vengeance. “Remember, Emma?”

“Oh, yes,” Emma said with a grin, remembering all too well the heated discussions in the Dennehy household over Charity working at the store. “And to be honest, he’s
still
not fond of you working the two days a week during the school year, either, even though he agreed to it.” She swirled her tea with her spoon and hiked a brow. “Ten to one says he’ll try to talk you out of coming back once the kids go back to school next week.”

Charity’s brow pinched in thought. “You’re probably right. Maybe I just won’t bring it up at all, you know? Just go ahead and do it to spare him his grumpy mood—and me. Heaven knows the mere mention of my working makes the man downright belligerent, agreement or no.”

“My point, exactly,” Faith said. “So really, you not telling Mitch and me not telling Collin about my writing is in their best interest, right? I mean, how did I know that one of my stories would sell?”

“Well, you’re going to have to tell him sooner or later, just like I had to tell Luke.” Katie leaned in, elbow on the table and head in her hand. “Trust me, the longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

Faith vented with a loud puff of air, then plopped crossed arms on the table to cradle her chin. “I know.” Her gaze flitted to Emma. “Was it this hard for you, Emma, with you and Rory?”

Emma blinked, not used to being consulted regarding her role as a wife. Heat burnished her cheeks as memories flooded back. “Well, that was eleven years ago, Faith, and I was only with Rory for six.” Her eyes glazed into the past to when Rory would slap her for hiding bills to spare his foul mood. Or rant if she used sewing profits to secretly chip away at their debts. Her smile strained. “Yes. So hard, in fact, I lied and deceived enough to make Charity look like a saint.”

Even Charity had trouble swallowing that one. “Come again?”

Emma chuckled, helping to release some of the tension inside. “You don’t own the title of vixen, Charity Dennehy, no matter how much you think that you do.”

A muscle shifted in Charity’s throat. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered. “You—Emma Malloy? I swear I hear the flutter of angel wings whenever you enter a room.”

Laughing outright, Emma squeezed Charity’s hand. “I suspect you’ve confused it with that of bat wings in the belfry, my friend.”

“Emma—you busy?” Sean popped his head in the door.

Charity cleared her throat. “Yes, Sean, she
is
, as a matter of fact. In case you haven’t noticed, we are having a very important discussion here. Besides,” she said with a pout, “she’s my friend and I don’t get to see her all that much while
you
get to see her six days a week. So, don’t be a pig.” She swished him away with her fingers. “Go . . . lose at chess or something.”

He grinned. “Sorry, sis, but it seems Gabriella Dawn has a hankering for ice cream, and since it
is
her party, Mother asked me to run to Robinson’s and get a few pints. I just thought Emma might want to ride along so we could discuss the Christmas promotion.”

“Well, she doesn’t, do you, Emma? So, shoo . . .”

“Hey, it’s your store we’re trying to keep afloat, you little brat, so go bully your husband instead.” A playful smirk lifted a corner of his mouth. “Or
try
.”

Emma squeezed Charity’s hand and rose to her feet. “We’ll be right back, I promise.”

“It’s Wednesday night, so Robinson’s shouldn’t be too busy.” Sean glanced at his watch. “It’s 6:00 now, so we should be back by 7:00 or so, okay, if not before?”

“Oh, pooh!” Charity said. “Well, don’t dawdle—I need both Emma
and
ice cream.”

A sparkle lit Faith’s eyes as she took a sip of her tea. “And not necessarily in that order.”

Sean steered Emma to the door, his words suddenly low while a ridge dimpled his brow. “Thanks, Emma, I was hoping we could talk. And not just about the Christmas promotion.”

Reaching for her purse from the coatrack, she cocked her head as he opened the front door. “Looks pretty serious. You’re not giving me your notice, I hope?”

“Nope.” He closed the door behind them, bobbling car keys in his hand while he sauntered toward the street where his father’s Model T was parked at the curb. “You’re stuck with me, Mrs. Malloy, at least until some other employer snaps me up.” He gave her a skewed smile. “Which doesn’t appear to be anytime soon.”

“Well, then what is it . . . Oh!” Emma went flying, the heel of her ankle-strapped shoe caught on a raised crack in the sidewalk.

In the catch of her breath, Sean broke her fall, bracing her to his side with an iron grip. “Whoa! You okay?”

She blinked up with her heart in her throat, his shadowed jaw mere inches from her face as she stood, welded to a chest as hard and unmovable as the concrete that just tripped her up. The clean smell of Ivory soap mingled with the spicy tang of Barbasol shaving cream to flood her senses with his familiar scent, more potent now as she stood pressed to his muscled body.

Her stomach did an odd little flip, and she jerked back, cheeks aflame. “Goodness, I can be so clumsy.”

He cleared his throat and opened the passenger door. “My money’s on that nasty crack in the sidewalk, Emma, in the dark, no less. ‘Clumsy’ is the last thing I’d call a woman like you—you’re the epitome of grace.” He slammed her door and glanced at the crack. “I really need to fix that.”

Adjusting her skirt, she drew in a deep breath, unsettled at the way she’d felt in his arms. “So, what’s on your mind?” she asked too quickly, grateful the dark hid the blush in her cheeks as he slid behind the wheel.

He turned the ignition and glanced behind to make sure traffic was clear, then shifted into gear before easing down Donovan Street. His tone was suddenly strained, so foreign for the man who always seemed to smile with his voice. “This is a very uncomfortable subject for me, Emma, but I swear I’ll go crazy if I don’t talk to somebody.” He shot her a sideways look encased in a frown. “I can’t talk to my mother or sisters because I’d never hear the end of it. Nor can I bring it up with Pete and the guys because they think I’m crazy.” He shifted to maneuver the corner, jaw set in stone as he stared straight ahead. “And maybe I am.”

A tiny stab of jealousy took her by surprise as she angled to face him. “This wouldn’t be about Rose Kelly, would it?” she asked quietly.

Another blast of air parted from his lips. “Unfortunately, yes. I mean, come on, Emma—have you seen anything else put me into ill humor like Rose?”

A smile tickled the corners of her mouth. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact. I did notice you got a wee bit testy the day Bert ate the last fudge brownie.”

His face relaxed into a smile. “Yeah, that did sour my mood. But I only have you to blame. Your brownies are downright sinful.”

She grinned. “Goodness, I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

His smile was halfhearted at best before he returned his attention to the street ahead. Arms resting on the steering wheel, he drove with torso hunched forward in apparent malaise. Quiet for several blocks before he finally spoke, he shifted gears with a low grunt, his voice just above a whisper. “What am I going to do, Emma?”

“About what?”

Turning the corner, he slowed to a stop down the street from Robinson’s, then turned the ignition off and pocketed the keys. He heaved a heavy sigh and finally turned to face her. “I mean what am I going to do about Rose? We have a date tomorrow night.”

Emma opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

A tungsten streetlamp crackled overhead, highlighting the tension in his face with flickering shadows. “Yeah, that’s how I feel too—kind of numb and jaw sagging in shock.”

She swallowed a knot. “But how . . . I mean, when? I thought you despised the woman.”

“I do . . . or I did. Before she tricked me into seeing her again.”

On a date?
For some reason Emma felt herself bristle and folded her arms. “Now how can a woman ‘trick’ you into seeing her a second time, Sean? For heaven’s sake, did she put a gun to your head?”

His forehead crimped, as if he’d expected more sympathy. “No, but she’s devious, like I said.” His thick blond brows dipped low over slatted blue eyes. “I’d appreciate some understanding here, Emma, instead of more grief. Rose already gives me enough of that.”

It was her turn to sigh. “I’m sorry, but I honestly don’t know how a self-proclaimed bachelor of thirty-four,
almost
thirty-five—and a stubborn one at that—can allow an innocent girl of nineteen—”

“Twenty-two,” he said, grinding the words, “and as innocent as a time bomb.”